The instant the referee's whistle pierced the air, Akagi won the tip, flicking the ball back to his side.
First possession—Shohoku ball.
Yasuda Yasuharu, Shohoku's timid-looking point guard, dribbled cautiously across half court.
His movements were textbook, but Sakuragi could see the tension in his shoulders every time the ball hit the floor.
That was nerves.
Uekusa Tomoyuki closed in.
Ryonan's point guard stuck to Yasuda like glue, arms constantly poking and harassing. Yasuda was forced to pick up his dribble, eyes darting in panic—
In that split second—
Uekusa's hand flashed.
"Smack!"
The ball was knocked loose, bouncing toward midcourt.
Sendoh was already moving.
Like a cheetah, he burst forward, snatching the ball Uekusa had tipped and launching a fast break.
Shohoku's fastest defender back was Rukawa Kaede.
The black-haired boy exploded into motion almost simultaneously with Sendoh.
One in blue, one in red—their shadows streaked across the hardwood in parallel lines.
Rukawa's speed was terrifying.
In just a few strides, he was right beside Sendoh.
But Sendoh didn't force it.
Near the free-throw line, he suddenly slowed, raised the ball with both hands, and sold a perfect pump fake.
Rukawa bit—leaping into the air, his balance lost.
The moment Rukawa began to descend, Sendoh passed.
The ball flew low and fast, landing precisely in the hands of Ikegami Ryoji, who was trailing on the right.
Ikegami caught, took one adjustment step, rose, and fired.
Swish.
2–0.
The entire sequence took less than five seconds.
"Beautiful fast break!" Aida Hikoichi scribbled excitedly in the stands.
Sakuragi narrowed his eyes.
Sendoh's decision had been smart. Against Rukawa's recovery, forcing a layup would've been low percentage. The pass was the right call.
Shohoku possession.
Kogure Kiminobu caught the ball at the left wing and rose for a jumper—
But just as the ball left his fingertips, a massive hand swept in from the side.
Uozumi Jun.
Over two meters tall with an outrageous wingspan, his defensive range blanketed the entire paint.
The shot was violently swatted away.
Rukawa grabbed the loose ball and immediately pulled up for a clean, sharp jumper.
But Uozumi was still there.
He jumped again.
"Smack!"
Another block.
Gasps rippled through the stands.
The ball popped into the air again.
Yasuda recovered it, glanced inside, and lobbed it to Akagi Takenori, who had sealed his position.
Akagi caught, backing Uozumi down.
The dull thuds of muscle-on-muscle echoed to the sidelines.
Two giants collided like mountains grinding together.
Akagi spun, jumped, and released a turnaround.
Uozumi leapt for the third time.
"BAM!"
Another rejection—out of bounds.
"ROOOAR!!!"
Uozumi landed and threw his head back, pounding his chest.
Three straight blocks—on Shohoku's ace Akagi and their super rookie Rukawa.
His confidence surged to the heavens.
"Today, I'm scoring 100 points!!!"
The Ryonan students exploded.
The bench leapt to its feet, and the stands erupted in synchronized chants—
"Uozumi! Uozumi!"
Shohoku inbounded again.
Yasuda caught the ball—and Ryonan's defense swarmed instantly.
Uekusa and Koshino trapped him.
Like a bird caught in a cage, Yasuda darted left and right, searching desperately.
He spotted Rukawa beyond the arc and forced the pass—
But Sendoh was already waiting.
His long arm extended—
Interception.
Sendoh turned and pushed the ball up the court.
Rukawa raced back, and once again, the two met in isolation.
Sendoh stopped outside the three-point line, settling into a triple-threat stance.
Rukawa spread his arms, lowered his center of gravity, eyes locked on Sendoh's shoulders.
Suddenly—Sendoh drove right.
Rukawa slid with him.
But it was only a crossover.
The ball snapped back to Sendoh's left hand—his body pausing for the tiniest fraction of a second.
That hesitation shattered Rukawa's rhythm.
