After the timeout, Takezono realized they had no chance breaking through Sakuragi. They shifted their focus to other Shohoku players—only to find the result just as disastrous.
With 10 minutes still left, the scoreboard read 106–32, Shohoku in complete control.
On the bench, Nango handed Sakuragi a towel. "Good work. Sit down and rest."
"Hmph! I don't need rest!" Sakuragi snatched the towel, sulking. "I could've stayed out there! Why'd you sub me out?!"
Nango chuckled, squeezing his shoulder. "Relax. Against this kind of team, your skills won't really shine anyway. Let the others get a chance."
Truth was, Takezono was simply too weak. Shohoku's starters barely had to break a sweat. Most of their points came from fast-break counterattacks off steals, so much so that the crowd hardly saw their half-court sets.
In the second half, Nango began subbing out one starter every two minutes. By the time Sakuragi came off, the entire starting five were resting on the sidelines, watching the bench players rack up minutes.
The display of Shohoku's sheer depth and dominance left the gym buzzing.
"I can't believe this is Shohoku. They've become so strong!"
"That redhead is amazing—he's so fast, and he jumps like crazy!"
"Rukawa didn't even show much this game…"
"That big point guard, Nango, though… his presence is unreal. Most of their fast breaks start with him!"
By the end, everyone remembered Shohoku's three freshmen: Rukawa, Sakuragi, and Nango.
At the railing, Shoyo's Hanagata frowned. "I didn't expect Takezono to be this weak. Shohoku's real strength is still hidden. That No. 13… Nango… Fujima might not be able to handle him."
"Hanagata, was this trip worth it?"
The voice came from behind. Hanagata turned to see Uozumi and forced a smile. "It's fine. This opponent was too soft. If it were us, we'd have scored 200."
Uozumi snorted. He could tell Hanagata was bluffing, but didn't press. Inwardly, though, he felt sympathy. Shoyo had drawn the short straw this year—forced to face Shohoku head-on before the round-robin even began. Two strong teams, but only one would advance. And right now, it looked like Shoyo would be the one to fall.
Ryonan, on the other hand, had it easy. Their side of the bracket was clear. They could just sit back and wait.
The final whistle blew. Shohoku 134, Takezono 46.
"Yeah! Two wins in a row!"
The team erupted in cheers.
For the veterans, the joy was bittersweet. Just last year, winning even a single game was considered lucky. Now, they were blowing teams out while everyone got to play. No more overworking the starters—everyone had a role.
In the stands, Kainan's captain Maki rose to leave. "Let's go. Shohoku is the team to study this year. We should prepare early."
Kiyota blinked. "Eh? Maki, you think Shoyo will lose?"
"Shoyo will struggle against those three freshmen." Maki didn't answer directly, but his eyes were serious. His gut told him Fujima wouldn't make it to Nationals this time.
Sendoh, still lounging in his seat, propped his chin on one hand. "I agree. Shoyo leans too heavily on Fujima and Hanagata. Once they're locked down, they've got no other weapons."
Maki turned sternly to Kiyota. "Kiyota, those Shohoku freshmen are your future rivals. Train harder. Don't let them surpass you."
Kiyota scoffed. "Hah! Don't worry, Maki. No way those three are my competition!"
Maki let it slide. Right now, Kiyota's only edge over Nango and Rukawa might just be that confidence.
Meanwhile, in the stands, the Sakuragi Gang sulked.
"Man, it's a bust," Noma sighed.
Takamiya smacked him. "Idiot! There was never a chance to bet in the first place. Everyone thought he'd get ejected—what odds are there in that?"
Okusu scratched his head. "I still can't believe that idiot Sakuragi is actually good at basketball."
The truth was undeniable. Game by game, Sakuragi was improving before their eyes.
Yohei chuckled. "Guess that just means he's found where he belongs, huh?"
No one argued. They didn't need to.
Shohoku's winning streak rolled on. After demolishing Takezono, they crushed Takada High 144–67, then outclassed Tsukubu 115–68, making it four straight wins in the Prefectural Tournament.
Their next opponent: Shoyo. The showdown that would decide who reached the round-robin.
Nango paid special attention to Tsukubu. He had once considered joining them, and he was curious how they were still thriving without him.
The answer became clear during the game: Coach Kawasaki. A true disciple of Anzai.
Even without a strong inside presence, Tsukubu leaned on constant passing, sharp cuts, and screens to create chances. Their offense flowed with chemistry and trust.
This time, Godai didn't foul out. He was calm, efficient, and deadly from deep, trading three-pointers with Mitsui in a thrilling shootout that made even Sendoh itch to get on the court.
But Shohoku's defense eventually tightened, and Tsukubu's shooters crumbled. Only Godai remained reliable. Talent won out.
And with that loss, Tsukubu's summer ended, along with Godai's high school basketball career.
After the game, Godai embraced Akagi and Kogure. "Work hard for both of us," he said, smiling through the regret.
Akagi's heart was heavy. This year, he had received blessings from so many rivals, and each one weighed on him like both a burden and a source of strength.
The freshmen, however, thought less about such things. Their journey was just beginning, and they were simply enjoying the thrill of victory.
But the very next evening, at the Nango household, the phone rang. His mother answered—her expression darkened. Someone was in trouble, and Nango would have to explain himself.
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