Anzai Jitsurei continued observing the center group.
Aside from Kawata Masashi, the remaining four were all traditional centers—players with relatively single-minded offensive methods and shooting ranges limited strictly to the paint.
At most, only two of them could remain.
And since Morishige Hiroshi already held an internal spot, the reality was cruel: the other three were effectively fighting over a position that might not even exist.
What made things worse was their performance.
It wasn't that they were weak—it was that Morishige Hiroshi and Kawata Masashi were simply too strong.
Against those two, the other three looked like sparring partners rather than competitors.
Offense. Defense. Physicality.
Morishige and Kawata dominated everything, gradually turning the group confrontation into what felt like their personal training session.
It was Morishige Hiroshi's turn on offense again.
He caught the ball, turned, and forcefully drove forward.
He wanted to dunk—right over Kawata's head.
Damn it! You think I'll let you run wild over me?!
Though shorter, Kawata possessed solid strength and a respectable wingspan. He sucked in a breath and roared, slamming his hand down hard.
"Slap!"
Kawata's massive palm smashed into Morishige's arm and the ball at the same time.
The block was clean—
But it was also a foul.
Morishige still had another chance.
Rubbing the spot where he'd been hit, Fatty showed no anger at all. Instead, he immediately began fighting for position again, calling for the ball.
Akagi and Uozumi exchanged glances.
The same thought crossed both their minds.
This kid… he's something else.
Hyuga Yuichi stretched out both hands and grinned.
"Hayato, how about another bet? One hundred push-ups. You can't handle either of these two."
Hayato opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He couldn't argue.
Kawata, meanwhile, felt increasingly uneasy.
That last collision hurt.
Morishige Hiroshi's strength and stamina seemed endless.
He could suppress him once. Twice. Three times.
But what about four? Five?
Or more?
Kawata muttered bitterly to himself, "At this rate… I might actually get beaten to death by this kid's wild punches."
Kawata is the best center in high school—but he's already a third-year. The future belongs to you.
Those were Coach Murai's words to Morishige Hiroshi before the National Tournament semifinals.
At the time, Murai believed Shohoku wouldn't be able to stop Meihou Industrial, so he had revealed information about Sannoh in advance.
The best center.
That title alone made Morishige remember the name Kawata Masashi.
He had wanted to face him—to measure himself.
Though his first National Tournament ended prematurely at Shohoku's hands, fate had now given him a second chance.
A direct one-on-one confrontation.
The perfect opportunity.
And now that they were facing each other, Kawata hadn't disappointed him in the slightest.
That only fueled Morishige's desire.
To confront.
To overwhelm.
To dominate.
"Bang!"
After countless brutal collisions, Morishige finally found an opening. He spun violently, knocked Kawata off balance, and thundered the ball into the rim.
The backboard shook.
Kawata didn't even complain.
After so many head-on clashes, his body had reached its limit.
In the following exchanges, he changed tactics—opting for mid-range shots instead of continuing those "idiotic" collisions.
And that shift carried a clear message:
In a pure one-on-one battle, no one in the Youth Team could truly stop Morishige Hiroshi.
Anzai Jitsurei sighed quietly.
"Maki Shinichi and Kawata Masashi possess confrontation ability at the highest collegiate level… but Nango and Morishige Hiroshi are already approaching professional standards."
"These two rookies are terrifying."
Their current strength and future potential—either one alone deserved a spot.
Having both?
That was luxury.
With his observations complete, Anzai called for a timeout and ordered the players to cool down with basic exercises.
By then, it was already lunchtime.
Since the Youth Team had trained earlier than the Nittaidai players, they headed to the cafeteria first.
After wiping down and changing into casual clothes, the group made their way over.
Along the path, Sakuragi complained loudly,
"Damn it! If we fight again this afternoon, I'm definitely scoring over Tsuchiya's head!"
"Shh!" Nango warned. "You're too loud—he can hear you!"
Tsuchiya Atsushi, walking behind them, calmly turned his head to admire the scenery, pretending he'd heard nothing.
"Tch…"
Sakuragi still looked irritated.
Nango glanced at Mitsui, who seemed distracted.
"Senpai, something wrong?"
"I…" Mitsui hesitated.
He couldn't bring himself to admit that Moroboshi and Matsumoto had completely dismantled him.
Even without words, Nango understood.
Akagi wasn't much better either—both wore the expressions of men who had been thoroughly beaten.
Rukawa, who had also been overwhelmed, looked as indifferent as ever. After all, being dominated by Nango wasn't new to him.
From his perspective, today wasn't that bad—he'd scored a few times, more than Sendo at least.
Fukuda, however, had it worst.
He hadn't scored a single point. Every shot clanged, and on defense he was toyed with by Nango.
Still, Fukuda's stubbornness shone through—every possession, he charged again.
Everyone finished eating and gathered at nearby tables.
Akagi and Mitsui barely touched their food.
They weren't alone.
The players who had lost their matchups were all visibly dejected.
In one-on-one confrontations, there were no excuses.
Lose meant lose.
Opportunities to join the Youth Team were rare—who would willingly leave?
Even without Anzai explicitly saying it, everyone understood: failing the morning session meant falling behind—or being eliminated entirely.
The cafeteria fell unnaturally silent.
No one spoke.
Nango didn't know how to comfort them either. He simply lowered his head and ate.
Sakuragi, however, forgot all his frustrations the moment food hit his mouth.
He dug in with gusto.
After all, Youth Team room and board were free.
The cafeteria tables seated four, so sharing was inevitable.
Whether by chance or design, Morishige Hiroshi sat diagonally across from Kawata Masashi's neighboring table.
As he ate, Kawata felt Morishige's gaze flick toward him repeatedly.
It made his skin crawl.
Morishige finished his meal, got up, grabbed another serving—and returned, still occasionally staring.
Even Little Kawata noticed.
"…Brother," he whispered. "I think he's trying to compete with you… in eating."
Matsumoto, sitting opposite, blinked.
"Seriously? What kind of competition is that?"
Kawata doubted it too—until Fukatsu said calmly,
"Even if it is, you wouldn't lose, right?"
Fukatsu had seen Kawata eat.
In his words, no wonder he's so strong—nothing he eats goes to waste.
By that logic, Morishige might actually be measuring strength through appetite.
"Hmph!"
Kawata snorted.
"Then let's see."
Morishige smiled faintly as Kawata sped up.
He did the same.
Soon, the two were repeatedly getting up for more food.
Sakuragi sensed danger.
If this continued, there'd be nothing left.
He hurriedly joined in.
"Sakuragi!" Nango warned. "Stop! Eat until you're about 80% full—we still have training!"
That barely slowed him—he still ate until he was 90% full.
As for Morishige and Kawata—
One staggered out leaning against the wall.
The other was supported by his brother.
Not long after, the Nittaidai players finished their morning training and rushed to the cafeteria.
Hyuga Yuichi reached the serving window first.
"Auntie! Pork cutlet rice!"
"It's gone," the auntie replied flatly. "Everything's gone. You'll have to wait."
The Nittaidai players froze.
"…Gone?"
"All of it?"
The auntie sighed while cooking more rice.
"Just three of them! Those kids earlier were absolute gluttons!"