Jabberwock lost. Nash lost.
From start to finish, they'd only managed two brief leads the entire game. The whole time, Yuuto's team had dominated them completely.
Nash heard the cheers around him, turned, and tried to walk away—but Aida Kagetora grabbed him.
"Hey, kid. Time to honor your promise!"
The cheering suddenly died down.
The crowd couldn't hear what Kagetora said, but seeing his actions, they could guess what was happening.
Nash's expression turned ugly. The arena DJ started stirring things up, and someone quickly handed him a microphone.
Under the gaze of everyone present, Nash apologized to all of Japan on live television.
"Ohhh~"
The venue erupted in cheers, as if they'd won Pearl Harbor and World War II all over again.
Nash led the Jabberwock players out at a brisk pace.
They left Japan that very night and never set foot in the country again.
Afterward, Nash vanished from the scene. He left the Jabberwock club right after the game ended, and no one knew where he went.
This kind of thing wasn't uncommon in the world of basketball.
Every year, people arrived carrying dreams. Every year, people left carrying defeat.
Darko Miličić—once the golden boy of European basketball.
Even in the legendary 2003 draft class, he'd been picked second overall, ahead of Carmelo Anthony.
But he never fulfilled his potential.
Some said Larry Brown ruined him.
Larry Brown was notorious for refusing to play rookies. During Miličić's first few years, he could only get garbage time with the Pistons.
While his fellow draftees—LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Carmelo Anthony—were being developed as franchise cornerstones, Miličić spent his crucial early years riding the bench.
Then his confidence eroded away during that long wait.
He never got a chance to prove himself, but the media constantly compared him to promising new players.
Just like that, Miličić became the most famous bust in draft history. Even Pistons fans hated him.
This vicious cycle caused the European golden boy to completely lose himself. He eventually gave up basketball and took up boxing.
The takeaway? Talent alone isn't enough to make it in the league. You also need an unwavering heart.
Nash was clearly this type of player—his mental fortitude couldn't match his talent.
After the game, he left Jabberwock and returned to college basketball for one last shot.
But he could never recapture his high school glory. He was no longer that shining prodigy.
Later, people said he went to Europe to play—Spain, England, France. His shadow appeared in various leagues.
But that's a story for another time.
...
Back to the present.
After winning the game, Aida Kagetora felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest. Even breathing felt easier.
With a wave of his hand, he dragged the team to a convenience store to celebrate.
"I'm serious, you all did amazing! Tonight's on me—eat whatever you want!"
Kagetora laughed, his face flushed, clearly already tipsy.
Hyūga Junpei wanted to talk some sense into his future father-in-law.
His interest in Aida Riko was an open secret.
But Kagetora wasn't having any of it. If not alcohol, then cola.
Crack—he popped open a bottle and started force-feeding it to Hyūga.
"Damn four-eyes, don't think I don't know you've got your eye on my daughter!"
The overprotective father thoroughly punished Hyūga.
Meanwhile, Yuuto sat at a table with the Generation of Miracles.
In front of them were fried chicken and other fast food.
"You called us here and this is what we're eating? Fried chicken?"
"What's wrong with it? There's lots of snacks here. I like it." Murasakibara was perfectly content, hugging a mountain of snacks, eating happily.
"Speaking of which, Akashi—is this casual celebration really okay with you?"
"Of course. When we won important matches at Teikō, we'd let loose too."
Akashi didn't mind at all. He actually enjoyed this atmosphere.
Back then, when Teikō won big games, they'd celebrate too—going to convenience stores for ice cream and such.
As they chatted, the group fell silent.
Their gazes drifted to Yuuto, currently caught in a pincer attack from Momoi and Sora.
Today's game had shocked them deeply.
Whether it was Nash or Yuuto, the combat power they'd unleashed in those final moments had left a massive impact.
In just one year, Yuuto had improved tremendously.
"Is the environment over there really that intense?" Aomine couldn't help but ask.
"I'm special—you can't use me as a benchmark."
Yuuto shook his head. His talent and system weren't things ordinary players possessed.
His rate of improvement was unprecedented in basketball history.
...
Of course.
"The environment there really does forge you. If you want to keep walking the basketball path, you should go to America sooner rather than later."
For the Generation of Miracles, Japan only offered so much.
The same opponents over and over—just each other.
But America was different. There were many different types of players, some with talent equal to or even surpassing theirs.
Competing against these strong players would accelerate their growth.
Basketball was one of America's flagship sports.
They stood at the world's pinnacle in every aspect.
Equipment, training methods, talent development programs, tactics—all of it.
From high school to college to the NBA, they had a mature, systematic pipeline.
...
How advanced, exactly?
Here's an example.
John Wooden, widely considered the greatest coach in basketball history—perhaps in all of sports history.
He won ten NCAA national championships during his career. No one has surpassed him to this day.
And the training methods he pioneered in the 1960s? Asian basketball programs still use them today.
That's how far ahead they are.
"Over there, you'll face the strongest opponents and receive the most advanced training."
"Of course, the competition is also brutal. It won't be like the Inter-High, where your only opponents are each other."
Yuuto used Nash as an example.
"You saw how strong Nash is. But in NCAA, he had many rivals. In fact, he joined Jabberwock and switched to streetball because he lost too many times."
"Bottom line—if you want to keep going down this path, that's where you need to be."
But it wasn't all positives.
Without sufficient talent and ability, it was practically hell.
You might sit on the bench watching games for a year—or several years. No matter how hard you trained, you wouldn't get opportunities.
That endless waiting would destroy your confidence and grind down your will.
In a word: competition was everywhere there, starting the moment you joined a basketball team. Everyone around you was a competitor.
Including teammates—they'd compete with you for starting spots, fighting for every minute of playing time.
And your opponents would do everything in their power to crush you, to grind you into the dirt, proving their own strength to earn a higher draft position.
For some, it was heaven. For most, it was hell.
...
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