Sakuragi inbounded the ball directly to Nango, and Sawakita immediately closed in, his expression dark with anger. Though he stepped up to guard him, there was still a noticeable gap between the two.
Nango smiled faintly. Of course, he knew why Sawakita was doing this—he was wary of his left hand.
"What are you smiling at?!" Sawakita snapped. "I won't let you get past me this time!"
"If that's the case," Nango replied calmly, "then why are you so angry?"
"Tch—!"
From Nango's perspective, Sawakita had spent the entire game either laughing or raging. Compared to him, even Sakuragi seemed more mature.
Nango's gaze swept across the court, as if checking his teammates' positions, but in reality, his eyes were locked on the rim. At the same time, his hands were ready to "draw his gun" at any moment.
He suddenly lifted his right foot, faking a drive. Sawakita reacted instantly—but in the next heartbeat, Nango pulled the foot back, planted himself firmly, and rose for a pull-up jumper.
Sawakita lunged forward, but he had given too much space. At this distance, the contest was meaningless. It all came down to Nango's touch.
"Swish!"
Nango calmly drained his first three-pointer of the second half—and his fourth of the game.
"You're right," Nango said lightly, not retreating on defense as he waited for Sawakita to receive the ball. "I didn't get past you. But I didn't need to."
"You little brat—just you wait!" Sawakita was so provoked he nearly exploded on the spot.
"Mikio!" Fukatsu barked, stepping in to take the ball himself. "I'll bring it up. Sawakita, get into position!"
"Got it!" Sawakita replied through clenched teeth. Even in his anger, he knew he couldn't keep attacking from the perimeter—or Nango would completely shut him down.
Once inside the three-point line, Sawakita used his back to drive into Nango aggressively. Whether he was trying to post up or simply vent his frustration was hard to tell.
Nango, however, had no intention of fighting him there. He allowed Sawakita to advance straight into the free-throw line area.
A long inch is strong; a short inch is dangerous. The same principle applied on the basketball court.
From this position, Sawakita was closer to the basket—but he also had far less room to accelerate. That gave the defenders under the rim the perfect chance to react.
Moreover, this was played under FIBA rules. There was no defensive three-second violation—defenders could camp in the paint without restriction.
Nango's plan was simple: slow Sawakita's first step as much as possible, then leave the real stopping to Sakuragi and Akagi.
He refused to believe that the three of them together couldn't stop one Sawakita.
Fukatsu delivered the pass effortlessly. The moment Sawakita caught the ball, he turned and squared up, gripping it tightly. His right foot jabbed out, then pulled back—a probing move aimed at testing Nango's defense.
Nango held his ground, inching forward, trying to push Sawakita into another desperate situation like before.
But the instant Sawakita sensed the pressure, he put the ball on the floor. He drove hard—then suddenly slammed on the brakes, fading away into his trademark stop-and-fade jumper.
"Swish!"
Nango could only admire his opponent's composure. His hand was right in Sawakita's face, yet the shot still fell cleanly.
On the next possession, Nango forced his way past Sawakita and Kawata, then lofted a perfect assist over Little Kawata's head to Sakuragi.
But Sannoh responded immediately.
Sawakita went back to isolation, having already deciphered Nango's defense. Against him, hesitation and fakes were meaningless—constant movement was the key.
After receiving Fukatsu's pass, Sawakita turned instantly, put the ball down, and attacked. His explosive first step gave him an immediate edge. Before Nango could recover, Sawakita pulled up and scored.
His mid-range accuracy was terrifying—like a human shooting machine.
Damn it… does he really have to be this accurate?
Getting scored on repeatedly like this made Nango grit his teeth. But against someone with such speed and precision, there was no immediate solution. All he could do was answer back on offense.
Now, Sawakita faced a dilemma of his own.
Guard too close, and Nango would blow past him. Stay too far, and he'd have to gamble on a miss from three.
If it were anyone else, Sawakita might have taken that gamble. But Nango's shooting touch tonight was too hot.
That dilemma didn't last long.
After a crossover, Nango exploded forward with a sharp cross-step, forcing his way inside alongside Sawakita.
Sawakita cursed inwardly.
Is this bastard a bulldozer? Does he never get tired of driving like this?!
In the blink of an eye, they reached Kawata.
Nango suddenly slowed down, extending his off-hand away from the ball, and turned his head toward Akagi in the paint.
A pass?
Kawata instinctively leaned forward, knees bending as he prepared to intercept.
But in the next instant, Nango bent low, re-accelerated, and blew past him.
Only Little Kawata remained.
The moment Mikio saw Nango charging in, his courage failed him. Kawata roared in fury, "Idiot! Stop him!"
On one side was Nango—on the other, his own older brother. Both were sources of fear.
Before Little Kawata could decide, Nango was already airborne.
Mikio jumped instinctively with him.
Boom!
Nango hammered down a one-handed dunk right over him. Fortunately for Sannoh, the referee didn't call the additional foul.
After switching sides, Sawakita struck again, sinking a mid-range shot off Kawata's screen.
Turning back, Nango came down with the ball once more. He used the same setup as before, twisting his neck toward Kawata.
"Still trying to fool me?" Kawata shouted angrily. "I won't fall for it this time!"
"But this time," Nango said with a grin, "I'm serious."
In the next heartbeat, he whipped the ball out to the perimeter.
Waiting there was Mitsui Hisashi—the MVP of his middle school days.
At this critical moment, Matsumoto chose to collapse into the paint, momentarily abandoning his man.
That single mistake was fatal.
Mitsui caught the ball and raised it overhead as his feet landed. His eyes, his shooting hand, and the center of the basket aligned perfectly.
Three points became one straight line.
The ball left his fingertips with a gentle spin.
Mitsui raised his right arm high, slowly clenching his hand into a fist—his signature celebration.
"Swish!"
The crisp sound confirmed it.
87–77.
Another double-digit lead.
With just three minutes left on the clock, the reigning champions, Sannoh Industrial, were being driven to the brink by Shohoku High School, a team making its first-ever appearance at the National Tournament.
Time was running out.