Sakuragi Hanamichi dribbled across half court—
no flashy moves, no wasted motion.
Every step was solid and grounded.
The ball slapped against the hardwood and rebounded into his palm.
The rough texture of the rubber pressed into his fingertips—familiar, comforting.
He stopped beyond the three-point line and looked up.
There he was.
Rukawa Kaede.
Rukawa bent slightly at the waist, arms spread wide, eyes locked onto the ball.
His entire posture screamed one word:
Serious.
Being subbed in for Sendoh—replaced by this red-haired rookie—clearly felt like a form of disrespect.
Sakuragi looked at Rukawa's stance and couldn't help curling his lips into a crooked, mischievous grin—
that unmistakable "Dragon King smirk."
Since I've reincarnated into Sakuragi, he thought, let's give this so-called second protagonist a lesson.
He made no fakes.
Didn't even try to change direction.
He simply turned his back, planted it against Rukawa, and began to back him down.
Once.
Rukawa felt like he'd rammed into a moving brick wall.
His chest tightened, breath caught.
Twice.
Rukawa was forced back half a step.
He grit his teeth and lowered his stance, but his shoes still screeched across the floor.
Three times.
Sakuragi had already bulldozed him to the edge of the free-throw line.
The whole sequence was brutally simple—
like a bulldozer rolling over grass.
No tricks.
No finesse.
Just pure power.
If you can bully your way inside with strength, why bother with fancy crossovers?
This was 90s muscle-ball—not the soft, whistle-happy small-ball era of twenty years later.
Rukawa's mind went blank.
What the hell…?
Where did this redhead get this kind of strength?
The only person he'd ever felt this from in practice was Akagi.
In the stands, the Sakuragi Squad looked like their jaws had fallen off.
Takamiya Nozomi dropped his bag of chips—crisps scattering across the floor.
Ohkusu Yūji rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was still asleep.
Noma Chūichirou's mouth hung open, frozen.
"Th-that… is Hanamichi?"
Mito Yohei actually stuttered.
On the court, Sakuragi had forced Rukawa all the way to the edge of the paint.
Rukawa's balance faltered, his body tilting.
Then—
Sakuragi suddenly spun, faced the basket, and leapt.
A perfect shooting form.
Akagi Takenori reacted on instinct, springing up to block—
nearly two meters tall, arms spreading like a mountain crashing down.
But Sakuragi never intended to shoot.
Coach Taoka had forbidden him to score.
Midair, he tucked his core, arched like a bow, and flicked his wrist—
changing the shot into a pass.
The ball slipped through the gap beneath Akagi's arm like it had eyes, landing precisely in the hands of a completely unguarded Uozumi.
Uozumi froze for a split second.
"DUNK IT!!!" Taoka roared from the sideline.
Uozumi snapped out of it, shouted, exploded upward—
"BOOM!!!"
A two-handed slam.
72–70. Ryonan retakes the lead.
"Nice one!!!"
The Ryonan bench erupted.
Aida Hikoichi scribbled furiously:
"Sakuragi Hanamichi—Assist +1. Beautiful inside-out dish…"
On the second tier, the Sakuragi Squad turned to stone.
After a few seconds, Takamiya finally croaked,
"W-wait… that was Hanamichi's pass?"
"And it was… good?" Noma added.
Only Mito Yohei stared thoughtfully at the red-haired figure, a slow smile forming.
"This guy… really does have basketball talent. No wonder Coach Taoka scouted him so aggressively."
On the sideline, Akagi Haruko covered her mouth, eyes wide.
She looked at the still-swaying rim—then at the red-haired boy retreating on defense.
"Th-that was amazing…"
Coach Anzai adjusted his glasses, light glinting behind the lenses.
He lifted his teacup, took a sip, and murmured,
"Ho ho ho… using strength to overpower Rukawa, drawing the double, then kicking it out… interesting."
On the court, Rukawa's face darkened.
Being bullied into the paint and turned into the background for a highlight assist—
for someone as proud as him, it was sheer humiliation.
Shohoku's possession.
Rukawa sprinted to the frontcourt and, for once, demanded the ball.
His gaze was icy, locked onto Sakuragi.
I'm taking it back.
Yasuda hesitated—but passed.
Rukawa caught it beyond the arc, facing Sakuragi.
He dribbled.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Between the legs.
Behind the back.
Pull back.
A flawless chain of fakes—
shoulder feints, weight shifts, eye deception—every detail near perfect.
This was his signature opener.
He'd shaken countless defenders with it.
But Sakuragi didn't move.
Not an inch.
Feet nailed to the floor, eyes locked on Rukawa's chest—not the ball, but his center of gravity.
Those flashy moves looked like slow motion to him.
Rukawa frowned and changed tactics.
He suddenly accelerated right, stopped, crossed back, accelerated again—
Sakuragi stayed with him.
Every step.
Perfect lateral slides.
Always half an arm's length away—
close enough to contest, far enough to avoid being beaten.
Rukawa tried to back him down—
and instantly regretted it.
It felt like slamming into a concrete wall.
"This guy…" he snarled.
Time was ticking.
"Rukawa! Watch the clock!" Ayako shouted.
Five seconds.
Rukawa glanced at the rim, grit his teeth, stepped back, and jumped—
A forced, ultra-deep three.
But the instant he rose, Sakuragi moved.
Not jumping with him—
waiting until Rukawa reached his peak, the ball about to leave his hands—
then exploding upward.
Late—but first.
"SMACK!"
A brutal block.
The ball was swatted away, spinning into the stands.
The gym fell silent.
Then the Ryonan bench exploded.
Sendoh clapped, laughing. "Yes! That's it—that feeling!"
He had no idea how many times Sakuragi had blocked him in practice.
Every forced shot—swatted away, late but deadly.
That frustration—
now someone else finally felt it.
Seeing Rukawa get stuffed was pure bliss.
Like chugging an ice-cold cola on a scorching day.
"Turnabout is fair play! Hahaha!"
Sendoh leaned back, grinning like a cat that stole fish.
On the court, Rukawa stared at his hand—then at Sakuragi—disbelief flooding his eyes.
I… got blocked?
And not just blocked—
a late, chase-down rejection?
Yasuda grabbed the loose ball and panicked, tossing it to Akagi inside.
Akagi posted Uozumi.
Once.
Twice.
Spin.
Jump.
Just as the ball left his hand—
a red-and-white blur shot upward beside him.
Sakuragi Hanamichi.
After blocking Rukawa, he hadn't hesitated—
landing and sprinting straight into the paint.
Now he soared, arms fully extended.
"SMACK!"
Another block.
This time the ball dropped into the lane.
Kakuta and Ikegami lunged at it together—it was knocked out of bounds.
The whistle blew.
Ryonan ball.
Shohoku's bench was dead silent.
Ayako stood with her mouth open.
The others stared at one another, all thinking the same thing:
What… is this monster?
He jumps that high—and he's that fast?
Blocks Rukawa, then instantly rotates inside to block Akagi?
Coach Anzai set down his teacup, fingers interlaced over his belly.
His eyes were fully open now.
"Oho ho…"
His trademark chuckle carried none of its usual gentleness—
only the thrill of discovering treasure.
"Taoka, Taoka… where did you dig up this gem?"