The second half opened with both sides going all out. Miuradai, led by Murasame, leaned heavily on him and Naito to pound the paint, repeatedly putting pressure on Shohoku's defense.
It didn't take long for Miuradai to identify Sakuragi as the weak link. They targeted him relentlessly, and for the first time in his basketball journey, Sakuragi faced coordinated attacks aimed directly at him. Frustrated and impatient, he quickly racked up four fouls—just one away from disqualification.
Meanwhile, Mitsui was locked in a draining battle with Murasame. Every drive, every collision chipped away at his stamina. His legs grew heavy, his shots clanked short, and his scoring rhythm faltered.
Shohoku could only rely on Akagi and Rukawa's high-low plays to hold the lead. The scoreboard showed 49–42—Shohoku clinging to a narrow advantage.
In the locker room, the atmosphere was tense.
Sakuragi sat with his head down, no longer full of swagger. He understood Miuradai was treating him like a weakness, but he couldn't stop them. He pinched his thigh in frustration.
"Damn it… What do these punks think of Genius Sakuragi?"
Mitsui slumped at the end of the bench, gasping for air.
"Ha… damn… has my stamina really gotten this bad?"
The situation looked grim, but Nango remained calm. To him, Miuradai wasn't unbeatable.
We beat Ryonan without Mitsui or Miyagi. Why should we fear Miuradai, just last year's Elite Eight?
In fact, Nango welcomed this pressure. It was forcing Shohoku's flaws into the open. Sakuragi's defense and foul trouble? Better he face it now than later. Mitsui's stamina issue? He'd figure it out and come back stronger. And with Miyagi still on the bench, Shohoku had a card to play.
This game isn't a sprint—it's a marathon. The real battle starts later.
On the other side, Miuradai's morale was soaring. Under Murasame's leadership, they played more united than ever.
Coach Harada, pleased with their first half, urged, "Keep pushing the attack! Don't let up against Shohoku!"
Murasame clapped Naito on the shoulder.
"Naito, you were great in the first half. Keep bullying them inside—but don't force it. If you see an opening, pass it."
Then he gathered the team. "That redhead is their weakest link. He already has four fouls. Focus on him in the second half!"
Raising his fist, he roared, "Victory will be ours! Defeat Hainan, reach Nationals!"
"Defeat Hainan, reach Nationals!" Miuradai echoed in unison, their fists raised high.
The referee tossed the ball to begin the half. Naito out-jumped Akagi, tipping it to his guard. Miuradai quickly worked the ball into Murasame's hands.
He sized up Mitsui—sweat-drenched, wobbling, barely keeping up. Murasame smirked.
"You can't stop me."
With an explosive first step, he blew past Mitsui. But instead of going all the way to the rim, he smartly pulled up just outside the paint—out of Akagi's reach—and released a jumper.
Mitsui leapt desperately but collided into Murasame after the shot was gone.
Swish! The basket was good.
Beep! "Count it! And one!"
"Great job, Captain!" Miuradai's bench erupted.
Mitsui stayed on the floor, too drained to move. Akagi rushed over.
"Mitsui! You okay?"
The others crowded around. Ayako quickly checked him.
"His body's fine, but he's completely exhausted. He can't go back in."
Coach Anzai nodded and made the call.
"Miyagi, you're in. Nango, take Mitsui's spot. Control the pace."
"Yes, Coach." Nango answered firmly.
Miyagi stretched, his eyes gleaming. Sorry, Mitsui. But this is my chance.
Murasame sank the free throw, cutting the score to 45–49.
Back on defense, Murasame barked, "Hold them here! Don't let them score!"
Shohoku's morale dipped with Mitsui gone, but Miyagi was fired up. Finally back on the court, he was itching to prove himself.
Araki stood in front of him, cautious. He knew small guards relied on speed, and that was his weakness. He gave Miyagi some space, ready to react.
But Miyagi had seen this defense countless times. With a sudden burst, he exploded forward, crossed Araki, and left him in the dust.
Araki's eyes widened. "So fast!"
Murasame shouted, "Naito! Stop him!"
Naito waited under the rim, confident. With Miyagi's height, he thought it would be easy. He let the guard get closer, ready to swat the layup into the stands.
Miyagi charged full speed, then suddenly rose. Naito leapt too, spreading wide to block the shot—
—but Miyagi had tricked him. In midair, he whipped the ball under Naito's legs.
"Nice one, Ryota!" Sakuragi caught it, slammed it down hard, then leaped with fury, ready to dunk and vent his frustration.
But Naito landed, spun, and swiped—smacking Sakuragi's hand instead of the ball. The dunk failed.
Beep! "Black number nine, shooting foul! White number ten, two free throws!"
Sakuragi froze, wide-eyed.
"Free throws?!"
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