During a Nittaidai training camp, Endo once said to Nango,
"You seem to know a little bit of every offensive move, but have you ever thought about mastering just one or two of them to perfection?"
Nango tilted his head, half-understanding. "Senior, what do you mean?"
Endo's expression turned serious.
"A person's energy is limited. You need to choose one or two killer moves that suit your own body and style—scoring methods refined through countless repetitions. You don't need to know everything; you just need to make those one or two moves unstoppable."
Back then, Nango did have such a move—but he hadn't used it in a long time: his once-proud fadeaway jump shot.
In his previous life, that move had been born out of necessity—because he wasn't tall enough. But in this life, with his superior physique, he rarely needed to avoid defenders with a retreating shot.
So he created a new killer move—Maki's signature drive.
Of course, he couldn't replicate Maki's near 100% success rate, but his version had its own edge: he could not only score but also draw fouls. That alone was enough for now.
And his growth at Nittaidai didn't stop there.
Another veteran player, Hyuga Yuichi, had also taught him much—concepts that Nango understood in theory but still needed time to internalize. His next level wouldn't come from the body, but from understanding.
Replacing Aoba Yoshi was Kuroda Kantaro, a 186 cm substitute weighing 91 kg—a compact, sturdy interior player.
After Nango sank both free throws, his personal tally reached 11 points. He smiled confidently, his trademark expression returning.
"Kid, don't think you've won just yet."
Moroboshi turned toward his teammate.
"Egawa, keep a close eye on that No. 13. Don't let him get inside so easily, got it?"
Egawa nodded awkwardly. "Yeah… I was careless just now. It won't happen again."
He knew full well that Aoba's early foul trouble had stemmed from his defensive mistake.
Moroboshi nodded slightly, dribbling forward with focus.
With Aoba out, Akagi's going to dominate inside. We'll need to score even more to stay ahead.
With that in mind, he picked up speed—but Rukawa Kaede stuck to him like glue.
Unable to shake him, Moroboshi stopped, dribbling between his legs repeatedly to find a rhythm.
Kuroda stepped up to set a screen, but Moroboshi waved him off with a glance.
He wanted to take this shot himself.
With a burst of acceleration and a series of rhythm shifts, he cut past Rukawa, two quick dribbles—then a sudden stop and another surge forward.
Rukawa's balance faltered, and Moroboshi slipped through, charging into the paint.
"Hmph! I knew that Stinky Fox was unreliable!"
Sakuragi grumbled, moving in to help.
But Kuroda blocked him firmly, planting himself like an immovable wall.
"Damn it! Move it, you rock-headed oaf!" Sakuragi barked, but Kuroda remained silent—focused, steady, unflinching.
Akagi stayed back, wary of leaving Amamiya open. He waited until Moroboshi got closer before preparing to jump.
But Moroboshi, reading his hesitation, pulled up for a mid-range jumper—clean, precise, unstoppable.
"Kuroda! Nice screen!" Moroboshi praised, pumping a fist.
Kuroda simply nodded, expression calm. He was a quiet workhorse—steady and dependable.
On the next possession, Nango took the ball upcourt. Egawa, still reeling from earlier, glued himself to Nango's every movement.
Glancing toward the paint, Nango quickly read the situation. Kuroda's height and wingspan weren't impressive, and his defensive range was limited.
Attacking inside is still the best option.
Nango began dribbling between his legs, closing in on Egawa.
With a shoulder feint and a quick bounce to his right hand, he pretended to break left—then instantly switched and exploded to Egawa's right.
"Oh no!"
Egawa cursed under his breath. He had just promised to lock Nango down—and got burned again.
Sweat trickled down his temple as Nango cut inside. Kuroda's footwork was slow, and Amamiya stepped up to help—but his lateral speed wasn't fast either.
Just as Amamiya extended his arms to contest, Nango bounced the ball to Akagi—who rose and slammed it in with both hands.
"Boom!"
In the stands, Maki smiled, arms crossed.
"Nango's dribbling looks freer than before. His confidence is through the roof. The kid's improvement speed is insane."
He was right—Nango's tighter control from before had been a sign of insecurity. Now, his reflexes and coordination had leveled up enough for him to play naturally and creatively.
Coach Kouzu, on the other hand, analyzed from a tactical perspective.
"Nango made the perfect call. Without Aoba's interior rotation, Shohoku's spacing has opened up. Their rhythm is shifting."
Moroboshi frowned. Egawa can't hold him. If this keeps up, Shohoku will overtake us before halftime.
To prevent that, he decided to take on the scoring responsibility himself.
Receiving the inbound pass, Moroboshi pushed straight upcourt. With a deceptive glance, he tricked Rukawa and nailed another pull-up jumper. His shooting touch was still hot.
But he wasn't the only one on fire.
Nango faced Egawa once again. This time, Egawa gave him more space—afraid of another drive.
A mistake.
Nango took one glance at the rim, rose, and fired a three-pointer—turning away immediately without even watching.
Egawa held his breath. Don't go in… please don't go in!
Swish!
No such luck.
The crowd began buzzing.
"Is Shohoku's No. 13 really a first-year rookie? How many has he made already?"
"Who cares? He's just hot right now," someone scoffed.
But another fan shot back, "So what, you think Moroboshi's just 'hot' too?"
Either way, one thing was clear—Nango Koichiro had everyone's attention.
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