That hateful bastard! Who does he think he is?! I'm going to win this damn game! I'll shut him up!
Mike was utterly humiliated. Anger surged within him as he clenched his fists, glaring at Nango while retreating to defense.
Kano was delighted. Though she didn't dare cheer aloud, she gently snapped her fingers in rhythm, swaying lightly as if enjoying music only she could hear.
Eri caught sight of her from the stands. Seeing the smile on Kano's face made her mood sour instantly.
"Hateful traitor…" she cursed inwardly.
Turning back to the court, she muttered, "I knew he was good at basketball, but I didn't expect him to be this good. Even Mike can't guard him? Damn it…"
It wasn't just Mike and Eri who were in a bad mood—Rukawa Kaede was also irritated. He was supposed to be the one matched up against Mike, both on offense and defense. But now, Mike was guarding Nango, leaving him to deal with the thoroughly beaten Ebina.
Every team is like this… Rukawa thought bitterly. Once again, he felt underestimated. And now, he needed someone to vent his frustration on.
That someone was Mike.
Mike once again took the ball to initiate an attack. This time, Rukawa gave him a little more space, determined not to let him get past with another spin move.
Seeing Rukawa so wary of his breakthrough, Mike's confidence improved slightly. Finally, he thought, a normal opponent. This is the Japanese basketball I remember.
"I can do more than just spin moves, you know," Mike said smugly, beginning a series of flashy, fluid dribbles to find a breakthrough path.
But Mike had underestimated Rukawa Kaede far too much. Rukawa's greatest strength was his man-to-man defense—he didn't flinch at fancy dribbles, not even for a second.
After several failed attempts, Mike realized Rukawa hadn't moved an inch. Left with no choice, he closed the distance and tried to force his way past using speed.
From the sidelines, Nango watched with mild disappointment. A thought crossed his mind—Mike's so-called NBA attention was probably just a gimmick, the same kind of hype the media thrived on.
He's not playing in the top American leagues… probably just a decent athlete who relies on raw physical ability, Nango analyzed. I bet he can't even shoot properly.
With that conclusion, Nango's enthusiasm for the game faded, though he decided to treat it as practice.
Mike struggled but couldn't shake off Rukawa. As the shot clock ticked down, he was forced to take a desperate mid-range jumper.
Clang! The basketball bounced off the rim. Sakuragi leaped up and grabbed the rebound cleanly.
Before Mike could even feel frustrated, Sakuragi landed and immediately passed the ball to Nango. Rukawa was already sprinting toward the frontcourt, with Mike chasing at full speed.
Nango calculated the timing, then launched a powerful full-court pass. The ball soared across half the court, landing perfectly in front of Rukawa, who caught it mid-stride with Mike right on his heels.
One-on-one in the open court—exactly what Rukawa wanted. He gauged Mike's position with his peripheral vision, sensing that Mike would try to block him from the side.
If it had been Nango, he would've slowed down, leaned into Mike with his right arm, then gone for a smooth left-hand layup.
But this was Rukawa Kaede.
He didn't slow down at all—he kept sprinting full speed toward the rim and took off from just inside the free-throw line.
Rukawa jumped high. Mike jumped higher. From behind, Mike could clearly see Rukawa raising the ball with both hands.
Seizing the chance, Mike swung his right arm to block. But at the last second, Rukawa pulled the ball back—and then dunked it straight through.
Slam!
To Mike, the sound of that dunk was like a slap to the face.
He froze, disbelief washing over him. Are Japanese high schoolers this strong? First that number 13, now this number 11. Who actually came back from America here?
"Oh my god! Did that number 11 just dunk over Mike?!"
"He's amazing!"
"His jump was insane—he actually pulled the ball back before dunking!"
The stands erupted, buzzing with excitement as the crowd replayed the dunk in their minds.
"Damn it… do these guys even realize they're opponents? So noisy!" Eri fumed. The basketball club she had worked so hard to build was being dismantled before her eyes—and that dunk was the final insult. She could still remember the moment Rukawa had rejected her.
"Rukawa Kaede! I love you!!" his fan club screamed from the stands. Their loyalty—and network—were as ridiculous as ever.
Akagi looked at the scoreboard, thoughtful.
"Although the score difference isn't huge yet, those three completely control the pace of the game. If Mike Okita keeps this up, this match won't have any suspense."
Most of the audience shared his thoughts—Mike was Ryokufu's only hope for a comeback. But burdened by expectations, he only played worse.
Shohoku seized the chance to widen the gap. When the scoreboard read 22–8, Eri's expression turned grim. She gritted her teeth, seething.
"So useless… to be humiliated like this!"
Coach Ofune tried to console her. "They've tried their best. Shohoku is, after all, this year's champion. They're in top form right now—it's still too early to challenge them."
Eri snapped, "And whose fault is that? They were said to be the best players gathered from all over the country, yet this is how they play?! Pathetic! Coach Ofune, prepare to send in the Tsurumi Brothers."
"But… isn't that a bit early?" he asked hesitantly.
The Tsurumi Brothers were Ryokufu's secret weapon—their ultimate trump card. Eri's decision meant she was going all in.
"If we wait any longer, they'll lead by thirty," she said coldly.
"…Understood." Seeing that her mind was made up, Coach Ofune rose to make the change.
Beep!
"Ryokufu requests a timeout!"
Ryokufu's starters trudged to the bench like zombies—utterly deflated. They had been thoroughly outplayed.
Coach Ofune tried to rally them. "Totsuka, Ebina, take a rest. The Tsurumi Brothers will go in and tighten the defense."
The two nodded weakly, barely responsive.
"This can't go on…" the coach muttered, then spoke louder. "The game isn't over yet! Cheer up. Even if we lose, it's not the end of the world. The other team is the prefectural champion. Treat this as a learning opportunity—"
Before he could finish, Mike cut him off sharply.
"Learn from them? Did I come back from America just to learn from them?"
The room fell silent.
Mike's glare hardened. "Find a way to get me the ball. I'll make them look bad."
Nadaka Hikaru sneered. "Get you the ball? Haven't you had it enough already? How many shots have you missed?"
Mike slammed his hand on the bench and stood up. "What did you say?!"
Nadaka rose too, locking eyes with him. "I said you can't make a shot. Give me the ball instead. Let me deal with Akagi and open up the game."
"Exactly," Katsumi Ichiro joined in, standing up as well. "Why should all the plays go through you?"
And just like that, Ryokufu's three main players—who were supposed to lead the comeback—started arguing among themselves.
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