There, Uozumi Jun, like an iron tower, cut in from the paint!
No one expected that pass.
Uozumi's footwork was as solid as a rock when he received the ball. Years of training and muscle memory meant he didn't need any extra adjustments. He leaped up forcefully—though not with Sakuragi's exaggerated spring, his 2.02-meter height combined with his long arms was enough to create absolute dominance in the paint. He gripped the basketball with his right hand and slammed it fiercely towards the rim!
"Bang!" Another thunderous dunk!
Uozumi landed heavily on the floor. Gu Jin nodded at him, and the moment they high-fived, the scoreboard read 41:27.
Uozumi, for once, showed a hint of excitement, gruffly shouted "Good shot," and turned to hustle back to his defensive position.
Daiei Academy's players hadn't even found their footing, and Ryonan's defense was already tightening again.
Tamaki Otoko had just received the ball beyond the three-point line when Sendo's defense was like a shadow, forcing him to make a hurried pass.
Gu Jin, quick-eyed and quick-handed, intercepted the pass mid-air and immediately launched a fast break.
This time, Tsuchiya Jun himself stepped up to meet him. He lowered his center of gravity, his eyes filled with unprecedented seriousness.
Gu Jin dribbled in front of him, then suddenly executed a behind-the-back dribble, feinting his body to the left—just as Tsuchiya Jun was about to move, Gu Jin used the momentum from the behind-the-back dribble, pulled the ball back to his right side with his right hand, and simultaneously stepped forward half a pace with his left foot. He actually used a variation of the Kash Step to directly blow past Tsuchiya Jun's defense!
"How is that possible?" Tsuchiya Jun lost his balance from the speed of the step, watching helplessly as Gu Jin drove into the paint.
Ben Wallace didn't give Uozumi a chance this time, immediately abandoning his box-out to help defend. But Gu Jin didn't look for a teammate at all—he leaped high, challenging Ben Wallace's block, confronting the 196-centimeter center in the air. He held the ball with his right hand, made a circle above his head, then suddenly switched to his left hand from behind, and with a light flick of his fingertips.
The basketball grazed the top of the backboard and dropped into the hoop.
43:27.
Taoka Moichi on the sidelines was too excited to speak, merely pumping his fists vigorously.
Chairman Shenmu in the stands nodded slightly and said to Assistant Oda beside him, "You see, a player like this is worth all our expectations."
As Gu Jin landed, he looked towards Daiei Academy's half. Tsuchiya Jun was bent over, holding his knees, sweat dripping from his chin—that earlier remark, "The same move can't get past me twice," had now become Ryonan's loudest rallying cry.
In contrast, on Daiei Academy's bench, Head Coach Morita Masanobu's fingers repeatedly rubbed the edge of the tactics board, his knuckles slightly white from the pressure.
The substitute players behind him all had their heads down, no one daring to speak—that last dunk had not only slammed into the hoop but also shattered their confidence as a strong team in the National Tournament.
Morita Masanobu's gaze swept over his panting players on the court, then landed on the glaring 43:27 on the scoreboard, his Adam's apple involuntarily bobbing.
Daiei Academy was a team that had fought its way into the National Tournament by stepping on the strong teams of Kansai. Tsuchiya Jun's versatility, Ben Wallace's dominance—weren't all of these assets lauded by the media?
But now, they were being cornered by this unknown Ryonan team from Kanagawa Prefecture.
Losing wasn't scary.
Who hadn't encountered a formidable opponent in the National Tournament?
But the current situation wasn't just about "losing"; it was about being pinned down and crushed, ground into the dirt... Gu Jin's drives were like a constantly changing knife, Sendo's defense was airtight, and even Uozumi had found a rhythm to counter Ben Wallace in the paint.
If this continued, the point differential would only grow larger.
He recalled what Principal Yamamoto had told him before they left, patting him on the shoulder: "Go see the quality of the Kanagawa teams. It would be best if you could find a way to play against the Hainan Team before the National Tournament. Don't expect to win against Hainan, but don't lose face for our Daiei either."
