In the blink of an eye
The second round of the Tokyo District preliminaries had arrived.
Their opponent...
An old friend—Shōei Junior High.
Yes, that very same team who, back when they were in their first year, faced Teiko in a training match and were stunned when Shigure Akihito made up a 27-point deficit in just one quarter. On that same day, Nijimura had pulled off a similar comeback against another team.
It was that miraculous day that had moved Teiko's then-second-years, Asahi Nanaki and Izawa Shō, to voluntarily offer up their starting positions to Coach Sanada the very next day.
A coincidental moment, but one that left a deep impression on Nijimura Shuzo.
And Shigure Akihito remembered it clearly, too.
What's worth mentioning...
Was that last year
Also in the second round
The unfortunate Shōei had, once again, drawn Teiko in the preliminary bracket.
And now, by some twist of fate, history had repeated itself down to the smallest detail.
The only difference?
The players had changed. With last year's third-years having graduated, this year's Shōei roster was entirely different—new faces, new dynamics.
Coach Shirogane wasn't present for this game. After watching the first round and seeing just how overwhelming Teiko's Twin Stars were, Coach Sanada had already reached a conclusion.
Unlike the first round, this time he opened the game with a lineup of one starter and four bench players, saving the rest of the starting five for the second half.
Why?
First, it would allow him to observe the synergy and strength of the new first-year bench players without mentally crushing the opponent or running up a ludicrous lead.
Second
Well, if it were the old days, he'd never consider something like this.
But this year...
Sanada glanced at Shigure Akihito and Nijimura Shuzo, both seated calmly on the bench.
He thought to himself: Let's give the opposing middle schoolers a proper half of basketball. They deserve that much.
On the sidelines
Atsushi Murasakibara.
Daiki Aomine.
Fukaya Reiji.
Shintarō Midorima.
Seijūrō Akashi.
The five starters stepped onto the court, with one notable omission from the Class of 1994: Shōgo Haizaki, who sat fuming on the bench, clearly unhappy with being benched—and clearly being held back by Nijimura's silent pressure.
Watching Haizaki sulk in silence, Shigure couldn't help but chuckle. He patted Haizaki's shoulder reassuringly and said:
"Don't take it so hard."
"You were only subbed out because your position overlaps with someone else's."
"Besides, you'll be playing with me and Nijimura in the second half. If you think about it that way... aren't you practically starting?"
Haizaki: "!?"
Wait a minute...
That's... not wrong?
Hmph! That's right!
So what if that dark-skinned idiot is starting now? Everyone knows this isn't the real starting lineup!
Nijimura Shuzo: "…"
This guy... was he always this easy to manipulate?
On the court.
Even if they hadn't seen the first round, Shōei knew all too well how terrifying Teiko was—especially with the legends from last year.
And this year's first-round massacre had already spread far and wide like wildfire.
So even when facing a lineup filled with Teiko's first-years, Shōei wasn't taking any chances. They shrunk their defense in the paint, while assigning their best perimeter defender to mark the only true starter on the court:
Second-year, No. 7—Fukaya Reiji.
It was obvious
Shōei had decided to build from defense.
Not because they didn't want to try matching offense with Teiko's first-years. It's just... this year's Shōei team had regressed even further from last year. They didn't have the ability to keep up offensively.
But then...
As the game began
The Shōei coach quickly realized
They couldn't hold up defensively either.
Coach Sanada's plan was to have Fukaya act as a stabilizing force on the court—someone to guide the inexperienced first-years through moments of hesitation or mistakes.
But as the game went on
Everyone began to notice something strange.
Fukaya Reiji was suddenly taking on the role of offensive ace.
Lurking beyond the arc, every time he touched the ball, he faced not only the small forward but also the looming threat of a double-team from the power forward.
He'd never been targeted this intensely before—not even when he shared the court with Nijimura and Shigure.
Yet despite Shōei overestimating the strength of this so-called "true starter," they hadn't expected the kid they'd seen on film—who seemed like just a sharp spot-up shooter—to possess such terrifying ability.
Akashi glanced at his upperclassman.
"…"
Too useful.
All of Fukaya's technique was concentrated in the moment he received the pass.
