Rukawa Kaede's two points, finally breaking the scoring drought, were like a stone tossed into a still lake—
sending ripples through the dead, stagnant hearts of the Shohoku players.
And then, the ripples became waves.
On the very next possession, Akagi Takenori posted up Uozumi.
This time, his movements were firmer, his shoulder feints carrying an undeniable force.
A fake to the left—
a real spin to the right—
his body leaning back slightly in midair, wrist snapping with gentle precision.
The ball kissed the glass and dropped.
"Grr!" Akagi clenched his fist and growled, his voice rumbling in his chest like distant thunder.
Uozumi's expression darkened. He could feel it—
the man in front of him was different now.
Before, Akagi had been rushed, restless.
But now he had settled. Every box-out, every call for the ball carried the weight of solid stone.
From the stands, Shohoku's cheering section finally found its voice.
"Big brother, you can do it! Go, Shohoku!"
A clear, girlish cry rang out.
Sakuragi turned toward the sound.
In the front row of the second tier, three girls were waving excitedly.
The one in the middle—
that must be Akagi Haruko.
She cupped her hands around her mouth, cheeks flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling as she stared at Akagi on the court with complete devotion.
The two girls beside her shouted along,
"Shohoku! Go!"
Not far away, another group of three girls in white cheer uniforms were even more dramatic.
They held signs that read "RUKAWA FOREVER", screaming so loudly it felt like the roof might lift.
"Rukawa Kaede! Rukawa Kaede! Love—Rukawa Kaede!"
Sakuragi's gaze lingered on Akagi Haruko for a moment.
So this is the heroine?
The one rumored to be modeled after Izumi Sakai?
He studied her carefully—
a small oval face, clear wide eyes, a pure, gentle aura.
She was definitely beautiful. But…
Not his type.
Unlike Izumi Sakai's cool, resilient elegance, Haruko felt more like the girl next door—sweet, lively, full of youthful warmth.
If anything, she was closer to the Showa-idol style of Shizuka Kudo.
Completely not his taste.
Sakuragi pulled his eyes back to the court.
And on the floor, Shohoku's offense was surging harder and harder.
Rukawa had fully ignited.
He was like a blade drawn from its sheath—every touch of the ball carried the sharp intent to tear through defense.
Pull-up jumpers.
Crossover drives.
Fadeaway shots.
His offensive arsenal flowed effortlessly.
Sendoh's defense was still excellent, but against a Rukawa fully in rhythm, he could only contain him—never completely lock him down.
More importantly, Shohoku's other players were catching fire too.
Kogure Kiminobu drilled Shohoku's first three-pointer of the game.
Kakuta Satoru grabbed an offensive rebound under the rim and put it back in.
Even Yasuda Yasuharu dared to dribble-drive under Uekusa's pressure.
Ryonan's lead was being eaten away—bit by bit.
When the halftime buzzer sounded, the scoreboard froze at:
50–42.
Ryonan was still ahead, but their 17-point lead had shrunk to just eight.
The teams headed back to their benches.
Ryonan's side felt heavy with tension, while Shohoku's was clearly reinvigorated.
Coach Taoka Moichi's face was black as the bottom of a pot.
He slammed the clipboard onto the bench, the crack of plastic and metal screeching through the air.
The players gathered, heads bowed, not daring to speak.
"What are you playing at?!" Taoka roared.
"You were up by seventeen! Seventeen! And now it's down to eight?! Where's your defense? Your offense?! Are you all sleepwalking?!"
Spit nearly flew onto Uozumi's face.
The towering center shrank his neck like a scolded monkey.
"Uozumi! How many times have I told you—step up on Akagi! Step up! You keep camping in the paint and giving him space to shoot!"
"Sendoh! What are you doing?! How many defensive rotations did you miss in that half, huh?!"
"Koshino! Why didn't you take those open threes? What were you hesitating for?!"
…
The barrage of scolding hit like artillery shells.
The players couldn't even lift their heads.
Only Sendoh, wearing a polite expression, looked half-hearted.
Sakuragi could see the carelessness in his eyes.
This guy… he's coasting.
Sakuragi knew this state well.
In his previous life in the NBA, some gifted players did the same in the regular season—saving energy, never going all out.
Sendoh clearly hadn't taken this practice match seriously.
At most, he'd used seventy percent of his strength.
"Get your heads in the game!" Taoka barked at last.
"If you play like this again in the second half, you'll all run laps until you puke!"
The ten-minute halftime passed under suffocating pressure.
