On a small path outside the Tokyo Gymnasium.
The autumn breeze was chilly. The grass was yellowing, the trees shedding, and fallen red leaves drifted about in melancholy.
One large, one small—an older and a younger figure walked side by side, slowly making their way toward the gymnasium.
Leading was the tall and heavy-footed Morishige Hiroshi. Just behind him walked the older, composed Coach Nomoto Reizou.
"Oyaji, we already lost. What's the point of coming here now?" Morishige muttered, head lowered, voice awkward. His brows hinted at a resistance to facing reality.
As he spoke, his eyes drifted to the side. It looked like he was trying to avoid something.
Ever since he got pantsed by Sakuragi Hanamichi during the nationals, that humiliating, awkward moment had been burned deep into his memory.
Since then, he'd developed a strange aversion to that Kanagawa crew. A little fear, even.
Nomoto didn't catch the expression on Morishige's face. He explained calmly like always, "We only lost for now. There are still two more years to face them on the same court. If you don't want to lose again, you first need to find their weaknesses."
His tone was mild, but carried the steady conviction of a veteran coach.
Morishige pouted, looking annoyed and muttering, "Can't you just watch it by yourself? Why drag me into this?"
His voice was low, like he was only saying it to himself. There was clear resistance in his tone, and a childish hint of sulking.
Heh heh…
Nomoto let out a soft laugh. It was deep and gentle, as if he'd already seen right through the younger boy's attitude.
"You're the ace of our team." He paused, his gaze sharpening slightly. "As the ace, of course you need to personally understand your opponents."
Soon, the two stepped through the Tokyo Gymnasium entrance. The echo of their footsteps in the quiet hallway rang out clear.
After passing through a long corridor, they entered the arena where Kanagawa and Akita were playing.
The first thing they saw was the scoreboard hanging above center court. The red score lit up glaringly.
Kanagawa 52 to 48 Akita.
Nomoto's brows furrowed slightly. Surprise crept into his tone. "Only a 4-point difference...? Don't tell me that kid isn't playing?"
He stood on the second floor viewing deck, eyes scanning over both teams' players. His expression grew thoughtful.
Based on his original assessment, Kanagawa should've been the strongest squad of all the representatives.
National champions Shohoku High. National runners-up Kainan High. Then the powerful Ryonan and Shoyo behind them.
Right now, this Kanagawa team was basically a powered-up Shohoku.
Not only did they have a stacked lineup and seamless coordination, but their players had deep tactical understanding and real match experience.
With a team like this going up against the original lineup of Sannoh Kogyo—the same team that got crushed by Shohoku—the outcome should've been decided before the game even began.
But reality said otherwise.
Nomoto stared at the scoreboard again. The number glowed red and harsh.
Kanagawa was only up by 4.
With the first half over, Akita had only fallen behind by 4 points.
The result left him momentarily stunned. His brows unconsciously creased.
Honestly, he hadn't expected things to go like this.
This was a bit outside his expectations.
…
On the Akita bench.
Huff... huff… huff… huff…
Harsh breathing mixed with the roar of the crowd. It was especially loud in this corner of the court.
Sawakita Eiji slumped on the bench, gasping hard like every breath drained all the air from his lungs before forcing more back in.
Sweat from his forehead had already gathered into rivulets, trailing down his temples and dripping onto the floor.
Seeing him like that, his teammates all wore anxious expressions.
Fukatsu Kazunari was the first to approach. He squatted down and asked with concern in his voice, "Sawakita... you sure you're okay? Maybe you should take a break. You're sweating way too much."
As he spoke, he wiped his own brow like he'd gotten nervous just watching him.
Sawakita shook his head slightly. A tired but firm smile lifted at the corner of his mouth. "I'm fine. Really."
He paused. His gaze gradually sharpened. "I think... I'm starting to catch up to Aoi Kunisaku's speed."
