Eight minutes into the practice match, the freshman team finally called a timeout. Adjustments were unavoidable.
The reason was simple.
As expected, Morishige Hiroshi had picked up his second foul and was forced to rest. At the same time, the freshman team was trailing badly—20 to 31.
Back in the rest area, Maki bumped fists with Kawata and Tsuchiya before speaking seriously.
"You guys worked hard out there."
Although they had successfully forced Morishige Hiroshi off the court, the senior team had paid a price. Kawata and Tsuchiya each carried one foul now; one more, and they would also be benched.
Not to mention the physical toll.
Hiroshi's brutal style had left red marks along their arms—marks that would likely turn purple if they took a few more collisions like that.
Tsuchiya smiled faintly and found a seat, as quiet off the court as he was steady on it.
Kawata, on the other hand, remained silent—but the resentment on his face was unmistakable. He looked like he wanted to slam the towel in his hand straight into the floor.
Maki took a sip of water and smiled.
"Your strategy was good."
"Just a small thing," Moroboshi replied, wiping sweat from his face, a satisfied smile lingering.
Targeting Morishige Hiroshi had been his idea.
Aiwa Academy had long studied Hiroshi's weaknesses. In the Aichi Prefecture finals, it was this very understanding that allowed them to mount a comeback in the second half, slowly narrowing the gap.
Unfortunately, time had run out.
If we'd had a little more… we would've turned it around, Moroboshi was convinced.
So what does this mean?
Is he already acting like the captain?
Fukatsu's expression was complicated.
He had been invisible for most of the game, and he knew it. If this continued, elimination from the Youth Team wasn't a possibility—it was an inevitability.
If I get another chance… I won't let it slip.
"Mikio," the assistant coach said calmly, "you'll replace Morishige Hiroshi."
This practice match didn't allow free substitutions. Anzai Jitsurei had a fixed rotation he wanted to observe. He wouldn't interfere with tactics—but he would decide who played.
Right now, his focus was on the freshman team.
"Y-Yes…"
Mikio's face stiffened. He had guessed this would happen.
So it really is my turn to get beaten up…
Seeing his miserable expression, Nango quickly caught on and couldn't help teasing him.
"Mikio, your brother's all yours."
"O-Okay… okay…"
Little Kawata couldn't find a reason to refuse. His voice wavered as he nodded.
Nango burst out laughing. "Relax, I'm kidding. Let Sakuragi guard your brother. You just stay under the basket like Maki and protect the rim. We'll handle the rest."
"Don't worry—bal—Big Kawata is mine."
Sakuragi nearly said bald gorilla but stopped himself just in time. He had noticed how terrified Mikio was of his own brother.
"Mhm!" Mikio nodded vigorously. As long as he didn't have to defend Masashi, he'd do anything.
Nango patted Morishige Hiroshi on the shoulder and smiled.
"Get some good rest. We'll still need you in the second half."
"Mhm."
Hiroshi exhaled slowly. Battling the twin towers had taken more out of him than he'd expected.
Turning back to his teammates, Nango's tone sharpened.
"Gentlemen, it's our turn. Let's try to cut the gap before halftime."
Rukawa Kaede gave a slight nod.
Sendoh smiled faintly, relaxed as ever.
From the sidelines, Anzai Jitsurei watched with growing astonishment.
He had heard stories about Nango's leadership from his father—but seeing it firsthand was something else. A first-year freshman commanding this level of trust was unheard of.
This wasn't just skill.
Otherwise, why wouldn't Sannoh's players follow Sawakita the same way?
There had to be something more.
And Anzai intended to find it.
As the timeout wound down, Nango rested his chin on his hand, thinking.
Mikio can't replace Hiroshi—not even close.
He was slower, less aggressive, and far easier to target.
Still…
His 210-centimeter height made him a serviceable last line of defense—even if his vertical was lacking.
So the key is us.
The four of us controlling the tempo.
With that realization, Nango's confidence returned.
The game resumed.
Nango took the inbound from Mikio and immediately used his body to shield the ball, slipping past Fukatsu before driving to the free-throw line. He kicked it to Sendoh, who stepped into the paint.
As the defense collapsed, Sendoh whipped the ball back out to the arc—
Where Nango was already waiting.
"Slap!"
"Fast break!"
Maki burst diagonally across the court, intercepting the pass and launching forward in one fluid motion.
Earlier, Maki had seemed quiet.
But now, with rhythm and reliable teammates behind him, his confidence surged.
Damn it—
I forgot the tempo's still theirs!
Nango sprinted back at full speed, planting himself in the paint ahead of Maki.
This time was different.
Seeing what Hiroshi had done earlier, Nango wanted to try something himself.
Maki noticed.
Their eyes met.
Maki raised an eyebrow.
Good kid. Still think you can stop Kanagawa's signboard?
"Slap!"
Maki exploded upward, ball secured tight, preparing for contact.
"Slap!"
Nango jumped with both feet, arms spread wide like a net descending from the sky.
"Bang!"
They collided mid-air.
Nango rocked backward but recovered instantly. Maki lost his momentum, both players falling together.
No whistle.
Nango's arms were straight up—clean.
Forced to shoot, Maki adjusted—
"Slap!"
Nango swatted the ball away.
"YES!"
He roared as he landed, already charging forward as Rukawa Kaede secured the ball.
Jin stared, dumbfounded.
"Maki… got blocked one-on-one?"
Not just Jin.
Every Kanagawa player froze.
They all knew Maki's dominance.
Yet today—first Hiroshi, now Nango.
Nango's blood surged. Sprinting full-court, he felt unstoppable.
He wanted to finish it himself.
Pointing ahead, he signaled.
Rukawa understood instantly.
The pass arced forward.
Nango caught it just before the free-throw line, took one powerful step, planted, and launched.
Tsuchiya and Kawata jumped together—
Too late.
"Bang!"
The dunk shook the rim.
"Slap!"
Nango crashed into the backboard, hanging there for a moment before dropping down and pumping his fist hard.
He had reclaimed the rhythm.
The court fell silent.
Then—
"Nango! Great dunk!"
"That was insane!"
Sendoh shook his head, smiling helplessly.
"This guy… he's getting scarier by the day."
In just four months, every Shohoku player had transformed.
Maki stood with his hands on his hips, staring ahead.
Unconsciously, his thoughts drifted to the Winter Tournament.
How strong will Nango be by then?
And for the first time, Maki wondered—
Will my generation still have a place on the national stage?