It was a wide-open chance—too good to pass up.
But there was one problem: Miyagi's three-point shot had never been reliable.
Even after countless hours of practice, his results were mediocre at best. Inside the arc, especially near the free-throw line, he was confident. But this… this was different.
For a moment, he hesitated, torn between driving closer or taking the shot right away.
Then Ayako's voice rang out, clear and encouraging.
That was enough. Miyagi rose slowly into the air, the way he had rehearsed a thousand times in practice. Both hands lifted the ball above his head, releasing it with a soft, practiced flick.
The ball arced high, tracing a perfect rainbow through the air.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Airball.
It didn't even touch the rim, sailing harmlessly out of bounds.
Miyagi clutched his head in disbelief.
"How…? It felt perfect out of my hands!"
Mitsui muttered under his breath, "Yeah… my shots always feel good too. Doesn't mean they all go in."
"Old man! Things are looking bad! Put me in already!" Sakuragi sprang up from the bench, restless as ever.
But the redhead didn't realize that the only one he could replace right now was Miyagi—the same Miyagi who had just embarrassed himself with an airball. Subbing him out at this moment would crush his spirit.
Coach Anzai understood this perfectly. Even if he intended to change the lineup, it wouldn't be now. And more importantly, the old coach still believed in the players currently on the court.
"Sakuragi," he said gently but firmly, "trust your teammates. They will turn this around."
"But—"
"Sit down. Watch carefully."
Though Anzai's voice was calm, there was a hidden weight in it that left Sakuragi no choice but to obey. The hot-headed freshman sat back down, grumbling to himself.
"What's with the old man today…?"
Meanwhile, Coach Taoka smirked from Ryonan's bench. Stroking his beard, he remarked, "Miyagi really did us a favor there."
In the stands, Eri yawned. "What's with Nango? He doesn't look fired up at all."
Kano tilted her head, puzzled. "Yeah, he doesn't seem like himself. Is he tired from yesterday? But that can't be it—he barely played."
Spectators across the gym began to murmur the same thing. With all the hype around this game, how could it live up to expectations if Nango stayed so quiet?
Down on the court, Nango—oblivious to the chatter—patted Miyagi's shoulder.
"Forget it. Stay in rhythm. Don't overthink. Focus on the next defensive stop."
Miyagi nodded, though whether he believed the words or not was another matter.
Ryonan brought the ball back up. Sendo once again lobbed it toward Uozumi near the free-throw line.
Not this again.
Akagi anticipated the play and immediately fronted Uozumi, denying the pass.
"Hmph." Uozumi didn't force it. He cut deeper into the paint instead, slipping away from Akagi. Right on cue, Sendo floated a high lob over the top.
Haruko gasped from the sideline, clasping her hands together.
"Oh no!"
Uozumi gathered the ball and took one hard dribble, ready to power straight up for a dunk. But just as he brought the ball up—
Smack!
Nango struck, ripping the ball away cleanly.
Uozumi's inexperience showed—his dribble left the ball exposed, an easy target for a quick-handed guard.
"Not good!" Sendo shouted, rushing back to cut Nango off before a fast break could start.
But Shohoku didn't rely on just one man to ignite transition plays. Nango whipped the ball ahead with a lightning pass.
And who else but Ryota Miyagi—the "Lightning Flash"—sprinted onto it. He snatched the ball at full speed and finished with a smooth layup.
Shohoku's fast-break weapons were beginning to show.
Ryonan's current lineup, tall and balanced, was built for defensive stability. But without reliable outside shooting, they couldn't widen the gap. Against teams with shooters, their defense struggled to keep up. Against teams with fast guards, their transition defense faltered.
Kainan had fallen victim to those very flaws.
But Shohoku wasn't Kainan. With Mitsui, Rukawa, and even Nango all capable from the perimeter, plus guards who thrived in transition, catching up was only a matter of time. This was why Anzai remained calm—he believed in the game plan.
Still, Coach Taoka wasn't worried.
"There's no need to panic yet. With Miyagi still on the floor, Shohoku's offense can't fully blossom. We'll wait. When Sakuragi comes back in, that's when we'll adjust."
Back on the court, Ryonan once again funneled their attack through Uozumi. At the free-throw line, he commanded the offense, pivoting, faking, passing when he pleased. For the first time, Uozumi seemed to be enjoying himself as a true floor general.
This time, Ikegami set a solid screen for Sendo, freeing him from Rukawa and leaving him matched against Miyagi.
Perfect chance.
Uozumi quickly swung the ball back to Sendo.
"Watch out!" Sugadaira warned from under the rim.
But too late.
Nango exploded forward like a predator striking its prey, intercepting the pass in mid-air. In a flash, he was sprinting downcourt.
From the instant Uozumi received the ball, Nango had been watching, anticipating. He knew Uozumi wouldn't trust Sugadaira in isolation. He knew the blind spot in Uozumi's vision. He knew when the pass would come.
And he was already moving.
Sure enough—steal, breakaway.
Sendo and Rukawa both gave chase, sprinting after him with everything they had.
The crowd roared to its feet.
"It's Nango versus Sendo!"
"Look at that speed!"
"Who's going to come out on top?"
Sendo closed in—just enough that the showdown would come at the rim. He could challenge the shot, but blocking it clean would be tough.
Behind them, Rukawa shadowed the play. If Nango missed, the rookie ace was ready to clean it up.
The gymnasium buzzed with tension.
The moment of truth had arrived.
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