Shoyo High School – Starting Lineup
Center: Hanagata Toru — No. 5 (3rd Year)
Power Forward: Takano Shoichi — No. 8 (3rd Year)
Small Forward: Mitsuru Nagano — No. 7 (3rd Year)
Shooting Guard: Kazushi Hasegawa — No. 6 (3rd Year)
Point Guard: Fujima Kenji — No. 4 (3rd Year, Captain)
Shohoku High School – Starting Lineup
Center: Akagi Takenori — No. 4 (3rd Year, Captain)
Power Forward: Sakuragi Hanamichi — No. 10 (1st Year)
Small Forward: Rukawa Kaede — No. 11 (1st Year)
Shooting Guard: Mitsui Hisashi — No. 14 (3rd Year)
Point Guard: Miyagi Ryota — No. 7 (2nd Year)
The sharp sound of the opening whistle echoed across the gym.
The match began.
From the very first possession, Shohoku revealed a completely different rhythm from any of their previous games.
This time, it wasn't Akagi Takenori stepping into the center circle—
It was Sakuragi Hanamichi.
The moment the ball was tossed into the air, Sakuragi exploded upward.
His jump was ferocious.
Hanagata Toru barely left the ground before Sakuragi's fingertips had already brushed the ball, tipping it cleanly toward Miyagi Ryota.
A collective gasp rippled through the stands.
"So fast—!"
Uozumi straightened abruptly, eyes wide.
"His explosiveness… it's on another level compared to before."
Miyagi caught the ball smoothly and burst forward, lowering his center of gravity as he slashed toward Shoyo's perimeter like a red streak.
Kazushi Hasegawa rushed in to cut him off—
Too slow.
Miyagi snapped the ball behind his back, changed direction in a blink, and blew past him.
Shoyo's defense collapsed inward.
The moment two defenders shifted toward him, Miyagi flicked his wrist.
A sharp pass fired to the left wing.
Mitsui Hisashi was already waiting.
No hesitation.
Knees bent.
Wrist snapped.
The ball traced a perfect arc.
Swish.
Shohoku struck first.
3–0.
Fujima Kenji took the ball calmly on the next possession, scanning the court with sharp, calculating eyes.
He raised a hand, signaling the play.
Nagano and Hasegawa flared wide.
Hanagata slipped inside, shaking Akagi just enough to present a passing lane.
Fujima twisted his wrist—
But before the ball could leave his hand—
A red figure lunged in from the blind spot.
Sakuragi Hanamichi.
The steal was violent, explosive, utterly unexpected.
The ball was gone.
Sakuragi turned instantly and thundered down the court.
Shoyo scrambled back—but it was meaningless.
BOOM.
A one-handed tomahawk dunk detonated the rim.
5–0.
Only six minutes had passed.
Fujima's brows knit together.
This wasn't right.
He raised his hand.
Timeout.
In the stands, Akashi Seijuro watched quietly, crimson eyes sharp.
"Adjusting defensive positioning alone won't fix this," he said calmly.
"Shohoku's offensive diversity has already shattered Shoyo's rhythm."
He was right.
The timeout changed nothing.
Rukawa Kaede caught the ball along the baseline, double-teamed immediately.
A spin.
A pump fake.
The defenders bit.
Fadeaway.
Swish.
Moments later, Mitsui picked off a lazy pass and sent Sakuragi flying down the court for another brutal dunk.
By halftime—
The scoreboard told a merciless story.
Shohoku 56 — Shoyo 25
The gap wasn't just points.
It was momentum, confidence, will.
Fujima tried everything—adjustments, tempo control, individual breakthroughs.
Nothing worked.
Mitsui caught fire again, draining consecutive three-pointers.
Turnovers piled up.
Shohoku's defense read Shoyo like an open book.
Akagi ruled the paint.
Miyagi tore through gaps.
Rukawa struck with cold efficiency.
Sakuragi dominated the boards like a force of nature.
Akashi spoke again, his voice calm, almost clinical.
"Shoyo relies too heavily on Fujima Kenji. Once he's contained, no one else can carry the offense."
He paused.
"Shohoku is different. Their scoring options don't collapse just because one player is pressured."
The second half began.
Shoyo refused to give up.
Fujima forced his way through two defenders, finishing a layup through contact.
And-one.
Hasegawa finally hit a three.
For a brief moment, it looked like resistance.
Shohoku responded immediately.
Rukawa broke his defender with a crossover and pulled up clean.
Miyagi pushed the pace.
Mitsui buried another three.
In one minute—
7–0 run.
The lead ballooned past thirty-five.
Five minutes into the second half, Shoyo's defense unraveled.
Rotations were late.
Assignments slipped.
Lanes opened.
Shohoku showed no mercy.
Akagi hammered home a two-handed dunk.
Mitsui followed with another three.
By the midpoint of the half—
88–42.
A 46-point chasm.
The gym fell into a strange quiet.
The outcome was no longer in doubt.
When the final whistle sounded, silence engulfed the arena.
All eyes turned to the scoreboard.
Shohoku 115 — Shoyo 65
A fifty-point difference.
A number that felt unreal.
For years, Shoyo had ruled Kanagawa as its eternal second seed.
And now—
They were crushed.
Overrun.
Overwhelmed.
Whether it was the lingering damage from their loss to Ryonan, or Shohoku's sheer rise in strength—
The result was undeniable.
This wasn't just a loss.
It was an ending.
With this defeat, Shoyo's era came to a close.
And with this victory—
Shohoku claimed third place in Kanagawa and seized the final ticket to the National Tournament.
The stage was set.
And Kanagawa would never be the same again.