Full-court presses and double-team defense had always been Sannoh Industrial's specialties—precisely why Fukatsu was so furious.
What was Shohoku doing? Teaching a fish how to swim?
Yet just moments ago, he had been forced to call for help from the referee to avoid a turnover—an outright humiliation for Fukatsu, Sannoh's captain and primary point guard.
Worse still, Shohoku had been targeting him since the opening tip. As the saying went, even a clay statue had its breaking point. Fukatsu had finally reached his.
But anger alone wouldn't change anything. If it did, Sannoh wouldn't be trailing right now.
So the responsibility fell to Coach Domoto.
Was coaching Sannoh Industrial difficult?
To outsiders, it seemed laughably easy. With Sannoh's roster, people joked that even tying a dog to the bench would guarantee a championship. In their eyes, the coach was little more than decoration.
Coach Domoto, of course, had no intention of comparing himself to a dog—but truthfully, his job was easier than most.
Every year, elite talents flocked to Sannoh. Recruitment was never an issue. The team culture was ironclad as well. Everyone who came here shared the same goal: victory. With veterans like Fukatsu and Kawata leading the way, the players trained hard without needing constant supervision.
That allowed Domoto to focus on what mattered most—tactics and opponent analysis.
And now, with Sannoh facing real adversity, it was time for him to show his true worth.
He picked up the tactics board with his left hand and a marker with his right, ready to draw, when Sawakita suddenly stepped forward.
"Coach, give me the ball," he said bluntly. "Let me tear apart their defense."
"It's not time yet." Coach Domoto smiled calmly as he began sketching on the board. "Mikio, if you can't get inside, stay on the perimeter more. Set screens for Matsumoto and the others."
"Yes." Little Kawata nodded obediently.
Domoto turned his gaze to another player. "Matsumoto, don't forget to share the ball-handling duties with Fukatsu. Don't get tunnel vision on individual offense."
"Ah—yes!" Matsumoto glanced at Fukatsu and said awkwardly, "Captain… I'm sorry."
He was apologizing for the previous possession. If he'd come up to receive the ball, Fukatsu wouldn't have been forced to stop and call for help.
"It's fine," Fukatsu replied quietly. He didn't blame Matsumoto—it was his own shortcoming.
"Fukatsu," Coach Domoto continued, "if the pressure gets too heavy, hand the ball off to Matsumoto. Even without the ball, you can still control the offense."
Fukatsu nodded. "Understood."
"Mikio, on defense, don't wander. Lock down the paint."
"Kawata," Domoto said, turning to the elder brother, "interior help inside the three-point line is on you. You can ease up on Sakuragi for now."
The Kawata brothers nodded. This inside-out defensive setup closely resembled Meihou Industrial's style. Although Sannoh hadn't practiced it extensively, Domoto trusted his players to execute.
As the timeout ended, Domoto's voice hardened.
"Shohoku is strong. No—they're the strongest opponent we've faced on our road to a four-peat. And that's exactly why beating them will make this championship truly meaningful."
"Don't underestimate them. Don't rush. Fight for every ball."
"Go. Claim your glory!"
"Yes!"
His words steadied the team's nerves. Victory was no longer assumed—but now, it would be earned.
Play resumed.
Big Kawata inbounded to Fukatsu, then immediately cut toward the free-throw line. Matsumoto looped from the wing to the top of the arc.
Mitsui waited beyond the three-point line, prepared to pressure Fukatsu as usual—but Fukatsu suddenly rose up, pulling the trigger from long range while still a step outside.
"Swish!"
Mitsui reacted in time, closing out fast, but it was useless. The ball dropped cleanly through the net.
Was Sannoh… encouraging Fukatsu to shoot more?
What kind of tactic was this?
Nango brought the ball up court, his brows furrowed as he tried to read Coach Domoto's intentions. He wasn't overly concerned about Fukatsu's solo scoring.
Fukatsu's shots were effective precisely because they were unexpected. If it became routine, that edge would disappear.
And if necessary, Nango could always switch back to guarding him directly.
What truly mattered was what Sannoh planned to do after activating Fukatsu.
Kawata and Sawakita were the obvious beneficiaries—but he needed confirmation.
As Nango crossed midcourt, he noticed a change in Fukatsu's defense.
Instead of pressing him head-on, Fukatsu kept his distance, angling his body to deliberately expose the left side.
An invitation.
Nango glanced past him. Kawata stood alert near the free-throw line, eyes locked on him.
So that was it.
A trap.
And Sakuragi—Kawata's original assignment—was temporarily left open.
Nango smiled faintly. "Interesting. You think this is enough to stop me?"
"You'll find out," Fukatsu replied flatly, his expression unreadable.
Nango snorted, lowered his stance, and drove straight into the lane—exactly where Sannoh wanted him.
Fukatsu slid alongside him, staying glued to his hip.
Kid… you walked right into it.
Kawata stepped up with arms spread wide, legs braced—but Nango stopped half a step short and rose straight up.
A pull-up jumper?!
Impossible!
Kawata lunged forward, one hand shooting up to smother the ball.
Fukatsu jumped as well, reaching in from the side—
—but he couldn't quite get there.
Oh no!
Neither defender succeeded.
Midair, Nango twisted his wrist and flicked the ball away.
A pass.
Straight to Sakuragi.
"Hehehe! My chance has come!"
With Kawata pulled away and Little Kawata locked under the rim, Sakuragi stood completely unguarded. He rose and fired without hesitation.
The arc was perfect. The form was clean—
—but the shot rattled out.
"Damn it! Then I'll grab it myself!"
Sakuragi charged toward the basket.
Little Kawata crouched low, ready to jump for the rebound—
—but someone else was already there.
"Tap!"
It wasn't Sakuragi.
Nango soared in, extended his long arm, secured the ball with one hand—and gently tipped it back in.
As he jogged back on defense, Nango opened his mouth to tease Fukatsu—
—but the captain ignored him completely, sprinting straight to the baseline to receive the inbound.
Nango chuckled softly, then turned to the frustrated Sakuragi.
"Don't worry," he said. "You'll get another chance."
"Really?"
"Of course," Nango replied with a grin. "We'll be counting on you later."