Nango wasn't observing anyone this time.
This was his showdown with Mike Okita — his first real confrontation against a player of American caliber.
There would be no passes this time. Only makes or misses.
Under the basket, Mike locked onto Nango's every movement. From the look in Nango's eyes, he knew — there was no way this guy was passing.
Fine then… come at me!
In the vast stadium, with thousands watching, only each other existed in their eyes.
Kano frowned. She believed in Nango's strength and had seen how hard he worked, but… Mike had trained in America. That fact alone made her nervous.
She clasped her hands tightly. Please… let him score. Let him win!
Nango charged forward, but just past the free-throw line, he abruptly slowed down. His dribbling posture became unpredictable — shifting between left and right, hiding his true intent.
If Mike got beaten in a one-on-one, it would be humiliating.
He didn't dare relax for even a second, his feet and upper body mirroring Nango's faint movements.
Two steps apart—
Nango's left foot feinted to the left, his upper body following. Mike immediately bit the bait—yet failed to notice that Nango's left toe was pointing inward.
Mike prepared to jump, smirking inwardly. There's no more space left. He's got to shoot!
But in the next instant, Nango's right foot stepped out, and Mike's expression turned blank.
He watched, stunned, as Nango brushed past him like wind. By the time Mike turned his head, Nango had already leapt and scored with a smooth layup.
"Mike?" Eri's jaw dropped. "Why did you just let him pass?!"
The spectators were equally baffled. They'd only seen Nango take one step left and one step right — and suddenly, Mike was frozen like a wooden statue.
"Oh?"
Coach Anzai's eyes widened slightly. That footwork—
He recognized it. It was a move he hadn't seen in years. And for a local player to pull it off? Unbelievable. Nango never failed to surprise him.
Sakuragi tilted his head. "Is the foreigner stupid? Why'd he just stand there?"
"Idiot."
"What did you say?!"
Rukawa ignored him. Even if he explained, Sakuragi wouldn't understand.
Truthfully, Rukawa wasn't entirely sure either. He'd only caught it from behind. To fully grasp it, he'd need to see it from the front once more. Still, irritation flickered in his chest. So this guy was holding back during our one-on-one, huh?
Kano exhaled in relief. Thank goodness…
Mike, however, was fuming. He replayed the move in his head but couldn't figure it out. Finally, he shook his head and barked, "Ebina! Give me the ball!"
He was done watching. After being toyed with twice in a row, he was ready to take control himself.
As Mike dribbled up the court, Rukawa shadowed him, waiting for an opening. But Mike's handle was solid — his dribble high but powerful, the ball rebounding too fast for Rukawa to steal.
He's as tall as me, but not as strong… yet his control is better.
I need more training with Ganon on this.
Meanwhile, Nango had no pressure guarding Ebina. He took the chance to study Mike's movements carefully.
He didn't really know what "American high school level" meant. But if Mike had caught NBA attention, then this was his benchmark.
Crossing half-court, Mike bent low in an attacking stance. Dribbling with his right hand, he lifted his right leg slightly — then, as it landed, he crossed over to his left.
Rukawa reacted instantly, sliding to cut him off, but Mike's second crossover was even sharper, creating space for a drive.
Damn it!
Getting tricked by the same move twice made Rukawa grit his teeth. Mike was exploiting his slow turn speed.
"Foreigner, you wish!"
This time, Sakuragi rotated over in time, positioning himself near the free-throw line. Behind him, Totsuka called for the ball, waving both hands. But Mike didn't even glance his way.
One step from Sakuragi — Mike abruptly stopped and rose. Sakuragi bit on the fake, lunging forward.
Damn it! A fake!
By the time he realized it, Mike had already driven again. Only Akagi remained under the rim.
Here he comes!
Akagi's muscles tensed. He wanted to see what made this guy from America so special.
Both jumped at the same time. Akagi reached as far as he could — but Mike, holding the ball with both hands, twisted midair, gliding horizontally to avoid the block. His long arms extended, and the ball kissed the backboard before dropping in.
"Hmph, that's more like it," Eri said, satisfied.
Mike landed and looked at Nango smugly. But Nango merely returned a calm, indifferent glance.
If that's all you've got, Mike Okita, then you'll disappoint me.
He wasn't a masochist, but he wanted Mike to go all out — to push him, dominate him if needed. Because only through that could he grow stronger.
He and Rukawa shared the same hunger: to see the gap, then surpass it.
As soon as Nango crossed half-court, Mike was there, pressing up tight.
"Aren't you going to let your point guard handle me?" Nango taunted.
"Shut up. Your showtime's over."
Mike's eyes were cold. He was going to lock Nango down — personally.
Nango smirked. "Oh? Just you?"
Mike frowned. This guy was too arrogant. "You'll find out soon enough."
"Just what I wanted."
The next moment, Nango drove forward, backing Mike down to the three-point line before suddenly facing the basket and accelerating. Mike's footwork was sharp; he matched Nango step for step.
But Nango didn't flinch. If it were that easy, Mike wouldn't have NBA scouts watching him.
Trying to use my own move against me? Mike sneered inwardly.
Then his grin froze.
Nango hadn't turned at all — it was a half-turn feint!
Mike had already shifted to block the spin, leaving his defense wide open.
Nango burst past him. "Stop him!" Mike shouted as Nango barreled toward the paint.
Nadaka Hikaru stepped in for help defense. Nango slowed slightly, eyes flicking up toward Akagi. Nadaka raised his arms, trying to block the passing lane — but Nango suddenly exploded again, flashing past him.
Then, with one last stride, he rose over Totsuka and slammed the ball down with one hand.
The crowd erupted.
As Nango brushed past Mike, he murmured coldly, "The show has just begun."
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