Receiving the ball, Haizaki Shogo deliberately slowed his pace again. He was intentionally dragging the rhythm.
This way, his teammates would conserve energy, and Teiko Junior High's scoring pace would slow down as well.
At this point, racing for points and pushing a fast break against Teiko would be a suicidal move—a foolish way to exhaust the team even faster.
Skirting the edge of committing a foul, Shogo launched a three-pointer, stretching the lead by one point.
But while Fukuda Sogo wanted to slow things down, Teiko wanted to speed up. Coach Shirogane Kozo had already seen through Fukuda's intentions and issued instructions to his players.
Kise Ryouta caught the ball, dribbled to halfcourt, and sent a long pass. Murasakibara Atsushi leaped high and slammed the ball into the basket.
A perfect alley-oop ignited the crowd. Countless cheers and shouts erupted from the stands.
The two new Fukuda players, just stepping onto the court, froze in awe. They had only just begun to feel Kise's strength and Murasakibara's terror.
Watching the game from the sidelines hadn't prepared them. Stepping onto the court, confronting the enemy's power and their own helplessness, multiplied feelings of inadequacy and fear a hundredfold.
Seeing his teammates in such a state, captain Fukuda Sasaki stepped forward to reassure them, trying to prevent fear from taking hold.
Once fear sets in, the mind easily drifts toward giving up. Many players had fallen into despair and quit for that reason alone.
Receiving the ball from the inbound line, Shogo knew he had to raise the team's morale. The newly substituted three teammates needed a glimmer of hope, not despair.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
Ordinarily, dribbling would make a tap-tap sound, but now the ball struck with forceful bangs. Shogo was increasing in power, preparing to accelerate.
He fixed his gaze on Midorima Shintaro, who approached in a defensive stance. That imposing aura pressed down on Shogo. It wasn't as overwhelming as Aomine Daiki, but it was still a genuine threat.
But his aura was still slightly lacking!
"Shintaro, if you don't give me your all, I'm going to crush you!"
With that, Shogo switched tempo, accelerating past Shintaro, leaping high into the air toward Murasakibara's block.
A smile crept at the corner of his eye. Switching hands, he pressed the ball with his left, weaving between Shintaro and Murasakibara, and slammed it into the net.
Forceful. So strong. Shintaro and Murasakibara, landing on the court, stared in disbelief at the now noticeably taller Haizaki Shogo.
"Hey, hey, hey!! This is a pain! We can't stop Haizaki now!"
"True, we can't stop him—but even if we can't, he won't win either!"
Confidence. Pure confidence, coming from Teiko Junior High. From Shintaro Midorima himself.
Returning to halfcourt, Shogo gauged his teammates' condition. Not bad. He finally relaxed.
This strong play wasn't for points—it was to reassure the new players, letting them defend with confidence and fulfill their roles.
Seeing his teammates stable, Shogo exhaled—and so did Coach Ichiro Kudo in Fukuda's rest area.
Watching Shogo's powerful dunk elevate team morale and calm the new players, Kudo finally let go of the tension he'd carried. He had genuinely feared that his players would descend into despair and lose hope.
This had happened three times already under his coaching. After such matches, players had left the team, abandoning basketball entirely.
For a coach, being unable to prevent that was a deep source of shame and heartbreak.
But this year was different. Haizaki Shogo had arrived.
Watching him defend Midorima with everything he had, Coach Kudo allowed himself a satisfied smile.
Good. With Shogo leading them through this grueling battle, as long as they didn't collapse, the experience would have value in the future.
Fukuda had no realistic way to stop Teiko's scoring. Kise broke free, leaping into a double-handed dunk, his momentum surging.
The crowd erupted even louder, with countless cheers—and a few shrill squeals from fans.
This was Kise Ryouta's charm—not only handsome and improving as a player but also a well-known model, adored by fans and young girls alike.
Fukuda's inability to stop Teiko didn't bother Shogo. His goal was clear: keep chasing points, even stretching the gap, to create a chance for victory.
The second quarter dragged on in this agonizing rhythm.
Receiving the ball again, Shogo noticed his teammates passing with much less force. He looked at them—they were drenched in sweat, gasping for air.
This batch of teammates had reached their limit. By the end of the second quarter, their stamina was drained.
Dribble. Drive. Fadeaway jump shot.
"SWISH!"
The ball sank into the net. The sound, however, was tinged with worry and urgency rather than thrill.
The buzzer sounded. The second quarter ended. Score: 45–42, Fukuda Sogo leading.
Looking at the situation, Fukuda still had a strong chance if the game continued like this.
But could it really continue this way?
All the original starters had played once and were exhausted—but the game was only halfway through.
Who would go in next?
The rookies. There was no other choice. It was Fukuda Sogo's only option.
In the rest area, Coach Kudo's voice was a mix of helplessness, seriousness, solemnity, and satisfaction.
"The game's halfway done. We're leading—you've seen it, it's possible. Next, rookies go in. Play like you trained. That's all I ask. Do your duty until your energy is spent."
"Yes, Coach!"
Kudo continued encouraging the rookies. They were the most fragile group, most likely to break under pressure. One mistake, and the team could collapse—back to square one.
Taking a towel from Shimizu Rena, Shogo wiped sweat and smiled at her.
Turning to the team captain, Fukuda Sasaki, gulping water beside him, he said:
"You rest first. If Teiko's number 15 comes in, you play. If not, rest this quarter, then play the final quarter."
"Is that okay, Shogo-kun?"
"If not… the consequences would be worse!"
"Then I'll do as you say."
Shogo nodded, silent, leaning back in his chair to rest.
Truthfully, since the game began, it had been torture—not being able to play at full strength.
If he went all out, the team couldn't keep up. And speeding up the pace would only accelerate their collapse.
At times like this, the team was a chain around him. Harsh words, but not untrue.
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