The second half began.
Both teams returned to the court.
Sakuragi was still sitting on the bench.
"Hey… Hanamichi…"
"When are you going in? We've been waiting so long the flowers already wilted!"
"Too weak, huh? Coach doesn't dare put you in—"
From the second tier, the Sakuragi Squad started heckling again.
Takamiya Nozomi's booming voice was especially piercing, echoing through the now-quiet arena.
Sakuragi felt his temple twitch.
Not metaphorically—
actually twitching.
A nameless irritation rose from deep inside.
It was the body's instinct—
a conditioned reflex to those trash-talking idiots.
He felt the muscles at the back of his neck tighten, his scalp prickle, a violent urge to rush over and headbutt every last one of them.
"Calm down…"
Sakuragi took a deep breath and forced himself to relax.
It took several seconds to suppress that impulse.
On the court, the second half unfolded.
Just like the first—
Akagi and Uozumi battled inside.
Sendoh and Rukawa clashed on the perimeter.
But subtle differences emerged.
Akagi's technique was indeed superior. His footwork was quicker, his hands more refined.
And Sendoh…
well… still coasting.
Rukawa's offense grew sharper.
He began cutting without the ball, using screens to shake Sendoh, catching and shooting in one motion—with deadly accuracy.
The score crept closer and closer.
When there were five minutes left, Shohoku tied the game.
"Bang!"
Taoka's face flushed red, veins bulging in his neck.
Sakuragi looked at him, then back to the court.
Sendoh had just completed a beautiful drive-and-kick, assisting Uozumi for a dunk.
But Shohoku answered immediately—
Rukawa streaked down the court and laid it in.
Still tied.
"Sakuragi." Taoka suddenly turned, his voice hoarse with suppressed fury.
"Coach."
"Get ready. You're going in."
Then came the words that stunned him.
"Listen," Taoka said, staring straight into his eyes.
"I want you on the court. But there is one condition."
"You are not allowed to score."
"…Huh?"
"You can pass. Organize. Defend. Rebound. Do anything you want—"
Taoka's face was frighteningly serious.
"But you are not to score. Understand?"
It took Sakuragi three seconds to process this absurd demand.
Then he nodded. "Understood."
Not allowed to score, yet still expected to lead the team to victory.
This was a test—of his vision, his leadership, his control.
"Substitution!" Taoka turned to the scorer's table and signaled.
At a dead ball, the referee blew the whistle.
Ryonan's players all looked over.
Taoka stepped to the sideline and shouted,
"Sendoh, take a break. Sakuragi, you're in."
The air froze.
Then it exploded.
"What? Subbing out Sendoh?!"
"That red-haired rookie?!"
"At a time like this, they're benching their ace?!"
The Ryonan players stared at one another.
Even Sendoh was stunned for a moment—but soon, he smiled and jogged off.
As he passed Sakuragi, he murmured, "Good luck, Red."
Sakuragi nodded and stepped onto the court.
At that moment, deafening heckles erupted from the second tier.
"Wow… he's finally in…"
"Did Ryonan's coach give up on treatment…?"
"Putting Hanamichi in—are they trying to lose on purpose?!"
Sakuragi's temple twitched again.
He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to ignore the noise.
On the other side, Shohoku's players were also stunned.
"Sendoh… is off?"
"They put in a redhead…"
"Who is that? Never seen him before."
Rukawa's eyes landed on Sakuragi, filled with disbelief.
Coach Anzai set down his teacup.
The plump old coach adjusted his glasses and leaned forward slightly.
His gaze lingered on Sakuragi—curious, appraising, with a trace of hidden interest.
Ayako stood in front of Shohoku's bench, clipboard in hand, brows furrowed.
She flipped quickly through Ryonan's roster and found:
Sakuragi Hanamichi
First year — 188 cm — Position: Point Guard
And nothing else.
"Coach Anzai, this Sakuragi…" she began.
But Anzai lifted a hand, signaling her to keep watching.
Uekusa inbounded from the baseline.
Sakuragi ran into the frontcourt and called for the ball.
The basketball landed in his hands—
a familiar touch.
He dribbled twice and felt every gaze in the arena lock onto him:
the opponents' disdain,
his coach's expectations,
the crowd's curiosity—
and from the second tier, the undisguised mockery of those so-called friends.
Sakuragi Hanamichi lifted his head, eyes sweeping over Shohoku's defensive formation.
Then he smiled faintly.
I'll show you what it means to win—without scoring.