After blowing past Sakuragi's defense, Takezono's No. 9 looked much more relaxed. He calmly stepped to the free-throw line and sank both shots, tying the score.
The players from other schools immediately fixed their eyes on Sakuragi.
"That redhead's defense looks terrible."
"Yeah, he's clearly Shohoku's biggest weakness. If we ever play them, we should exploit him."
But over on Ryonan's bench, the players frowned. Something didn't add up. In the practice match, and even in Shohoku's earlier games, Sakuragi hadn't been that easy to get past. Takezono's No. 9 wasn't particularly strong, so why did he break through so easily?
They racked their brains, but couldn't find the answer.
Shohoku went back on offense. Miyagi took Akagi's pass and dribbled slowly up the court.
As soon as Akagi crossed the free-throw line, Sakuragi came out of the paint to set a screen. Miyagi instantly accelerated and blew right by his defender. The switch brought Takezono's power forward onto him, but Miyagi didn't even blink—he pushed the speed up another gear and charged straight at the basket.
The center rotated to help, but Miyagi pulled up short and dumped the ball off to Akagi.
Akagi seized the pass, leapt up, and—
BAM!
A gorilla dunk shook the hoop and the crowd erupted.
"Whoaaa!" gasps filled the gym.
Most high school teams relied on raw individual skill. Only a handful had real teamwork drilled into them. At their age, kids mostly played with passion and instinct, while coaches focused on fundamentals rather than structured tactics.
That's why this single play caught everyone's attention. The screen, the drive, the pass, the dunk—every movement flowed naturally, like clockwork. This wasn't luck. This was training.
The crowd, once neutral, began quietly leaning toward Shohoku.
On the benches, players from other schools exchanged uneasy glances.
"They're… on another level," someone muttered.
It wasn't just the gap between Takezono and Shohoku. It was the gap between Shohoku and them.
Even Ryonan's players were shaken. They recalled how Coach Taoka had treated Anzai with unusual respect during the practice game. "So that's it… we thought Shohoku was weak, but it was just their players before. With the right talent, Coach Anzai's tactics shine."
But in reality, these tactics weren't directly from Anzai at all. They had developed naturally.
After Nango taught Sakuragi the alley-oop, he had also drilled him in the basics of the pick-and-roll. With defenses ignoring Sakuragi, he could sneak into the paint for easy finishes. Miyagi had quickly picked it up as well, and the extra movement opened up even more space for Akagi to dominate inside.
Now, Shohoku had fast breaks, isolation plays, and a reliable screen-and-roll. For a high school team, their offense was unexpectedly rich.
Back on the court, Takezono's No. 9 went at Sakuragi again.
This time he pulled up for a jumper outside the lane—but Sakuragi was ready. He suddenly reached out and covered the shooter's eyes.
"What the—?!"
Blinded, No. 9 bricked the shot completely. Akagi secured the rebound and launched a pass downcourt. Miyagi was already sprinting, catching it in stride and finishing the fast break.
"Hey! Isn't covering someone's eyes a foul?"
"It looked dangerous!"
"Uh… technically, he didn't touch his face. He just blocked his vision."
The audience buzzed. Sakuragi's unorthodox defense was shocking, weird, and kind of hilarious.
"This Shohoku team…" someone said, "…they keep pulling out tricks that surprise us!"
Takezono still pressed their luck, sending No. 9 at Sakuragi again.
The first time, Sakuragi had let him go.
The second time, Sakuragi shadowed him but stayed on the wing.
This time, Sakuragi stuck to him from the start, cutting off his momentum.
With Akagi waiting under the hoop, No. 9 was trapped. He twisted and forced a pass—only for Miyagi to snatch it clean.
Shohoku countered again, and Rukawa finished at the rim.
Not even three minutes into the game, Takezono was unraveling. They couldn't score, and every miss turned into Shohoku points. Their coach had no choice but to burn a timeout.
"Great job, Sakuragi!"
Each of Sakuragi's last three defensive plays had improved on the one before, and his teammates showered him with praise.
"Hahaha! Of course! I am Genius Sakuragi Hanamichi!" he boasted, chest puffed out.
He was falling in love with basketball more and more—this was the first time in his life he'd ever received so much recognition.
Rukawa sighed and glanced at Nango, helpless. As arrogant as Sakuragi was, he had to admit: the redhead's progress was real, and he truly helped the team.
Coach Anzai simply smiled from the bench. Watching Nango, Rukawa, and Sakuragi grow day by day filled his heart with joy.
The only downside was that with Nango running things so smoothly, Anzai barely had to do anything. The games felt almost too easy.
But he knew the real stage was yet to come. When the Nationals arrived, it would be his time again. The "Great Demon King" Anzai Mitsuyoshi would return, and all of Japan would remember the fear of being dominated!
He chuckled to himself—then quickly corrected it.
"No, no, I'm the Smiling Buddha now… hohohoho."
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