When it was announced that the practice match would pit the first-years against the upperclassmen, Nango glanced at Akagi and Kogure on the opposing side, then turned toward Rukawa Kaede beside him—and Sakuragi, who was restless on the sidelines.
Originally, Nango had planned to take it easy, not wanting to embarrass his seniors.
But the sudden appearance of a system task changed everything. Now, he had no choice but to go all out.
As he warmed up, he calculated quickly: even if he couldn't completely shut down Akagi, he could at least go toe-to-toe with him. And no one among the upperclassmen could contain Rukawa. Freshman or not, Rukawa was already on another level. His stamina might not be perfect, but he was still a powerful weapon. Looking at it this way, the first-years already held the advantage.
Taking a deep breath, Nango stepped into the center circle, facing Akagi head-on.
The whistle blew. The ball went up. Both men leaped—Nango got there first.
"Captain Akagi lost the tip-off?" Yasuda's eyes went wide.
"Nango's vertical is insane…" Kogure muttered, breaking into a cold sweat.
"There's a five-centimeter height difference, but Nango still won the jump!" Ayako exclaimed. "His vertical leap is incredible. With more time, he'll be a huge asset to the team!"
"Hmph, that's nothing!" Sakuragi scoffed, instantly jealous at the attention.
The ball fell into Kuwata's hands. He dribbled it forward, then passed it to Nango, who had already set up in the post.
All eyes in the gym locked on the showdown—Nango versus Akagi. Anticipation, disdain, curiosity, even schadenfreude filled the air.
Nango stayed calm. With his back to the basket, he leaned into Akagi, feeling the captain's defense.
Akagi spread his arms wide, his massive chest pressing forward, trying to suffocate Nango's space. His strength was overwhelming—but Nango didn't plan to brute force it.
Using his left foot as a pivot, he spun lightning-fast toward the paint. Akagi, caught off guard, shuffled late. Nango lowered his center of gravity, slipped under the rim, and finished with a smooth reverse layup before Akagi could even react. Two points—just like that.
Coach Anzai's eyes gleamed. This kid's fundamentals are excellent.
"Brother…?" Haruko gasped. She had watched countless of Akagi's games, but she had never seen anyone score on him so cleanly—not even Uozumi, Kanagawa's top center. For a brand-new freshman to do it? Unbelievable.
The crowd was stunned. Nango's size said "center," but his quickness and flexibility were on par with guards.
The upperclassmen responded quickly, forcing the ball to Akagi. With his sheer power and size, he bulldozed his way to a basket over Nango, restoring balance to the match.
Everyone exhaled in relief. Maybe things weren't so simple after all. In their minds, centers won with muscle, not speed. And against someone like Akagi, Nango's agility would eventually be neutralized.
But Nango wasn't finished. After handing the ball off to Kuwata, he didn't head straight inside. Instead, he stopped and asked, "Kuwata, let me handle it."
Kuwata blinked, confused, but passed the ball over. "Uh… sure." Is Nango trying to hog the ball?
The gym buzzed with whispers as the 193 cm freshman began dribbling like a guard.
Anzai stroked his mustache, intrigued. Let's see what you've got, kid.
Sakuragi frowned. "Why's everyone so shocked? It's just dribbling! I can do that too!"
"Idiot!" Ayako snapped. "From guard to forward to center, the players get taller. Someone Nango's size usually plays inside, but he's out here running point! That means he's either ridiculously skilled… or ridiculously arrogant." She narrowed her eyes. I'm betting on the first.
Yasuda, facing Nango at the three-point line, smirked. This rookie's underestimating high school basketball. Time to teach him a lesson.
He lunged for a steal—But Nango calmly switched the ball behind his back, stepped forward, and rose for a smooth jumper just inside the arc. The ball swished through.
"Damn it…" Yasuda gritted his teeth.
"Nice shot!" gasps echoed from the sidelines. His timing was sharp, his form flawless.
Anzai's smile deepened. A big man with refined guard skills… what a treasure.
Back on defense, Nango shadowed Yasuda relentlessly. Arms outstretched, wingspan covering every angle, he cut off passing lanes like a spider spinning its web.
Yasuda's vision shrank under the pressure. He hesitated, swayed left, swayed right, but found no opening.
"Yasuda, here!" Kogure called, trying to relieve him.
Desperate, Yasuda tried to pass—only for Nango's long arm to snatch the ball clean.
In two powerful strides, Nango was at the rim, laying it in with ease.
The first-years pulled further ahead.