Including the timeout breaks, more than twenty minutes had passed.
Looking at the 18-point deficit, even Shirogane Kozo himself fell into silence.
‘What exactly had happened in the first half of this game?’
“Leading by nearly 20 points at halftime—is this still the same Teiko team?”
“Unbelievable.
Even though Teiko’s starting five lost two players compared to last year, they shouldn’t be getting destroyed like this by Kainan, should they?”
The reporters on the sidelines were genuinely surprised.
The gap in performance between the two teams in this game was far too large.
At least in the first half, Teiko had been completely on the back foot the entire time.
Too impatient.
Teiko played far too impatiently in this game.
Aside from Nijimura Shuzo, the other four starters all performed with obvious signs of rushing.
Shirogane Kozo knew the root of the problem.
These second and third-year players were under too much pressure.
Feeling threatened by the first-years like Aizen, they were desperate to showcase themselves as quickly as possible to secure their starting spots.
This was definitely not Teiko’s normal level of performance.
Many balls that should have been passed around more ended up as rushed, ill-advised shots because of the players’ urgent need to prove themselves.
Teiko’s five starters walked off the court with their heads hung low.
Nijimura Shuzo was helpless about this result.
He had scored 15 points, grabbed 3 rebounds, and dished out 3 assists in the first half, but his efficiency wasn’t great—it took him 10 shot attempts to get those 15 points.
Meanwhile, Maki had 12 points, 4 rebounds, and 4 assists in the first half.
On the surface, the two aces seemed evenly matched in the first half, but Maki’s 12 points came on just 7 shot attempts—6 of them made.
The only player who scored more than Maki was Takasago, who dominated the paint in the first half.
He wasn’t exactly unstoppable, but he got whatever he wanted down low.
“A bunch of trash.
You made me waste over 20 minutes of training time.”
After the first half ended, as Kainan’s players returned to their bench, Takasago shouted arrogantly at the entire Teiko team.
“That gorilla is so annoying.” Murasakibara wrinkled his nose.
He was extremely upset right now—upset at Takasago, that gorilla, and even more upset at his own team’s starting center.
With that kind of performance, he had the nerve to expect Murasakibara to be his backup?
“You think he looks like a gorilla too, right?
Kainan really has gathered quite the collection of oddballs.” Aizen nodded in agreement.
There was no denying it—Takasago’s appearance was strikingly similar to Akagi Takenori’s, which was exactly why Sakuragi passed to the wrong person in that crucial moment later on.
“Stop talking nonsense.” Nijimura Shuzo smacked both of them on the head.
Right now, he only felt humiliation.
At this rate, a comeback in the second half was almost impossible.
Aizen felt this was his opportunity.
If he could do what the starters couldn’t, surely the coach would have to give him playing time?
He snuck over to Shirogane Kozo, poked the frowning coach, and said, “Hey, Coach, let me go handle that middle-aged guy in the second half.
I guarantee I’ll make him nice and comfortable out there.”
The situation on the court was actually quite clear—Teiko just needed someone to step up and break the deadlock.
Right now, Kainan’s entire defense was focused on Nijimura Shuzo.
If he went in, he could easily steal a few baskets.
Once Kainan was forced to adjust their defense under pressure, Nijimura Shuzo would be freed up.
Even if they couldn’t complete a full comeback, the situation wouldn’t look as ugly as it did in the first half.
Aizen was calm and clear-headed.
He could see that Teiko had genuine strength; they just weren’t playing calmly enough.
Shirogane Kozo was still fuming about the starters’ performance, and being poked so casually by Aizen made him even more annoyed.
“Nice and comfortable?
How exactly are you going to make Maki comfortable?
You think this is a judo match?”
“Of course not.
I’m not that unreasonable.”
‘Don’t give me that.
Have you ever been reasonable?’
‘Who do you think caused Teiko’s current training intensity to skyrocket?’
“Coach, trust me.
Let me guard him.
I was just nervous during the tryout.
I’m actually really good at basketball.”
Shirogane Kozo thought to yourself, ‘You’re good at nothing—I’ve seen your ‘one fadeaway to three bricks’ routine with my own eyes.’
But in the current situation, he could give Aizen a shot.
Besides, he had promised to give these first-years a chance to perform before the game.
The second half began, and Teiko made massive lineup changes.
Teiko’s five players on the court now were: Aizen, Aomine, Midorima, Nijimura Shuzo, and Murasakibara.
Aizen was placed at point guard to match up against Maki.
Given Akashi’s frame, Shirogane Kozo decided not to rush him into the game yet.
As soon as Teiko’s new lineup came out, whispers immediately broke out on the sidelines.
“What’s going on?
“Is Teiko giving up?
Are they not planning to keep playing this game?”
“That can’t be right—Teiko was a national semifinalist last year.”
All the reporters looked at each other in confusion.
There were only two possibilities now.
First, Teiko was tanking, putting in first-year rookies to get some game experience and find their rhythm.
Second, these first-year rookies were Teiko’s secret weapons for this year.
Most reporters believed it was the first scenario.
What else could it be?
Kainan was still the number one seed from Kanagawa.
They couldn’t possibly get beaten by a bunch of rookies, could they?
The game restarted.
Maki brought the ball across half-court.
The one defending him was none other than Aizen, who had volunteered for the job.
Maki found it strange, because at the start of the second half, Teiko didn’t have a true point guard on the floor.
Sure, Nijimura Shuzo was famously versatile and could fill in at point guard without much trouble…
But with that arrangement, could Nijimura Shuzo’s stamina hold up for the entire game?
‘Teiko had completely given up.’
Maki shook his head, immediately drove forward, trying to shake off Teiko’s number 10—Aizen.
Thud.
Maki went with his trademark power drive.
Aizen was pushed back a step.
There was a nearly 10-kilogram weight difference between him and Maki—not something that could be easily overcome.
‘Damn it, this middle-aged guy is this strong?’
Aizen was surprised, but Maki was even more surprised.
In Aizen’s cursing expression, he actually saw a hint of excitement?
Without overthinking it, Maki accelerated again after pushing Aizen aside, charging toward Teiko’s paint.
He was incredibly fast.
His athleticism, completely at odds with his weight, made him look like a raging bull when he went full speed.
Maki drove all the way to the basket and found Murasakibara waiting for him.
Facing the massive Murasakibara, he didn’t back down.
He pulled the ball in mid-air to avoid the block.
Just as it seemed Maki was about to score right out of the gate, a figure in Teiko’s white jersey came charging from the perimeter into the paint.
The number on his back read: 10!