Sendoh sliced past him on the left.
Instead of finishing, he kicked the ball to the corner—where Koshino Hiroaki stood completely unguarded.
Koshino caught, steadied his breathing, rose, and released.
The ball spun high, tracing a perfect arc.
Every eye followed it.
Swish.
4–0.
"Sendoh! Sendoh! Sendoh!"
The chants changed.
Girls screamed so loudly Sakuragi could even hear someone yelling, "Sendoh-kun is so handsome!"
The game rolled on.
The next few minutes became a one-sided showcase.
Shohoku's offense collapsed.
Akagi was smothered inside by Uozumi and constant double teams.
Rukawa could score one-on-one, but Sendoh's defense made him uncomfortable, and Ryonan's help arrived instantly whenever he drove.
As for the others…
The gap was brutal.
Yasuda struggled with ball control.
Kogure was physically outmatched.
Kakuta—without plot armor—couldn't establish position in the paint.
Shohoku's lineup simply couldn't compare to Ryonan's battle-hardened roster trained under Taoka.
Meanwhile, Ryonan's offense flowed like water.
Sendoh controlled the tempo—fast when he wanted, slow when he needed.
Uozumi wreaked havoc inside, even without scoring much, drawing constant defensive attention.
Koshino and Uekusa rained shots from the perimeter.
The scoreboard kept climbing.
6–0.
9–0.
12–0.
15–0.
When Sendoh crossed Rukawa again and buried a pull-up jumper near the free-throw line, the score became—
17–0.
On the sidelines, Coach Anzai cradled his teacup, eyes narrowed into gentle slits behind his glasses.
He showed no sign of calling timeout.
He didn't even stand.
Taoka turned toward the bench.
"Sakuragi."
Sakuragi looked over.
"Do you know why I'm not sending you in?" Taoka asked quietly, so only he could hear.
Sakuragi shifted his gaze back to the court.
Sendoh was guarding Rukawa—their duel unfolding like a carefully choreographed dance: feints, slides, cuts, counter-cuts.
Rukawa forced a tough shot.
The ball bounced off the front rim.
Uozumi grabbed the rebound.
Ryonan pushed the break again.
"Because the opponent is too weak," Sakuragi said calmly, arrogance ringing in his voice.
"They're not worth me stepping on the court."
He turned to Taoka.
"Why use a bull to kill a chicken, Coach?"
A brief silence.
Then Taoka burst into laughter—loud, booming.
Several players on the bench turned to look.
He slapped Sakuragi's shoulder hard.
"Well said!"
Grinning ear to ear, wrinkles piling at the corners of his eyes, he nodded toward the scoreboard.
"Just look at the score. Sendoh and Uozumi alone are enough. You're not needed yet."
17–0.
A crushing gap.
Frustration was already creeping across Shohoku's faces.
Yasuda panted heavily.
Fog clouded Kogure's glasses.
Even Akagi's back seemed to sag.
Only Rukawa remained expressionless, eyes still sharp.
And Coach Anzai—still calm, still sipping tea, as if the 17–0 beating had nothing to do with his team.
In the original storyline, Sakuragi's first appearance in this match changed everything.
His ridiculous rebounding shocked everyone and turned the tide.
But now—
He was sitting on Ryonan's bench.
Could Shohoku still come back?
Akagi and Rukawa—against an entire team?
Sakuragi glanced at Shohoku's bench.
Aside from Ayako and a few reserves, there was no one else.
Miyagi wasn't there.
Mitsui wasn't there.
On the court, Sendoh broke through again and kicked to Koshino in the corner.
The three went up.
Clang.
Missed.
Akagi secured the rebound and hurled a long pass to Rukawa, who was already sprinting.
Rukawa caught, faced the recovering Sendoh, and didn't slow.
Three steps.
In midair, he switched hands, avoided the block, and flipped the ball softly with his left.
It bounced twice on the rim—
And dropped.
17–2.
Shohoku finally scored.