Morita Masanobu closed his eyes, then snapped them open—to be defeated by Ryonan before even meeting the Hainan Team?
Moreover, if they truly lost this game by a large margin, what face would he, as the head coach, have to return and face the principal's expectations?
"Timeout!" He suddenly stood up, his voice carrying a hint of imperceptible tremor, waving vigorously towards the scorer's table. They had to stop; if Ryonan continued to play like this, let alone their reputation, even their last bit of morale would be shattered.
The referee turned his head at the sound, looked at the timekeeper at the scorer's table, then gently shook his head at Morita Masanobu, making a hand gesture indicating "timeouts exhausted"—Daiei Academy's two timeouts in the first half had already been used up in their earlier attempts to catch up.
"Damn it!"
Morita Masanobu's fist slammed hard against the backboard of the bench, the plastic panel emitting a dull thud. He watched helplessly as Gu Jin once again shook off Yokota beyond the three-point line, raised his hand, and sank a swish three-pointer. The scoreboard jumped to 46:27, the lead about to break 20 points.
"Damn it!!"
His voice suddenly rose, the veins on his forehead throbbing. Tsuchiya Jun was gasping for air, clutching his knees. Ben Wallace was being pushed back repeatedly by Uozumi in the paint. Even the most reliable Tamaki Otoko had missed an open three-pointer under Sendo's tight defense—this national powerhouse team he was so proud of was being torn apart by Ryonan, little by little.
"Damn it!!!"
The last low roar was almost squeezed from between his teeth, a helpless shout.
Morita Masanobu stared intently at the court, his knuckles white from clenching his fists tightly—without a timeout, he couldn't re-strategize their defense;
Without a breather, the players' stamina would drop even faster. He could only stand there, watching Ryonan's firepower, like a bursting flood, slowly engulf Daiei's defense.
With 3 minutes remaining in the first half, Ryonan's offense continued. Gu Jin had just assisted Uekusa for a mid-range shot, and the numbers on the scoreboard changed to 48:27—the lead had now reached 21 points. Were they really going to fall behind by more than 20 points in the first half?
Humiliation, this was simply an utter disgrace!
Morita Masanobu's fingernails were almost digging into his palms.
He knew better than anyone how much regret was hidden within his anger at this moment—before the game, he hadn't taken Ryonan seriously at all, thinking it was just a "crushing exhibition game," and hadn't even bothered to draw up a serious tactics board. Now, reality had slapped him hard in the face.
"Coach, at this point, aren't you going to let me play?"
A low voice came from the end of the bench. The speaker was a burly young man, at least 193 centimeters tall, with broad shoulders and a thick back. Even sitting down, he looked like a black bear poised to strike.
He was Sasaki, a first-year student from Daiei, playing power forward. His rebounding and box-out abilities were extremely strong, but his personality was too stubborn; he never backed down.
Morita Masanobu suddenly turned and glared at him, his teeth grinding, and silently sat back down on the bench chair.
Of course, he knew what Sasaki could do—his physical confrontation was enough to push back Gu Jin, and even Uozumi.
His rebounding could cut off Ryonan's second-chance points, and perhaps he could really curb Ryonan's offense.
But during training last week, Sasaki had challenged him, saying his "tactics were too conservative." He had declared fiercely in front of the whole team: "Daiei never values individual ability. If you don't understand teamwork, you'll always sit on the bench!"
To let him play now? Wouldn't that be admitting he was wrong? Where would his face as head coach go?
Morita Masanobu stared intently at the court, Sasaki's breathing audible beside him, like a silent urging.
And Ryonan's fast break had already launched again. Sendo dribbled, drove, and passed, Koshino Hiroaki received the ball on the baseline, and shot—
"Swish!" The basketball went cleanly through the net.
50:27.
Morita Masanobu's fists clenched even tighter at his sides, blood almost seeping from between his fingers.
