"Yay!" Kano she was the first to react, springing to her feet with both arms raised. For a heartbeat her shout cut through the stunned silence — then the stadium erupted.
"Oh ho ho!!!"
"Did you see that dunk? Incredible!"
"That was the coolest dunk ever!"
Nango's bank-shot dunk had set the crowd ablaze. Even Sannoh's scouts and veterans watched with new interest.
Matsumoto wiped his brow and asked, half-joking, half-awed, "Sawakita, could you do that?"
Sawakita considered it and admitted, "Maybe… but I never thought of it like that. That kid's something else."
Fukatsu fell silent, his attention fixed on Nango. The dunk hadn't changed the hierarchy of the tournament — Sannoh was still Sannoh — but it had announced that Shohoku had a dangerous, unpredictable weapon.
Nango landed, fixed Morishige Hiroshi with a cold look, then hustled back on defense.
Morishige's faint smile returned. He looked intrigued. Coach Murai barked, "Hiroshi! Don't be baited!" but the smile remained. You could see he wanted to respond — and he did.
Hayama streaked downcourt and lobbed to Morishige. This time Fatty exploded: elbowed space, spun through contact, and rose for a two-handed dunk that shook the rim. The roar for Meihou rose like thunder.
Nango's feat had been spectacular — Fatty's reply was even louder. Their shared grin as they passed each other said everything: both had taken notice.
Nango grabbed the ball at the arc and probed again. Kawashima moved up to help, but Morishige held him back with one big hand: "Let me handle this." The two monsters sized each other up.
Mikoshiba, unfamiliar with Nango, squeaked, "He's going to try to dunk over him, right?"
Kiyota leaned forward, fingers white on the rail. "They're facing off!"
They closed; Nango collected and soared. Fatty met him midair.
The collision robbed Nango's momentum. Morishige's torso rocked back from the impact, but he adjusted instantly and lashed at the ball. Nango had to heave it up instinctively — it missed.
The rebound drifted; Kawashima was first to react and secured it. Sakuragi, outraged, barked at Akagi who'd been distracted and missed boxing out. "Gorilla?" he snapped.
Akagi shook himself and refocused, but the exchange left everyone breathless. Nango's audacity had paid off in spectacle, even if the basket didn't. More importantly, it had provoked Fatty — and Fatty didn't like being provoked.
Akagi felt the pressure more than anyone. He had worried about Morishige all night; now he was living that fear. Every time he tried to pin Morishige back, the freshman's raw power and body control pushed Akagi off balance.
"He's something else," Akagi breathed.
Morishige, for his part, registered an unfamiliar ache across his chest after the midair smash. He'd never felt that contact quite like it; it piqued his curiosity. He answered Nango's challenge not with words but with effort. He wanted to see how far this kid could be pushed.
Coach Murai watched, annoyed and impressed in equal measure. He'd warned Morishige not to fall into fouls, but now that the freshman had tried to dunk straight over him, Murai muttered, "This isn't ideal — but handle it."
Morishige adjusted his approach. His face-up moves lacked the polish of his post game, but he could bully his way to the rim. After a series of fakes he drove baseline, used his mass to shove Akagi aside, and finished with a strong layup. The scoreboard and the momentum crept back toward Meihou.
Shohoku's bench watched Akagi's struggles in silent worry. Their captain, the team's pillar, looked smaller under Morishige's shadow. If the freshman controlled the paint, Shohoku's chances dimmed fast.
And yet — and yet — there was pride too. Sakuragi's anger had not cooled; Nango's gamble had announced Shohoku's refusal to yield. The crowd felt it: this game wasn't going to be a simple walkover. Two monsters were testing each other, and the tournament had just gotten a lot more interesting.