Kishimoto's sudden question stunned the Shohoku players. None of them had any idea who this guy even was.
"Still not talking?" Kishimoto's grip tightened, and Kogure struggled, his face turning pale as he tried to pry the hand off his neck.
"Bastard! You looking for a fight? Come on, I'll take you on!"
Miyagi couldn't hold back any longer and was about to rush forward.
Kishimoto, who had been expressionless until now, finally smirked.
He was here to provoke them—for two reasons.
First, he couldn't stand Shohoku's earlier attitude, as if Toyotama High were nobodies.
Second, he wanted to see the team that included the rumored player—Nango Koichiro.
Holding Kogure in front of him, Kishimoto asked coldly,
"Which one of you is Nango Koichiro?"
Miyagi, unable to find an opening to strike, spat out, "I'm your grandpa!"
"Kishimoto, that's enough!" a voice bellowed.
Toyotama High's Coach Kinpei came running down the aisle, his face dark. When Kishimoto had disappeared earlier, the coach went looking for him—only to find his player holding someone hostage.
"Tch!" Kishimoto clicked his tongue, releasing Kogure. He knew he couldn't push it any further with the coach here.
Kogure collapsed onto the armrest, gasping for breath. For a moment, he truly thought he might suffocate.
Coach Kinpei rushed over and bowed apologetically. "I'm so sorry! Are you alright, son?"
"Ah, I'm fine," Kogure managed, forcing a smile. The ever-kind vice-captain couldn't even bring himself to be angry.
"Good, good…" Coach Kinpei sighed in relief, then snapped, "Kishimoto! Apologize. Now!"
Kishimoto scoffed. "Why should I? They were the ones looking down on us first."
"You—!" Coach Kinpei's face turned red with fury. He couldn't believe this kid was talking back in front of another team.
Kishimoto turned toward Shohoku again and said mockingly,
"So, I heard you guys say you're going to dominate the nation. Does that mean you plan to defeat Sannoh Industrial? I suggest you take a good look at the rankings in that magazine—you might not even survive the first round."
Without waiting for a response, he turned to leave.
But before he could take two steps—
Thud!
Kishimoto stumbled forward, tripped by a conveniently placed foot.
He turned sharply, his eyes blazing. Sakuragi sat there grinning smugly.
"Red-haired monk!" Kishimoto snapped, grabbing Sakuragi by the head. "Are you Nango?"
Because Sakuragi was sitting down, Kishimoto couldn't gauge his height. His strong build made him look like the player he was searching for.
"Hmph! My name's Sakuragi Hanamichi—remember it!" Sakuragi declared proudly.
Kishimoto rolled his eyes. "Tch, never mind. I thought you were Nango."
He brushed off his clothes and walked away without another word.
That casual dismissal lit a fire under Sakuragi. He jumped to his feet. "Hey! Come back here! What do you mean by that?! You looking down on me?!"
Miyagi quickly grabbed him before he charged off.
"Sakuragi, forget it! We'll deal with that guy on the court. If he's so strong, he'll have to prove it when we play."
Akagi glanced at the magazine still in his hands.
"Toyotama High… A-rank. Sannoh Industrial… AA-rank…"
He muttered, "So they're on the same level as us."
Indeed, beside Shohoku's name, the magazine also listed a bold A-rank rating.
"Ding-dong! I'm back!"
By the time Nango arrived at the hotel, the Shohoku team had already gone to dinner.
After asking the receptionist for directions, he hurried to the restaurant—his stomach rumbling, and the smell of Chinese food only made it worse.
"Ho ho ho ho… You've worked hard, Nango. Come sit down."
Coach Anzai's gentle smile welcomed him warmly.
"Not hard at all! Thank you, Coach!"
Nango slid into an empty seat and immediately reached for the dishes in front of him, clearly starving.
Sakuragi eyed him suspiciously. "Nango, you weren't slacking off this past month, were you?"
"Huh?" Nango blinked in confusion, then laughed. "Of course not! I've been training hard—I'm getting stronger every day!"
Mitsui, always the first to catch onto anything involving college basketball, leaned forward. "Really? So what exactly did you do at Nittaidai?"
Suppressing his hunger for a moment, Nango replied,
"I trained with their team as usual and even joined a few practice matches against other university teams. I learned a lot."
Akagi and Mitsui froze. "Practice games? Against university players?"
Nango nodded, shoveling a mouthful of Kung Pao chicken into his mouth.
For a moment, no one said anything. The room fell silent.
They had thought Nango's training at Nittaidai would be simple drills and conditioning—not actual matches against college teams. Wasn't that a bit too much for a high schooler?
Across the table, Rukawa Kaede's expression darkened. He set his chopsticks down and muttered under his breath,
"Is this bastard pulling further and further away from me…"
Meanwhile, Sakuragi kept eating, pretending not to care. "What's so great about that… It's just Nittaidai, hmph!"
Coach Anzai smiled faintly, pleased by what he heard. He didn't need to ask further—Nango's progress spoke for itself.
Everyone finished dinner with different thoughts swirling in their heads.
As they stood to leave, Akagi glanced at Nango, noticing something. "Nango, have you gotten taller?"
Nango grinned. "Yeah, I'm 193 cm now—grew another centimeter."
Miyagi, the shortest of them all, muttered bitterly, "Tch… still growing. What a freak…"
By chance—or perhaps fate—Nango, Rukawa Kaede, Sakuragi, and Kuwata were assigned to the same hotel room.
Kuwata was nervous at first, half-expecting a midnight brawl to break out between those three, but thankfully, nothing happened.
"So, Sakuragi," Nango asked curiously, "what kind of training did you guys do this past month?"
He was genuinely interested—after all, he'd taught Sakuragi the basics of mid-range shooting before leaving, and that small change might've altered the original flow of events. He wanted to know what kind of training Coach Anzai had given him afterward.
Sakuragi puffed up with pride. "Hmph! Want to know? It's a secret!"
Nango smiled helplessly. "Alright, alright. You don't have to tell me. I'll just find out when I see you play."
He chuckled. With Sakuragi's personality, if he'd learned anything new, he'd definitely show it off on the court soon enough.
Turning to Rukawa, Nango asked, "How about you, Rukawa? How've you been?"
Rukawa glanced at him. "Not bad," he said curtly.
Nango blinked, waiting for more—but Rukawa had already gone quiet again.
Still, he didn't mind. For Rukawa, that was a decent conversation.
Though it was unclear whether their relationship could be called "peaceful," one thing was certain: the awkward tension between them had eased.
They were rivals—but perhaps, at last, not enemies.
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