The players of Aiwa Academy sat on the bench, their eyes fixed on Coach Sakaguchi, silently hoping he could provide the solution they desperately needed.
But Coach Sakaguchi was in a bind. He could see the problem clearly—but what could he do? He couldn't just walk over to Coach Anzai and say, "Sir, could you please put that student who looks like a gorilla back in?"
That would sound ridiculous. Anzai would probably just smile and reply, "Hehe."
Scratching his large head, Coach Sakaguchi sighed helplessly. "Let's switch to a 3–2 zone defense first. Aoba, Amamiya, you two will swap positions later."
He turned and pointed toward the court. "Aoba, you take number 13. Do your best to hold him back—but whatever you do, don't foul, understand?"
"Understood!" Aoba nodded firmly.
Finding it tiring to stand, Coach Sakaguchi squatted down, pulled out his tactics board, and began sketching plays. "On offense, don't just stand around waiting for a pass. Cut more—create openings to mess up Shohoku's defense. As long as we can draw a mismatch, we'll get chances to score. It's up to you to make them count."
"Fukuoka," he continued, "try to get some points off number 7. Help Morohoshi relieve some of the pressure."
"Yes, Coach!"
Among the starters, Fukuoka Yuji seemed the most energized. He was no longer facing the 194 cm Nango, but a substitute barely 170 cm tall. This was his chance to step up.
In just a short timeout, Coach Sakaguchi's throat had gone dry from shouting instructions—while across the court, Coach Anzai sat comfortably on the bench, smiling and sipping tea. It really was enough to make one envious.
Shohoku was in total control. They didn't even need adjustments.
Akagi exhaled and shook his head. "Looks like I won't have to play anymore."
Kogure chuckled. "Isn't that a good thing? After all these consecutive games, it's rare to get a little rest."
Then his expression turned serious. "Don't forget—our opponent tomorrow is likely Meihou Industrial. Your responsibility then won't be light."
That reminder snapped Akagi out of his gloom. Tomorrow's matchup would be Shohoku's toughest test yet. Meihou Industrial, led by the powerhouse Morishige Hiroshi, was a terrifying opponent.
It was anyone's guess who would win that clash.
"You're right," Akagi said, nodding. "I should rest while I can." He set aside his frustration and began focusing on the next game.
Some players chatted, others drank water or simply rested. The atmosphere on Shohoku's bench was relaxed and easygoing.
That was when Rukawa Kaede—silent for most of the game—suddenly stood up and walked straight to Coach Anzai.
"Coach," he said, "can I handle the ball next?"
"Hmph! Stupid fox! You wish—mmph!"
Sakuragi's protest was immediately muffled as Akagi clamped a hand over his mouth.
The previously cheerful bench fell silent in an instant. Everyone stared at Rukawa, puzzled by his sudden request. What was he planning? Was he just bored from not touching the ball for so long?
Even Coach Anzai's usually calm expression shifted slightly in surprise. His lips parted, as if to speak, but he hesitated.
Everyone waited quietly for his answer.
Nango licked his lips, thinking it over. The request was unusual—but Rukawa wasn't like Sakuragi. He must have a reason, something he wanted to prove.
So what was it?
Nango turned slightly, his gaze landing on the opposite side of the court. Could it be because of Morohoshi Dai?
Ever since Rukawa's brief exchange with Morohoshi earlier, he had been deep in thought.
Morohoshi had admitted he couldn't match Sawakita Eiji, but Rukawa believed the gap between them couldn't be that wide. So before measuring himself against Japan's best, he wanted to test himself against Morohoshi first.
To do that, he came up with a simple plan: take over the offense, play the same way Morohoshi did, and compare their impact through the score.
A very Rukawa-like idea.
He also knew this was the perfect time to try it—Shohoku led comfortably. Any earlier, the team would never have agreed. Any later, Morohoshi might have been subbed out.
"Nango," Coach Anzai said at last, turning to his on-court leader. "What do you think?"
Nango snapped out of his thoughts and grinned. "Sure. It might even make our tactics more versatile."
He then winked at Rukawa.
Rukawa rolled his eyes but knew Nango was helping him again.
Sensing something off, Sakuragi finally pried Akagi's hand away and jumped up. "Old man! Nango! How could you agree to the stupid fox?! And you, Gorilla! Aren't you gonna stop him?!"
Coach Anzai stayed silent, his expression calm as ever—like a meditating monk.
Nango only smiled faintly.
Akagi looked at Rukawa and said in a measured tone, "I trust you won't make us go home today, right?"
Rukawa met his gaze squarely, nodding with conviction. "Absolutely not."
Akagi smiled. "Good. Then do as you wish."
"Dammit! Why does everyone trust that stupid fox so much?! It's infuriating!" Sakuragi shouted, fuming. Still, deep inside, he clenched his fists with determination. Fine, I'll prove it! I'll show everyone that the stupid fox isn't the one who'll lead Shohoku forward!
The timeout ended, and Aiwa Academy took possession.
This time, Fukuoka Yuji looked much more aggressive. He got the ball at midrange, backed Miyagi down, then used a series of shoulder fakes before turning to shoot. The ball swished cleanly through the net—igniting Aiwa's offense again and giving them a small spark of hope.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
The sound of dribbling echoed as Shohoku moved up the court—but something looked… different.
Kiyota rubbed his eyes. "Wait—what's going on?!"
Even Maki chuckled in disbelief. "Shohoku's letting Rukawa Kaede bring the ball up? What are they thinking?"
Kiyota turned to his coach in confusion. "Coach! Is that really part of Anzai's strategy? Why would he do that?"
"..."
Coach Kouzu could only sigh internally. How would I know? I'd like to know that too!
Out loud, he just muttered, "Ahem… let's just watch."