The timeout ended, and both teams returned to the court.
But it was obvious—only one team carried real confidence.
Meihou Industrial's players wore grim expressions. Coach Murai's desperate instructions had done nothing to calm them. If anything, they looked even more rattled.
Shohoku wasn't exactly cheerful either. Sakuragi's strange silence hung over them like a cloud.
Still, the whistle blew, and the game resumed.
Meihou's Possession
Meihou attacked first.
Akagi immediately abandoned Kawashima Naoto, planting himself under the basket like an immovable boulder—ready to support Sakuragi the moment Morishige Hiroshi touched the ball.
Hayama wanted to pass inside. Kawashima was open, perfectly positioned near the rim.
But he couldn't.
Because Nango was glued to him—long arms, long strides, and cold eyes reading every intention.
Nango didn't have Sakuragi's monstrous stamina, but after enduring months of structured, high-intensity training, his endurance had become elite. More importantly—he knew exactly when to spend it.
And right now, he planned to burn every last drop.
This stretch would decide the game.
He was going all in.
Hayama felt it immediately.
This guy… he's even harder to deal with than Miyagi!
With Miyagi defending earlier, Hayama could still pass comfortably.
But Nango?
Nango made the court feel small.
His height cut off angles.
His reach killed passing lanes.
Every fake, every hesitation dribble—Nango read all of them.
Then it came.
A tiny, tiny slip.
A rhythm break.
A fraction of a second.
A flaw.
Nango stomped down with his left foot, and—
Crack!
His right hand shot forward like a whip, smacking the ball clean out of Hayama's control.
Gasps erupted.
Nango was already gone.
Two powerful strides.
Ball recovered.
A solo fast break.
Hayama chased desperately. They jumped nearly at the same time.
And—
BOOM!
Nango hammered in a one-handed dunk.
Hayama's momentum carried him forward—
SLAP!
He crashed hard into Nango's back.
Fortunately, Nango hung onto the rim just long enough to land safely.
"Beep!"
Offensive collision—foul on Hayama.
Nango headed to the line yet again.
Morishige Hiroshi clenched his fists so hard the veins bulged.
He wanted to cuss.
He wanted to scream.
But all that rage condensed into a single bitter thought:
Are you guys seriously messing with me?!
Missed shots.
Bad passes.
Steals.
Fast breaks.
And now an and-one?
This garbage deserves to win?!
In the stands, Fukatsu glanced up at the scoreboard.
"Game over. Meihou's finished."
Kawata shook his head. "What a shame. I wanted to play against Morishige Hiroshi. Just one more round…"
Matsumoto snorted. "This is their limit. They only have one real player."
Sawakita didn't speak.
He simply stared at Nango and Rukawa, a faint smile on his lips.
His prey for tomorrow had already been chosen.
Though…
The fact that they didn't belong exclusively to him made it a little boring.
Nango made the free throw.
19-point lead.
The crowd roared.
Morishige's face darkened to the color of a storm cloud.
He desperately wanted to unleash everything on offense—
but Hayama couldn't even get him the ball.
Because Nango wasn't letting him breathe.
Shohoku's Full-Court Pressure
This time, Nango pressured Hayama in the backcourt again.
Hayama protected the ball carefully, using both hands.
But that only slowed him down more.
"Is Nango planning to kill the game here?" Kiyota shouted.
Coach Takato didn't even blink.
"Not here. Nango planned this back when he hit the first three-pointer."
Hayama's 7… 8… 9 seconds dribbled away.
If he didn't cross half-court soon, it'd be a violation.
Panicking, Hayama bent his knees—
And charged straight at Nango.
Nango gave him a chilly look—
And simply turned his body sideways.
Hayama burst past him—
Or so he thought.
A split-second later, the ball was poked free from behind.
It bounced toward midcourt.
"RUKAWA!!" Nango shouted.
Rukawa dove, tapping the ball ahead before he fell.
The pass wasn't perfect, but Nango recovered it and surged forward—
Straight into the lane.
Morishige Hiroshi sprinted back, body brimming with murderous intent.
He was going to block this.
He had to block this.
Nango jumped first.
Morishige jumped right after.
A massive arm chopped down—
Cutting nothing but air.
Nango tucked his body midair like a cat, gliding beneath Morishige's reach, extending his arm out—
Glass kiss.
Swish.
20-point lead.
The arena erupted.
The game was over.
Sawakita's smile reappeared—then faded.
Fukatsu watched silently.
Coach Domoto narrowed his eyes.
"Nango Koichiro…" he muttered.
"That child alone… poses danger."
In the stands, Kano jumped up and cheered wildly.
Eri didn't roll her eyes this time.
She simply smiled faintly.
Nango…
Just one step more.
Congratulations to you—
and congratulations to me.