Shohoku's Bench
"This is bad, this is really bad! Old Man—!"
Sakuragi Hanamichi was in a frenzy, one hand pressing on Coach Mitsuyoshi Anzai's soft belly while the other shook his chubby chin back and forth. His tone was so frantic it was almost comical, his voice loud enough to drown out the roar of the stadium.
"That monkey-head captain, he—!"
Ayako rushed over in alarm, prying Sakuragi's hand away from the coach. "Hey! How can you call him Old Man? Show some respect and address him properly—Coach Anzai!"
Pulled aside, Sakuragi turned to her, his expression suddenly serious—completely unlike his usual carefree self. "Ayako, this is bad. This is too dangerous."
Ayako blinked in confusion, tilting her head slightly. "Why are you being polite to me but not to the coach? I'll never understand you."
On the Court
Uozumi towered beneath the basket, arms spread wide like an immovable fortress. His face shone with a pride and confidence he hadn't felt in years.
His gaze swept across his teammates like a burning torch, and his voice boomed through the gym. "Come on! Let's block one more!"
There was no hesitation in his tone—only iron-blooded resolve and true leadership.
"Okay!" Ryonan's players roared back in unison, their spirits blazing as their voices rolled through the gym like thunder.
For a moment, it felt like even the air was trembling.
Ake wasn't on the court.
And yet, watching from the sidelines, Uozumi looked every bit the captain he once was.
Seeing that, Sakuragi's temper flared immediately. His red brows twisted together as he grumbled, "That stupid monkey-head! Just because he blocked the four-eyed geek, Rukawa, and the gorilla, he thinks he's hot stuff now!"
Beside him, Kakuta stood with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the game. His tone was low and uneasy. "This atmosphere… doesn't feel good."
He paused, frowning. "Uozumi's energy is lifting everyone else. Their momentum's getting stronger."
The other substitutes nodded silently in agreement.
Sakuragi's ears perked up. In an instant, his eyes lit with mischief.
He turned and threw an arm around Coach Anzai's neck. "Old Man, this is it! The critical moment! We have no choice but to unleash the secret weapon now!"
Before anyone could stop him, he shot up from the bench, chest puffed out like a wild beast ready to charge.
"It's finally my turn! The secret weapon—Sakuragi Hanamichi—has arrived! Rukawa Kaede, go sit down!"
Chaos erupted as the substitutes scrambled to grab him before he could storm the court.
Ryonan's Bench
"It's getting lively over there," Aida Hikoichi muttered, tilting his head as he glanced at the commotion on Shohoku's side.
Coach Taoka Moichi followed his gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of the loud, red-haired boy being restrained by his teammates.
He crossed his arms, studying Sakuragi with a mix of curiosity and mild irritation.
The kid was tall, broad-shouldered, with solid build and long legs—obvious athletic potential. His muscles were well-defined too, suggesting real explosive strength.
But his behavior... was another story.
Taoka quickly lost interest. With players like Sendoh and Ake under him, there was no need to waste time thinking about random troublemakers.
Confidence radiated from his calm posture.
Meanwhile, Ake merely shot a glance at Sakuragi, who was still shouting about wanting to play.
His expression didn't change—calm, unreadable, detached.
In his eyes, Sakuragi was just a noisy child by the roadside.
A player who couldn't even control his emotions wasn't worth his attention.
'Talent without discipline was nothing but a sandcastle waiting to collapse.'
On the Court
From the very first jump ball, Ryonan had seized control.
Their offense and defense flowed seamlessly—precise, methodical, and suffocating. They moved like a perfectly tuned war machine.
Shohoku tried everything—cut-ins, post-ups, pick-and-rolls—but no matter what they did, Ryonan's defense choked every attack before it could take form.
No open lanes. No clean passes. No rhythm.
It felt like being trapped in an invisible net—the more they struggled, the tighter it pulled.
And then, Ryonan struck back like a crashing wave.
Sendoh advanced the ball at a relaxed pace, scanning the court with sharp, hawk-like eyes.
Just as Rukawa pressed close, Sendoh flicked his wrist—an elegant bounce pass cutting through three defenders straight to Ikegami, who slashed toward the rim.
Ikegami caught, jumped, and laid it in.
