The interview wrapped up quickly.
Mari's questions weren't particularly difficult—just the usual surface-level stuff. But as the news club packed up, satisfied with themselves, something unexpected happened.
Rukawa Kaede finished his warm-up, ball in hand. He walked straight over to Nango.
"One-on-one."
Nango blinked. That look… he's serious.
Rukawa was always cold, but this time there wasn't the slightest trace of warmth in his eyes.
Everyone else stopped to stare.
"Rukawa…?" Haruko whispered, confused.
Sakuragi tilted his head. "Huh? Is the Fox jealous or something?"
"Idiot," Miyagi hissed, sweat dripping down his temple. "He means it."
"Seriously, you're terrible at reading the room," Mitsui muttered.
Kogure adjusted his glasses nervously, unsure if he should step in.
Akagi, however, barked, "Why are you all standing around? Keep practicing!"
The team reluctantly obeyed, though every eye still drifted toward the two.
Akagi clenched his jaw. He knew nothing could stop this now. Damn it, Rukawa. Why pick such a time…
Nango hesitated. He worried the result might crush Rukawa. But then he lifted his head, resolve hardening.
"Bring it on."
Mari's eyes sparkled. "Quick, keep the camera on them! MVP versus Rookie of the Year—this is front-page material!"
"Already rolling!" the cameraman answered.
The two players walked to an open court.
"One game to 21," Nango asked. "That fine?"
Rukawa said nothing—just tossed him the ball. First possession.
The moment Nango caught it, Rukawa was on him like a shadow. In one-on-one, there were no screens, no help defense—just speed, reaction, and instinct.
That was Rukawa's plan: smother him.
Months ago, it might've worked. But Nango's agility had grown beyond the ordinary.
He shifted, bouncing the ball through his legs, probing with his right foot, forcing Rukawa to twitch just slightly—then exploded left.
There!
Rukawa anticipated, but Nango's size and left-hand dribble gave him no chance to reach in. They barreled to the rim, Nango spun his body, switched to his right, and flicked a hook shot clean through.
2–0.
The crowd murmured, but Nango didn't smile or taunt. The air was too heavy for that.
Tch. This guy… really is strong. Rukawa's teeth clenched. Nango's blend of power and quickness gave him no opening. It wasn't flashy, but it was brutally effective.
Possession stayed with Nango. Again he probed. Again he drove. This time, Rukawa lunged for a steal.
Too naive.
Nango instantly switched hands, sent the ball through his legs, and cut the other way. By the time Rukawa recovered, Nango was already laying it in.
4–0.
"Rukawa's in trouble!" someone whispered.
"Idiot, it's only two baskets. He'll adjust."
"But Nango hasn't even gone to his post moves yet…"
Miyagi bit his lip. "If Rukawa doesn't score soon, it's over."
Mitsui folded his arms. "Problem is, how? Once Nango's inside, he's unstoppable."
Rukawa knew it too. Still, he refused to back down. I started this. I'll see it through.
Meanwhile, Nango's mind turned. He just wants to measure the gap… to figure out his next step.
Rukawa had once believed they were equals—maybe that he was stronger. But lately, he could feel the distance widening, no matter how hard he trained.
He needed to know how big that gap was.
Nango's next shot clanked off the rim.
"Now's your chance, Rukawa!" Miyagi shouted.
"Yeah, if he can actually score," Mitsui muttered.
Ball in hand, Rukawa bent low, foot jabbing out, mimicking Nango's probing stance.
But Nango didn't budge. He stood calm, eyes fixed, waiting.
So, you think I won't shoot from outside?
For a second, Rukawa was tempted to pull up a three just to spite him. But this wasn't about ego—it was about answers.
Fine. If you won't move, I'll force you.
He drove hard from his favored right side.
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