Fujima slowly dribbled the ball across half-court.
According to their pre-game plan, he should pass to Hanagata now — let him attack inside first and then create opportunities for the rest of the team.
On paper, without Akagi's imposing presence, Shohoku's interior defense had clearly weakened.
But—
Damn it. Since when did Nango become this strong?
Hanagata tried to seal his position, but Nango refused to give an inch. One long leg slid between Hanagata's stance, his right forearm pressed firmly against Hanagata's lower back, center of gravity lowered like a rooted pillar.
Nango smirked inwardly.
I knew you'd attack the paint early. But it won't be that easy.
Although Hanagata held a slight height advantage, Nango's physical strength compensated immediately. His tight overhead pressure forced Hanagata away from his preferred scoring spot.
Seeing Hanagata unable to establish position, Fujima abandoned the original plan.
He shifted his gaze to Miyagi.
Fast, agile… average shooter. Newly promoted vice-captain. Probably eager to prove himself.
Fujima processed the information quickly.
Miyagi was thinking just as intensely.
Kenji Fujima. Once tied with Maki as the prefecture's strongest. Final year. He'll attack aggressively. And he's taller than me — he won't waste that advantage.
It happened in a flash.
Fujima exploded to Miyagi's left.
Miyagi reacted instantly and stuck to him.
But Fujima calmly tapped his lead foot, killing his momentum before leaning back.
Pull-up jumper.
Miyagi lunged—
Too late.
Fujima released with his left hand.
Swish.
"Nice shot, Fujima!"
The clean bucket lifted Shoyo's momentum.
Watching Fujima jog back, Miyagi muttered,
"He's not easy to handle…"
But one basket meant nothing. There was still an entire game to measure himself.
Like in the Prefectural Tournament, Shoyo employed a box-and-one defense.
Hasegawa shadowed Mitsui relentlessly, while the other four packed the paint.
Miyagi once again initiated through Nango.
Even after shifting to center, Shohoku's offense still flowed through him first, reacting dynamically to the defense.
Coach Urano noticed immediately.
So Nango is the tactical core… If we neutralize him, Shohoku collapses.
Nango surveyed the floor and passed to Rukawa, who had Nagano sealed behind him.
The moment Rukawa caught the ball, he entered attack mode.
He pivoted, testing the lane.
Nagano slid quickly, cutting him off.
Without hesitation, Rukawa spun the opposite direction and rose into a smooth jumper.
Clean mechanics. Efficient. Controlled.
Unlike before, he no longer radiated reckless scoring hunger.
Now he hid within the system — like a sniper with his finger resting on the trigger.
Waiting.
The change had begun with something unexpected: fishing.
Patience. Composure. Stillness.
It had reshaped him.
On the next possession, Miyagi expected another one-on-one duel.
Instead—
Fujima called for a screen from Hasegawa.
You want to beat me alone? Not happening.
Mitsui switched onto Fujima and stepped forward aggressively, lowering his center of gravity.
He refused to give Fujima a comfortable shooting window.
Fujima smirked.
Crossover.
Behind-the-back.
Testing.
But Mitsui had prepared for this. His defensive footwork was sharp, disciplined.
Not bad, Fujima thought.
Then he retreated half a step—
And exploded forward.
Sudden. Precise.
Mitsui anticipated it—
But his body couldn't react in time.
Fujima pulled up again.
Another mid-range jumper.
Good.
Under the basket, Nango watched calmly. He couldn't contest those perimeter shots.
But he wasn't worried.
Same system. Same rhythm.
Even with Coach Urano back, Shoyo's style remained familiar.
This approach drained Fujima's stamina heavily.
Midway through the game, his efficiency would drop.
And when that happened—
Nango and Mitsui's three-pointers would stretch the score instantly.
The game would break open.
Both teams were in strong form.
The scoreboard climbed steadily.
With Coach Urano directing from the sideline, Fujima no longer needed to shoulder coaching duties. Freed mentally, he fully unleashed himself.
Protected by four tall teammates, he repeatedly attacked Miyagi.
Less than ten minutes in—
Fujima had 15 points.
And yet—
Shohoku still led.
32–23.
Even without Akagi, Shohoku remained formidable.
Had Akagi stayed, the Winter Tournament might already feel decided.
Beep!
"Shoyo timeout!"
For the first time, Coach Urano called a pause.
Shohoku exchanged curious looks.
What adjustment was coming?
After hydrating, Coach Urano spoke calmly:
"Did you play like this during the Prefectural Tournament?"
The tone silenced everyone.
They felt they were performing well.
They simply couldn't seize control.
Coach Urano understood that.
Shohoku had grown stronger after Nationals.
Shoyo had stagnated slightly.
But—
That didn't mean defeat was inevitable.
He didn't want passive players.
He wanted thinkers.
Coach Urano shook his head.
"I want you to keep attacking the paint."
His right fist struck his left palm sharply.
"When you receive the ball — don't think about shooting."
"Drive."
"Drive straight into the paint."