[Every year, tons of teams participate in the National Tournament, but only sixty-four make it to the main stage.]
[Tokyo might have three spots, but it also has the most teams—over three to four hundred.]
[In contrast, Tochigi Prefecture doesn't even have a third of that—barely over a hundred teams total.]
[The Qualifiers follow the same rules, but since there are fewer teams, Tochigi is split into only three groups: A, B, and C. The top team from each group advances to a round-robin to decide the single representative.]
[If there's a tie in points, there's no tiebreaker match. The team with the higher point differential advances.]
[The differential is counted from the group stage onward, eliminating any chance of a tie.]
[Soon, the Qualifiers begin. You arrive at the gym with your team.]
[The organizers hold a long opening ceremony and motivational speech—you're so bored you could fall asleep.]
[Day one is for Group A, so Hozumi Academy doesn't play. You spend the whole day in the stands with your teammates watching the games.]
[The next day, it's your turn. Hozumi Academy's first Qualifier match. Everyone's on edge—since it's a BO1 format, one loss and you're done.]
[You start as the team's small forward, wearing a gray-and-white number 10 jersey. The gym is packed—ten thousand people in the stands.]
[This is Tochigi Prefecture—a small town of just 160,000 people. Folks from Tokyo and Kanagawa always make fun of it, calling it "Tochigi Village." This old gym barely holds ten thousand spectators, but today it's bursting at the seams.]
[The game begins. You go all out from the start. Tim Duncan's Big Fundamental shines, letting you dominate effortlessly.]
[You catch a pass, blow past your defender with a clean fake, and drive into the paint. With a smooth spin and a perfect bank shot, you put up the first points of the game.]
[Flawless technique. Solid fundamentals. The ball hits the backboard at a forty-five-degree angle and swishes clean through.]
[But that's just the beginning of your performance.]
[Even though your body's only seventy percent recovered, you're still Hozumi Academy's best perimeter defender. Coach assigns you to guard their ace—a skinny 175 cm point guard. You feel like if you push too hard, you might send him flying into the stands.]
[He tries to shake you off—you don't budge. He tries to outrun you—you take a half-step back in advance, cutting him off cold. He's completely smothered.]
[You make a beautiful stop, and Hozumi seizes the chance to counterattack.]
[You sprint to the free-throw line, catch the pass, and go straight up. Both hands rise above your head—the textbook-perfect form makes a few knowledgeable spectators' eyes widen.]
[The shot sinks cleanly. You score again, widening the lead.]
[By halftime, Hozumi Academy leads by ten. The team's energy is sky-high.]
[After the break, the other team doubles down on you. Your scoring chances shrink—but that's fine. Tim Duncan was never a scoring machine.]
[Even though he could have been a scoring champion, he never let personal glory outweigh the team. That's what made him great.]
[You start passing more, keeping your moves clean and efficient. Still, it takes two defenders to stop you.]
[You begin finding open teammates. Your assist numbers climb, and under your lead, Hozumi's offense starts firing on all cylinders.]
[Coach is stunned. Your modern small forward playstyle opens his eyes—he realizes basketball can be played this way.]
[It's 2009. The NBA is still a bruiser's league—teams rely on post play and high-percentage shots near the rim. The closer to the basket, the higher the odds—that's basketball's "truth."]
[But your style changes that. Coach suddenly feels something click in his mind, a new vision forming.]
[Buzzer!]
[The game ends. Hozumi Academy wins by fifteen, earning their first victory in the National Tournament Qualifiers.]
[The crowd erupts in applause. Your style is clean and efficient, not flashy. Most people overlook you—they'd rather watch flashy crossovers and thunderous dunks.]
[But a few sharp eyes see it—you're the one truly running the show.]
[Final stats: 25 points, 11 rebounds, 7 assists. Quiet dominance.]
[The team leaves the gym in high spirits, heading back to school.]
[Kazuha Migiwa personally comes to congratulate you. You thank her with a smile and tell her, "My journey's only just begun." Your confidence feels familiar to her—so much that she doesn't pull out her blackboard to smack you.]
[The next day, Hozumi Academy returns for their second match.]
[Another dominant win. It's not that the countryside lacks strong players—it's that Tochigi Prefecture doesn't have strong teams. For twenty years, one powerhouse monopolized the national spot—until Hozumi broke their streak last year. They're in a different group this time.]
[Once again, you quietly rack up 24 points, 9 rebounds, and 8 assists. Yet most people still overlook you, focusing instead on Hozumi's center.]
[He used to be the team's ace, averaging 18.4 points and 16 rebounds per game. At 187 cm, he's pulled off several dunks that thrilled the crowd.]
[But today, the opposing team notices something different—more and more possessions are running through you.]
[Coach has already formed a bold idea in his mind.]
[Japanese basketball is rigid—or at least, anime basketball is. Shooting guards shoot threes, centers rebound, points control tempo, small forwards attack, power forwards clean up.]
[But you? You can do it all—and do it well. Coach plans to make you the team's absolute core.]
"Only realizing that now? Bit late, coach."
Outside the simulation, Souta chuckled. His coach should've done that last year.
[After the game, Coach stayed up late in his office, sketching out a new strategy. He believed this system could push Hozumi Academy all the way to the National Tournament.]
[The next day, he unveiled it to the team—a tactical setup built entirely around you.]
[You suggested surrounding yourself with strong defenders who could also hit open shots.]
......