This time, Sora was really mad—she stomped down on Souta's foot and refused to move.
Her baby-faced scowl made her look like a tiny, furious lioness.
Souta knew he couldn't dodge the question anymore.
He ran a hand through his hair and said, "I'm not really sure why we get along so well. Maybe because Kazuha thinks we're the same kind of people."
"The same kind?"
"Yeah. I heard she used to play the violin. Then, for some reason, she quit."
"That's… probably it."
Probably it?
Sora didn't like that answer, but she finally lifted her foot off him.
In her mind, she was already picturing that shameless rich woman deciding all on her own that she and Souta were "the same type of person." No one else could understand their "world," so she'd probably thrown herself at him, trying to find warmth and sympathy.
Well, credit where it's due—at least the woman knew how to use idioms.
Tch tch…
...
Back home.
Souta flopped onto his bed.
The moment the match ended, the system had already notified him that he'd earned one victory point—enough to run another simulation.
"Simulation, start!"
As soon as he spoke, a glowing panel appeared in front of him.
[Simulator booting up]
[Random talent draw in progress]
[Talent acquired: Death Shroud]
[Congratulations! You've obtained a S-rank talent: Death Shroud]
[Death Shroud: Greatly enhances defensive consistency; increases shot-blocking ability (both stationary and chase-down), improves steal rate, off-ball defense, and man-to-man coverage. Also increases the chance of forcing offensive mistakes. (Note: activates only during one-on-one situations.)]
"Death Shroud? A defensive-type talent?"
Just from the name, Souta could already guess most of what it did.
Was it good?
Of course it was.
But between offense and defense, his heart still leaned toward offensive talents—or at least something that boosted his passing.
After all—
Right now, he didn't have enough stamina to stay sharp on both ends of the court at once.
He needed to make trade-offs if he wanted to last the whole game.
If he pushed for top performance in both offense and defense, he'd probably be gassed by the third quarter.
"Well, all the true superstars dominate both sides anyway. Might as well start early."
He was pretty satisfied with this draw.
At least it wasn't some lame B-rank or C-rank talent.
Talents came in four ranks: C-rank, B-rank, S-rank, and SSS-rank.
They covered everything imaginable—if Souta could think of it, the system could draw it.
[After defeating Yamaguchi High, you gained one Victory Point.]
[Back home, you eagerly began your second simulation.]
[You only left your room at dinner time. You saw Kasugano Haruka walking unsteadily—clearly, Yorihime Nao hadn't gone easy on him.]
[Sora still seemed angry. This time, she planned to ignore you until morning.]
[Tonight, you didn't go out to train—there's another game tomorrow.]
[The next morning, you put on your tracksuit. Sora changed into her school uniform; the JK outfit made her look even prettier.]
[You teased her for wearing stockings when she looked that good. She snapped back, "A guy who reads 18+ magazines every day has no right to judge me—and aren't you the one who likes stockings the most?"]
[You retorted confidently, "That's different. If you wear them, people are gonna see."]
[Sora went silent, blushing bright red. She sped up toward the door, but not before throwing a wristband at your face—the one printed with her cartoon mascot.]
[You hesitated, unsure if wearing it would ruin your "tough guy" image.]
[You followed the team to the next match venue. The national tournament schedule was brutal—almost a game every day.]
[Riding high off your victory over Yamaguchi High, the team was full of momentum. Your defensive performance last game earned Coach Oten's approval. Today, he assigned you to mark the opponent's ace.]
[You accepted gladly—time to test out Death Shroud.]
[The game began. You found yourself matched against their shooting guard, seven centimeters shorter than you.]
[He'd done his homework—after reviewing footage, he concluded your defense relied on explosive power and strength.]
[So he decided to beat you with finesse, showing off his fancy dribbling right in your face.]
[To you, he looked like he was doing a circus act. You locked him down until he stumbled backward.]
[You forced a turnover. Sakurai Ryo snatched the ball, and the other team looked stunned—this wasn't the defender they'd seen on tape.]
[You led a fast break and assisted Ota for a dunk. You went right back to guarding their ace.]
[He played more cautiously this time, but you still forced him back—from the free-throw line all the way beyond the three-point arc.]
[It felt to him like being haunted by a ghost—no matter how he tried, he couldn't shake you off.]
[His face flushed red; even breathing felt difficult. Another mistake. Another fast-break score.]
[Your suffocating defense drew the opposing coach's attention—they called for a timeout.]
[When play resumed, their ace stopped handling the ball. You'd scared him off it. He started trying to score off the ball instead.]
[You shadowed him perfectly—step for step, breath for breath. He couldn't escape your grasp, and his composure cracked.]
"So strong? Even off-ball, he can't move at all as long as it's one-on-one?"
Souta realized he'd underestimated defensive talents.
Sure, they didn't shine like offensive ones.
Fans loved highlight reels and flashy scoring—few ever paid attention to defense.
But in truth, no championship team in history ever succeeded without elite defenders working silently in the background.
The 2004 Detroit Pistons, for instance—through pure defense, they dragged the Lakers into the grinder and came out with their franchise's third championship trophy.
It was one of the greatest victories ever achieved by a so-called "blue-collar" team.
People mocked them for winning ugly—but Detroit stood tall.
Because they were champions.
Every great defensive player in history has shared one thing:
an unbreakable, burning will.