Sakuragi stood behind Nango, glaring daggers at him as he complained loudly,
"Nango, you're too despicable! You just snuck up and stole my ball!"
"Heh." Nango turned around with a grin. "Don't be silly. I'll throw you an alley-oop later."
"It's a deal!"
Sakuragi's mood flipped instantly. His eyes practically shone with golden light.
At the free-throw line, Rukawa Kaede adjusted the wristband Sawakita had knocked loose earlier and let out a soft chuckle.
"Two big idiots."
Having tasted the joy of passing for the first time, his mood was unusually good. A brand-new door had opened in front of him—his basketball world suddenly felt much wider.
Rukawa couldn't help recalling why he had always hated passing before.
It was probably because of disappointment. Again and again.
He glanced at the group of "idiots" beside him and murmured quietly,
"…Not this time."
Seeing Shohoku's three players looking so relaxed—completely unconcerned—Sawakita clenched his fists, fury boiling in his chest.
Can't defend? Who do you think I am?
Open your eyes. Just you wait.
Rukawa took the ball from the referee, steadied his breathing, and sank the free throw cleanly.
The lead stretched to eleven.
"Mikio!"
Fukatsu roared, shoving Nango aside as he charged toward the baseline.
At this point, he could no longer afford to command from a distance. Whether life or death—he had to shoulder it himself.
The moment he caught the ball, Fukatsu sprinted upcourt at full speed, abandoning rhythm, ignoring stamina. He looked like someone being forced to his absolute limit.
"Fukatsu…"
Maki's thick brows furrowed.
Aida Yayoi shook her head. "I never thought the normally calm Fukatsu would be pushed this far. Nango's existence is a disaster for point guards in the same position…"
Fukatsu's outburst caught everyone off guard—but Nango reacted instantly, chasing after him to set up another trap.
Fukatsu didn't give him the chance.
The moment he crossed half court, he charged straight into the paint without slowing down. If he hesitated—even for a moment—everything he had done would be meaningless.
The Kawata brothers turned their heads, ready to collapse inward—yet their feet didn't move.
They trusted Nango.
Tch…
Seeing they didn't bite, Fukatsu went straight up for the layup.
"Smack!"
The instant the ball left his hand, Nango slapped it from behind.
The ball didn't fly out of bounds—it bounced off Little Kawata and dropped into chaos beneath the basket.
"Kawata grabs it! Turns—shoots! Pump fake! Akagi bites! Kawata drives strong—"
"Smack!"
"Blocked by Sakuragi! But Kawata gets it back—goes up again!"
"Smack!"
"Blocked again—this time by Akagi!!"
"Beep!"
"Oh! Foul call! Kawata will go to the free-throw line!"
"…Hmm?"
"Coach Domoto calls a timeout. Looks like adjustments are coming."
Commentator Fujiwara finally grabbed a water bottle and took a long drink. The exchange had been too intense—his throat was already sore from shouting.
That possession had been pure chaos.
And Fukatsu… had been far too impulsive.
Coach Domoto wiped the sweat from his palms onto his pants, organizing his thoughts while observing his players' expressions.
Kawata looked unwilling.
Sawakita was clearly irritated.
Matsumoto and Little Kawata radiated frustration.
Fukatsu… blamed himself.
At a moment like this, emotional speeches were meaningless. Domoto needed something tangible—something that could actually turn the tide.
On Shohoku's side, Kogure handed out towels and water bottles, smiling as he spoke,
"Akagi, that block earlier was such a shame."
Akagi wiped the sweat from his face and sighed.
"It was clean. I didn't even touch his hand. But forget it—we can't argue with the ref."
"Right," Mitsui added calmly. "We're leading by a lot already. As long as we stay steady, we'll win. No unnecessary moves."
Then Akagi turned instinctively toward Nango.
"Nango, what do you think Sannoh will do next?"
Even he had grown used to Nango speaking first, with Coach Anzai adding afterward.
Nango shook his head.
"Hard to say. At this point, they shouldn't have any trump cards left. If they do change something… it'll be their last gamble."
He paused, then smiled faintly.
"My guess? They'll create shooting chances for Sawakita."
"If that's the case," Nango continued calmly, "we stick to our assignments. Switch quickly on screens. Don't give them easy looks."
Then his smile widened, voice low but magnetic.
"There are less than ten minutes left. No matter how tired you are—grit your teeth. Persevere."
He extended his right arm.
"The trophy is already calling us. Everything we've done until now… won't be wasted."
"Shohoku," he said slowly, clearly.
"Go for it."
Hands stacked together—players, even manager Ayako joining in.
"Shohoku! Go for it!"
"Ho ho ho…"
Coach Anzai smiled, not needing to add a word.
Hikoichi Aida stared wide-eyed.
"S-Shohoku's momentum is terrifying!"
Uozumi laughed heartily.
"The championship's right in front of them. There's no way they lose now."
The Ryonan players nodded.
Sendo thought the same—but his eyes stayed locked on one man.
Sawakita… it's on you now.
"No problem. Leave it to me!"
Sawakita patted his chest, fire blazing in his eyes.
Coach Domoto had finally pushed all his chips onto him.
This time… even Fukatsu wouldn't hold him back.
After the timeout, Kawata made both free throws.
Rukawa Kaede brought the ball upcourt.
This guy's even more fired up than before…
The timeout didn't just stabilize Sawakita—it made him explode with energy. He pressed into Rukawa relentlessly, body-to-body, refusing to let him settle into rhythm.
For the old Rukawa, his efficiency would've dropped.
But now… things were different.
Nango stepped up and set a solid screen.
Rukawa flashed past Sawakita, immediately attacking Fukatsu one-on-one—using the mismatch to regain full control.
Rukawa Kaede versus Fukatsu.
A glaring mismatch.
Sannoh's entire defense shifted their focus.
From the perimeter, Big Kawata roared,
"Fukatsu! Show them! This kid's nothing—take him down!"
The shout startled Fukatsu—but he felt the weight of trust behind it.
"…Kawata."
As third-years, their bond ran deep. And today's version of Fukatsu felt unfamiliar—even to himself.
Being unable to stop Nango was one thing.
But if he couldn't even stop a first-year like Rukawa Kaede…
That was unacceptable.
Moved, Sannoh's bench leapt to their feet.
"Fukatsu-senpai! Go for it!"
Fukatsu didn't reply.
He just locked onto Rukawa, eyes burning with a single message:
Kid—come at me.
…What's with these people?
Rukawa felt strangely irritated. Somehow, he'd become the villain in their story—and he hated that feeling.
He drove hard.
"Rukawa Kaede accelerates—trying to force a breakthrough!"
"Stopped! Fukatsu cuts off the lane!"
Fukatsu planted himself like a wall, refusing to yield even an inch.
Rukawa was forced to pull back.
He frowned.
Maybe… I'll try that.
"Nice defense, Fukatsu!"
"Go, Fukatsu-senpai!"
Cheers erupted again.
Rukawa attacked once more.
"He's driving again—no! Pull-up jumper—wait!?"
"It's a fadeaway pull-up jumper!!"
"Swish!"
The shot dropped cleanly.
Fujiwara could only laugh bitterly.
"Rukawa Kaede just used Sawakita's signature move… right in front of Fukatsu!"
Who could've imagined this?
Nango smiled faintly.
"There aren't that many passionate storylines," he said calmly.
"Basketball… is about skill."