Swish!
"Nice one!"
Ryonan's bench erupted in cheers, the sound exploding like thunder.
Coach Taoka clenched his fists in excitement. His eyes gleamed as he watched his players execute his strategy flawlessly.
Everything was perfect—smooth transitions, sharp teamwork, and textbook-level precision.
And what thrilled him even more was the thought that Ake—equally as strong as Sendoh—was still waiting on the bench.
This year's Ryonan had it all. Sendoh's genius, Uozumi's grit, and the new tactical vision Akagi brought.
Taoka's chest burned with pride and anticipation. The National Tournament no longer seemed like a dream—it was destiny.
Five minutes passed since tip-off.
But those five minutes were pure domination.
The scoreboard read 15–0.
Ryonan led effortlessly.
Unable to contain himself, Coach Taoka leapt from his seat, voice booming across the gym:
"This is just the beginning! Extend the lead to thirty points!"
Shohoku's bench froze.
Kogure frowned, muttering under his breath, "Extend to thirty? That's... way too much."
Akagi's fists clenched, his dark eyes burning.
Rukawa's expression barely changed, but the faint glint in his eyes told another story—he was fired up.
Frustration, anger, and humiliation simmered across Shohoku's bench.
But on Ryonan's side, Ake sat quietly, arms folded, watching everything unfold.
In the depths of his mismatched eyes flickered a trace of disappointment.
He wasn't impressed.
In the original story, Ryonan already had the strength of a championship contender—Sendoh's brilliance, Uozumi's defense, their mature system and experience.
But this wasn't that Ryonan anymore.
He had rebuilt this team, integrated a new lineup, reshaped their tactics.
He expected them to be stronger, faster, more aggressive.
And they were. But now…
Their momentum felt hollow. That invisible fog of complacency—we've already won—hung over them.
To Ake, it made all his hard work feel meaningless.
Yes, Ryonan was superior. The 15–0 score proved that.
But deep down, they still didn't take Shohoku seriously.
This wasn't a skill issue. It was a mindset problem.
If they were truly sharp, the lead should already be over twenty.
Ake wasn't being harsh—he simply knew that on the court, arrogance kills faster than weakness.
A single lazy rotation, a momentary lapse in focus—those were the seeds of defeat.
He would never allow that to happen.
Just then, his sharp eyes caught movement.
A red figure was creeping along the sideline, crouched low like a cat sneaking up on prey.
Sakuragi Hanamichi.
Ake raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
He said nothing.
Instead, he sat back, curious to see how this little farce would play out.
Coach Taoka, meanwhile, felt an inexplicable chill crawl up his spine.
Something was off.
Before he could react—
Sakuragi pressed his palms together, fingers pointed like a spear. His eyes gleamed with mischief, a devilish grin curling on his face.
Then—
Whack!
"OWWWWW!"
A scream tore through the gym like a banshee's wail.
Coach Taoka's body jerked, his face twisting as a shock of pain shot from his rear straight up his spine.
He grabbed his backside, staggering before collapsing with a thud.
The entire gym froze.
Even the game stopped.
Players stared in disbelief.
And then—collective realization dawned on Shohoku's bench as they saw Sakuragi's smug grin.
It could only be him.
After what felt like an eternity, Coach Taoka staggered to his feet, face pale, trembling with fury.
He jabbed a finger at Sakuragi, shouting, "What the hell are you doing?! Referee! REFEREE!"
Beep!
"Technical foul—Shohoku!"
The words had barely left the referee's mouth when Akagi stormed over, veins bulging, and smacked Sakuragi on the head.
"You idiot! Do you even realize what you've done?!"
He grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back like a sack of potatoes.
The crowd erupted into uncontrollable laughter.
Shohoku's players hung their heads in shame, wishing the earth would swallow them whole.
"That damn brat!" Coach Taoka growled, clutching his rear and grimacing in pain.
Aida rushed over. "Coach, are you alright?"
"I—I'm fine…" Taoka wheezed through clenched teeth, his face twitching.
Amid the chaos, Ake leaned back on the bench, arms crossed, eyes cool and unreadable.
The faintest smirk tugged at his lips.
Whatever Sakuragi had done—it wasn't his problem.
He knew nothing.