Less than two minutes into the second half, Shohoku was forced to adjust again.
Kogure subbed in for the fouled-out Sakuragi. Rukawa slid to small forward, and Nango took on the task of guarding Naito.
With Mitsui and Sakuragi both gone, Shohoku had lost two key pieces. And after Naito calmly drained two free throws, Miuradai had closed the gap to 47–49. The momentum seemed to be swinging their way.
Shohoku possession. Miyagi dribbled across half-court, glancing left at Nango and right at Rukawa. After a beat of hesitation, he chose Rukawa—his matchup looked easier.
Rukawa caught, spun, and faced the basket. He gave Kogure a quick look to his right, freezing the defender, then exploded left. Two steps, pull-up, release.
Swish!
A clean jumper.
On the sidelines, Amu raised his eyebrows. "Rukawa Kaede from Tomioka Junior High, huh? He's a lot like Sendoh last year."
Miuradai countered quickly. Araki dumped the ball to Murasame, letting him go one-on-one with Rukawa.
Murasame smirked. A rookie this good is rare. Let's see what you've got, Rukawa.
He lowered his shoulder for a powerful drive—but before he could take two dribbles, Rukawa's hand darted in from behind, poking the ball free to Miyagi.
The overconfident Murasame had underestimated him.
Rukawa had been grinding one-on-one drills with Nango lately. His defensive instincts were sharpening fast, and Murasame's loose handles made him easy prey.
Miyagi snatched the ball and burst forward. Nango sprinted beside him—two prongs of a lightning-fast break.
The only Miuradai player who could keep up was Naito, pounding the floor in pursuit.
[Lightning Speed]Miyagi slashed straight to the basket, raising the ball for a layup.
Naito launched into the air, his massive frame blotting out the light.
But at the last instant, Miyagi flicked the ball backward—no-look—into Nango's hands.
Naito, midair, couldn't recover.
Nango rose without hesitation and hammered home a dunk.
The crowd roared.
After landing, Nango grinned at Miyagi. "Great pass."
Miyagi smirked. "Of course."
They slapped hands, their earlier tension forgotten.
Back on offense, Miuradai had no choice but to go to Naito again. Their "Iron Man" carried all their hopes—but this time, he found himself shackled.
Nango stayed glued to him, chest to chest, refusing to give an inch.
Naito tried to back him down, but every step met resistance. He retreated, looking for space, but Nango advanced, harassing his dribble with quick swats.
He was relentless—like a tiger pawing at its prey.
Frustrated, Naito finally gave the ball back to Araki.
The spectators buzzed.
"Who is that number 13? He's locking Naito down completely!"
"I've never heard of him before—unbelievable defense!"
Even Ryonan's bench was surprised.
Uozumi frowned. "He's improved again since our practice game. He doesn't look like a freshman at all."
Ikegami nodded. "That's not rookie defense. That's aggressive, seasoned defense."
Sendoh gave a small smile. "Maybe he's the only one who can defend like that."
On Shohoku's bench, Sakuragi finally caught on. "So that's what he meant earlier! That baldy can't do anything against him now!"
Miuradai's offense sputtered. Araki tried to take advantage of his height over Miyagi with a long jumper, but it rimmed out. Akagi snagged the rebound and fired an outlet to Rukawa.
Rukawa delivered again—one shake, one jumper, nothing but net.
Miuradai tried once more to lean on Naito, praying Nango's defense would falter. But Nango stuck like glue, forcing Naito into a desperate charge.
Beep! Offensive foul. Shohoku's ball.
"Damn it…" Naito gritted his teeth. He'd finally gotten his chance to play, but now his team was slipping away.
Nango rubbed his chest from the collision and muttered, "Brother, if it weren't me guarding you, Sakuragi would've headbutted you. Couldn't you have gone a little softer?"
Without an offensive core, Miuradai looked lost. Coach Harada broke into a cold sweat on the sidelines.
They'd all assumed Shohoku would be an easy first-round opponent. Even unleashing Naito early hadn't turned the tide.
Could this be as far as we go…? Harada thought grimly.
On the next possession, Nango had the ball. Naito tightened up, determined to repay the favor. He mirrored Nango's defensive stance, arms flailing.
To the crowd, the difference in quality was obvious.
Nango almost laughed at the comparison. He pump-faked once. Naito didn't move.
Again. Still no reaction.
A third. Nothing.
On the fourth fake, Naito finally lunged.
Nango instantly lowered his shoulder, drove past him, and banked in the shot.
That broke Miuradai's last bit of spirit.
From then on, Shohoku—led by Nango and Rukawa—unleashed a scoring barrage. Miuradai could only scrape together a few points off broken plays and long-range heaves.
Beep!
The final buzzer sounded.
Shohoku 101 – Miuradai 69.
Shohoku's bench erupted. "Shohoku forever!"
Everyone celebrated—except Sakuragi, who still sulked over his foul-out.
Miuradai, meanwhile, slumped in despair. Their year of effort had ended in the first round. Many players wept openly.
Murasame gripped Akagi's hand. "You'd better beat Hainan. If you don't, I'll never forgive you!"
Akagi said nothing, just returned the fist bump. As fellow third-years, he understood the pain.
On the sidelines, Amu sighed. "What a pity, Murasame."
Then his eyes sharpened. Shohoku… Fujima, can you still reach me this year?
--------------
Support me at patréon com/DaoOfPeeking