Matsumoto Minoru frowned and couldn't hold back. "But the way you look now, there's no way you can keep it up much longer!"
His voice carried urgency, like he could already see what might happen next.
Kawata Masashi echoed him. "Why don't you take a break? Let Ichinokura mark Aoi Kunisaku instead."
It wasn't that they didn't trust Sawakita Eiji's strength. But right now, his condition was honestly worrying.
Still, Sawakita Eiji shook his head again. His tone was firm and left no room for debate. "No need. I've burned a lot of stamina, but…"
He raised his hand and slowly clenched his fist, as if he could feel something pulsing inside. "I can feel it. There's strength building in me. I think I've gotten stronger than before."
Hearing that, everyone around him fell silent. No one said another word.
The air turned heavy for a moment, thick with sweat and breath and something deeper—pressure.
Domoto Goro didn't immediately push back on Sawakita Eiji's words.
He stood nearby, arms crossed, a furrow etched across his brow. There was something conflicted in his eyes.
After a moment, he finally spoke slowly. "If that's how you feel, we'll go with it."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an authority that allowed no argument. "But if I see even a hint of anything off with your condition, I'm pulling you off the court immediately."
Sawakita Eiji nodded. His expression was calm and resolute, like he'd long since accepted whatever outcome may come.
Domoto Goro paused. Then he lifted his chin and looked around at the whole team. His voice turned firm and commanding. "You all did well in the first half. No need to change the strategy for the second. Keep up exactly what you've been doing."
His tone dipped a little lower. "There's just one thing. Watch out for their number 9. He only took two shots in the first half. But just those two opened a 4-point gap."
The players sobered up, the relaxed expressions on their faces disappearing. Every eye turned to the coach.
Domoto Goro's tone grew even more serious. "In the second half, while staying on defense, pay close attention to number 9. Support Sawakita with help defense if needed, but don't make it obvious. Don't let their number 9 sense anything."
Everyone nodded in agreement.
…
Kanagawa bench.
Aoi Kunisaku and the others had just come off the court and were now sitting in silence, catching their breath.
Sweat trickled down their cheeks. Their chests rose and fell, but their eyes glimmered with calm confidence.
Shimizu Kanon and Ayako moved deftly between them, passing towels and water. Their gestures were quiet, careful, and filled with silent support.
Takato Riki stood off to the side. His eyes swept over the team, and a satisfied smile pulled at his lips.
Hands in his pockets, his stance relaxed. It looked like he was completely content with how the first half had gone.
Everything was under control now. There wasn't much left for him to stress over.
But, as the coach, he still had to say what needed to be said.
"You all did great in the first half." His voice was low, but steady.
"But in the second half, the opponent's definitely going to push harder. So we push harder too. Don't give them any chance to fight back. Stretch the lead as much as you can."
As he said it, his voice remained calm. But his eyes were sharp and full of seriousness.
Then his gaze landed on Aoi Kunisaku. There was a note of anticipation in his voice. "Aoi Kunisaku, you'll be our main attacker this half. You good with that?"
In an instant, everyone turned to look at Aoi Kunisaku.
He shrugged casually, a bored expression on his face. "No problem."
He'd already given Sawakita Eiji a full half to catch up.
He'd been holding back the entire first half on purpose.
But if Sawakita still couldn't come up with a proper response after all that, then he wasn't going to wait anymore.
That kind of defense and pressure was barely a warm-up for him.
Seeing Aoi Kunisaku nod, Takato Riki quietly let out a breath of relief.
Even though they were ahead, he'd had a knot in his chest the whole time.
If Aoi Kunisaku didn't go all out, the game could take a turn at any moment.
After all, they were up against the former national champions.
To be honest, even with Kanagawa's loaded roster, even with their advantage on the court, Domoto Goro's team still made him uneasy.
That kind of tight, ironclad teamwork. That suffocatingly precise execution. Even now, Kanagawa couldn't say they could handle it easily.