At that exact instant—he could transform the pass into an offensive move. Whether it was a crossover, a step-back, or a fake—he could execute it all almost simultaneously with the catch, opening up space in a flash.
And once the second defender arrived, whether he chose to drive or pass, it all happened so quickly that there was no time wasted.
This made Teiko's offense flow like silk.
As the point guard, Akashi found himself constantly looking for Fukaya.
And so
By the end of the first quarter...
The score stood at:
34 – 12.
Even though Shōei had tried their best to drag down the pace of the game, they were still utterly steamrolled. Teiko's offense, revolving around Fukaya, was simply too efficient.
And most importantly
Number 7 never forced anything.
He always made the right play.
If he wasn't double-teamed, he'd use his unique ball-handling to create space and shoot. If help came, he'd pass it off.
The core issue was this—
No matter who passed the ball, no matter the distance, angle, or speed—Fukaya could receive it and instantly convert it into space-creating movement or jaw-dropping fakes that looked almost like illusions.
—
"This year's Teiko…"
Huff…
"What now?"
The Shōei captain—now a third-year who had been just a benchwarmer last year—stood in a daze after just one quarter, staring in awe at Teiko's bench.
Number 7
Fukaya Reiji.
The guy whose eyes you couldn't even see beneath that strange fringe.
As the team captain and the starting small forward, he had been the one tasked with defending Fukaya from the tip-off—and he had been completely blown out.
Every move came immediately after the catch.
Fast. Fluid. Deceptive.
All his fakes and moves happened in an instant—there was no time to read them.
Even when he tried to cut off passing lanes, the opposing player's positioning, coupled with those explosive bursts of speed, always left him one step too slow.
In just one quarter, he'd been reduced to a human punching bag.
And then...
His eyes wandered to Teiko's No. 8
First-year point guard, Akashi Seijūrō.
"This first-year kid…"
He's… good.
Like, really good.
For a first-year who had started in the previous match, he didn't even seem interested in making himself look good.
All he cared about...
Was winning.
And now he was just riding No. 7's momentum and exploiting his ability to the max.
"Huff..."
"That No. 7 guy…"
"His skills… might just be national-level."
The Shōei coach cast another look toward Teiko's side of the court and sighed again at how stacked their roster was—completely missing the way his players' expressions had darkened in silence.
—
Second quarter.
Teiko made no substitutions.
Offensive possession.
Clang!
"Eh?!"
"Damn…"
Aomine's shot bounced off the rim under the tall defender's full-pressure contest. A chaotic scramble broke out under the basket, and Shōei's center ignored the rebound entirely—focused only on muscling Teiko's first-year center.
Smack!
By sheer luck
The rebound fell right into Shōei's hands. Their small forward grabbed it and launched a fast break.
Murasakibara frowned, muttering "So annoying," but his legs told a different story—keeping pace with Shōei's break like a gazelle, not a center.
But then
Boom!
A screen!
At the free-throw line, Shōei executed a pick-and-roll to block off Murasakibara.
Their shooting guard broke free and drove straight into the paint for a layup!
Murasakibara tried to recover—but...
"…"
Can't reach it in time…
Even though they'd started from the same spot on the free-throw line…
That smiling upperclassman with the wide-area defense always made it in time—but me…
And in that moment of hesitation
Whoosh
A white blur flashed past him!
Number 7!
One burst
Then a second!
Two explosive steps!
Fukaya's hair whipped backward in the wind. In that instant, Murasakibara caught a crystal-clear glimpse of that cold, focused gaze.
Whoosh!
He launched from just inside the free-throw line!
He didn't have Shigure's inhuman vertical—but he had sacrificed that verticality for horizontal coverage, just enough…
And though he didn't reach above the backboard
Smack!
He swatted the ball out of bounds!
Murasakibara: "…"
So… it was possible to catch up?
Turning around, he saw the gloomy upperclassman walking slowly toward him.
Even though he was taller, Fukaya's presence made it feel like he was being overshadowed by a towering figure.
As they passed
Fukaya's words struck him like lightning.
"Talent…"
"Potential…"
"Murasakibara, you have everything."
"Even if you're not interested in basketball, even if you're arrogant—someone with everything should at least have the pride not to lose to ordinary people."
"But that last play…"
"I didn't see that from you."
"You lost."
End of chapter...
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