Tsukubu's Bench
Kawasaki Kazumi watched his players walk off the court one after another, his voice cheerful but tinged with concern.
"We need to adjust our offensive rhythm. Godai… try to recover as much stamina as you can. You've burned through too much already."
Godai Tomokazu leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Sweat dripped from his fringe.
"I understand," he said, his voice hoarse.
The relentless running and shooting had taken their toll. His stamina consumption had far exceeded expectations.
The first half wasn't even over, yet his calves already felt heavy. If he kept pushing like this, he wouldn't make it through the second half.
Kawasaki picked up the tactics board and began sketching quickly, his tone turning serious.
"Don't let the score fool you. It might look like we're neck and neck with Ryonan, but your fatigue is starting to show."
He pointed at several arrows on the board.
"Especially on the perimeter — your runs were half a beat slower in the last few possessions. If we keep playing like this, once Ryonan fully adapts to our rhythm, they'll pull ahead."
The Tsukubu players exchanged confused looks.
Nango Koichiro was the first to speak up, frowning.
"Coach, why do you say they'll pull ahead? I think Ryonan's strength is about the same as ours. There's nothing to be afraid of — it's still anyone's game!"
Kawasaki didn't get angry. He simply smiled and replied calmly, "Do you really think this is Ryonan's true strength?"
Nango blinked. "Isn't it?"
Kawasaki gestured toward Ryonan's bench.
"Their captain hasn't even played yet," he reminded them. "And…"
His gaze shifted toward Sendo, who was casually sipping water. "Sendo hasn't shown his true strength at all."
The words hit like a splash of cold water.
The Tsukubu players suddenly went silent, the realization sobering them.
They all remembered — the always-smiling Sendoh wasn't nearly as simple as he looked.
Godai frowned deeply. "That's true. Sendo's real strength is much greater than what we've seen today. The dominance he showed last year was on another level."
"We'll talk about that later," Kawasaki interrupted, tapping the tactics board to refocus them.
"Now listen carefully to my plan."
Ryonan's Bench
Ake stood and stepped to the front, his voice calm but firm.
"You've all done well so far. We've figured out most of Tsukubu's playstyle — they won't make many big changes from here."
His gaze shifted to Fukuda Kiccho.
"Fukuda, you're subbing in for Ikegami. The opponents won't get much stronger — they'll rely more on tactics now. I want you to look for backdoor cuts and read the flow of the game. Decide whether to shoot or pass based on the situation, and keep disrupting their rhythm."
Fukuda's eyes lit up. It was finally his turn.
Then Ake turned to Sendoh.
"Sendoh, enough slacking. Let's widen the gap before the first half ends."
Sendoh smiled helplessly and shrugged. "Since the captain insists, I'll do my best."
"Koshino." Ake looked to him next.
"Stick to Godai like glue. Don't give him a second to breathe. Drain his stamina before halftime."
"Understood," Koshino replied immediately.
Finally, Ake turned to Uekusa Tomoyuki.
"Uekusa, their Natsume Hiroshi is about your level skill-wise, but you've got the height advantage. Use it — both on defense and when passing. Control your space, and don't let him get clean passes to Godai."
Uekusa nodded seriously. "Got it."
Ake looked around at everyone.
"Alright — our main goal is to exhaust and shut down their perimeter. Force them inside. Fukuda and Sendo will handle the finishing touches to build our lead."
"Yes, sir!" the players answered in unison.
The game resumes as Tsukubu launches into their next offense — exactly as Ake had predicted.Their focus shifted to the forwards, Mine Kenta and Izumi Takashi.
It was obvious they were trying to give Godai a chance to rest and recover.
"Captain Ake was right," Koshino muttered under his breath as he slid into position, cutting off Godai's path. His arms spread wide, blocking every lane.
Godai looked slightly surprised at the sudden tight defense, but he quickly composed himself, refusing to show panic.
"Captain…" Point guard Natsume Hiroshi's heart tightened when he saw Godai being smothered.
But remembering the coach's orders, he resisted the urge to pass and focused on setting up the forwards instead.
In an instant, Mine and Izumi broke into the paint using a screen.
Natsume flicked his wrist and sent a crisp pass toward them—
—but before the ball reached its target, a blur of motion flashed across the court.
Fukuda Kiccho.
He darted into the lane like a shadow, stretched out his arm, and intercepted the ball cleanly.
"What?!"
Tsukubu's players froze in disbelief. Even Coach Kawasaki's eyes widened in surprise.
They hadn't expected the newly subbed-in Ryonan forward to have such sharp instincts and precise timing.
Without hesitation, Fukuda passed to Sendo, who was already free on the break.
Sendoh caught it and exploded forward — a white streak cutting across the court.
"Get back on defense!" Godai shouted, sprinting back first, his lungs burning.
But it was no use.
Sendoh's dribbling was faster than their full-speed retreat.
He tore through the court, reached the rim, and soared into the air.
CLANG!
The dunk shook the hoop.
"Damn it…" Godai hissed, wiping sweat from his forehead, frustration burning in his chest.
He had wanted to recover, but Koshino's relentless defense left him no chance to breathe.
The game rolled on.
Tsukubu tried to reorganize. Godai ran off a screen, but Koshino was glued to him — chest to chest, arms out, denying him even a second of freedom.
"Here!" Nango Koichiro called out, charging from the paint to receive the ball.
Natsume was about to pass — but out of the corner of his eye, he spotted another flash of white slicing into the lane.
Fukuda again.
He was perfectly positioned to cut off the pass, eyes sharp and alert.
Natsume instantly pulled back, abandoning the pass, and redirected toward the wing.
The ball zipped to Izumi Takashi, who caught it and drove toward the rim at full speed.
He was fast — one of Tsukubu's quickest players — and reached the basket in a heartbeat.
But Fukuda was already there to meet him.
Izumi faked left, trying to shift him — but Fukuda didn't bite. His stance was solid, eyes locked on the ball.
He'd clearly been trained well under Ake.
Izumi hesitated — just for a split second.
And then, a shadow loomed over him.
This is bad.
He quickly stepped back and passed to Mine Kenta on the wing.
The pass looked perfect — until a slender hand appeared from nowhere.
SLAP!
Sendoh's hand.
He intercepted it effortlessly, like a predator snatching prey.
Before Mine or Izumi could react, Sendo spun and broke away, streaking down the court once more.
The crowd gasped as he accelerated — the same blinding speed, the same effortless control.
Tsukubu's defenders tried to catch up, but it was hopeless.
One leap.
One dunk.
CLANG!
The rim shuddered again.
Ryonan scored another two points.
The gym erupted — Ryonan's momentum was now undeniable.