Just as Nango predicted, Rukawa Kaede was determined to retaliate on offense. However, Moroboshi's tight defense proved difficult to overcome, and with Aiwa Academy's twin towers guarding the paint, Rukawa's next two offensive attempts both failed.
Aiwa Academy capitalized on those misses, cutting the score to 54–57.
Kiyota frowned and muttered to Maki, "At this rate, Shohoku's going to get overtaken. What the hell is Rukawa thinking?"
Maki pursed his lips. "Rukawa's probably trying to go head-to-head with Moroboshi. That's why he's forcing things."
Kiyota snorted. "He's overestimating himself. That's the Star of Aichi we're talking about. Rukawa's just Kanagawa's best rookie—they're not even on the same level. What an idiot."
Not on the same level?
Coach Kouzu didn't agree with Kiyota. In his eyes, Rukawa's talent was undeniable, but so were his flaws—he was far too selfish, and that selfishness often hurt the team more than it helped.
What puzzled Kouzu even more was Anzai's approach. According to the veteran coach's old-school philosophy, shouldn't this issue have been resolved long before the National Tournament—even before the prefectural qualifiers began? Why had it dragged on until now?
Kouzu couldn't quite understand.
Seeing the situation spiral, Nango finally stepped forward. "You wanted to control the ball, right? This isn't what you had in mind, is it?"
Hearing that, Rukawa—who was about to receive the ball and go on another solo run—froze for a moment.
After being outplayed by Moroboshi, he'd lost his composure. But faced with Nango's calm question, he didn't know how to respond.
Nango continued, "I don't know exactly what you're thinking, but if you don't mind, we can talk about it."
Rukawa hesitated, but Nango's tone was genuine. Finally, he muttered, "Do you think the gap between me and him is that big?"
Just that? I really overestimated him…
So Sakuragi was right—he really is a big idiot.
Nango kept his expression steady and said, "In terms of pure skill, there's not much difference between you two. But…"
Rukawa's eyes lit up. He nodded slightly, waiting for the rest.
"Moroboshi has probably played in the National Tournament for three years. Experience-wise, no one on our team can match him—and that's not something you can make up overnight." Nango paused. "Besides, your playing styles aren't the same."
Rukawa's heart sank at the mention of "experience." That was something he couldn't fix in the short term—and waiting until his third year to go overseas would be far too late.
But when Nango mentioned their "different styles," Rukawa frowned. Different? How are we so different?
"What's different?" he asked quickly.
Seeing Rukawa's earnest look, Nango knew this was a teaching moment. Just as he was about to speak, Mitsui shouted from the frontcourt, "Hey! We're still in a game! Can you two not hold a meeting in the middle of the court?"
Nango raised his hand in apology. "We'll talk later," he said to Rukawa. "Just remember this—your purpose for passing is different from his."
Then he inbounded the ball. Rukawa crossed half-court, still mulling over Nango's words. Different purpose? What does that mean?
He glanced at Moroboshi, then at Nango, before passing to Miyagi and posting up near mid-range. Facing Moroboshi head-on was too inefficient—he needed to get closer to the rim.
Miyagi hesitated. He didn't want to pass to Rukawa; after all, Rukawa had wasted plenty of possessions already. If he kept playing like this, Aiwa might actually overtake them.
Frustrated from constantly being posted up by Fukuoka Yuji, Miyagi decided to take matters into his own hands.
Using his low center of gravity and quick acceleration, he blew past Fukuoka and drove straight in.
Rukawa, waiting for the pass, lowered his hand, clearly displeased—Miyagi didn't trust him anymore.
Aoba Yoshi rotated to cut off Miyagi's path, but it was no use. Miyagi was simply too fast.
After slipping past Aoba, he finished with a scoop shot—and it dropped in.
As Miyagi turned to run back on defense, Rukawa stood near half-court, glaring at him.
Miyagi glanced back briefly, then lowered his head and jogged past, choosing not to engage. He didn't think he'd done anything wrong—but for the sake of team unity, there was no point in arguing.
On the bench, Coach Anzai and the staff exchanged knowing looks. Rukawa's behavior had already caused tension among the team. If this continued, there'd be no choice but to sub him out.
"It seems I'll have to play," Akagi said quietly, pulling off his towel and beginning to warm up.
Ayako glanced at him, thinking silently, Rukawa Kaede… what are you doing?
On the court, Moroboshi gave Rukawa a taunting smile. "Didn't expect things to turn out this way… quite the surprise. But thanks."
Rukawa ignored him—he knew that smile was pure provocation.
Meanwhile, Fukuoka Yuji continued to bully Miyagi in the post. But the repeated physical clashes were taking a toll, and his latest shot rimmed out.
Sakuragi jumped and grabbed the rebound cleanly.
Without hesitation, he passed to Miyagi instead of Nango—knowing that if Nango got the ball, it'd probably end up back in Rukawa's hands.
Just as Sakuragi expected, Miyagi went on the attack again.
His confidence had grown, his shooting improving game by game. To him, as long as he was inside the three-point line, it was all his territory.
He shook off Fukuoka once more and pulled up at the free-throw line.
The ball bounced on the rim—once, twice—then rolled out.
Seriously? Miyagi cursed under his breath.
Fukuoka immediately countered, powering his way back into the post. Everyone's attention was locked on him and Miyagi, and no one noticed Moroboshi quietly drifting to the open left wing.
Fukuoka faked a drive, spun midair, and kicked the ball out.
Moroboshi caught it, didn't even bother adjusting, and launched a three-pointer.
Swish! The net snapped as the score tightened to just two points.
"Beep!"
Coach Anzai called a timeout. It was time to bring Akagi back in—there was no reason to keep their captain on the bench any longer.
Only 13 minutes remained in the game.