Slap!
Akagi timed it perfectly—swatted the ball clean out of bounds.
Textbook rejection.
Uozumi crashed to the floor in a heap, stumbled backward, nearly lost his footing completely.
He stared up at Akagi, frustration and confusion warring across his face.
Am I really useless except for my height?
Kogure shook his head, sympathy stirring.
Poor Uozumi—his first real game, and he’d run straight into a motivated Akagi desperate to prove himself.
Timing was cruel sometimes.
On Ryonan’s bench, Coach Taoka sat with arms folded, expression grave.
He glanced at Coach Anzai across the court.
His feelings were…
complicated.
Minutes ago, he’d been bragging about Uozumi’s talent.
Now that same player was getting completely dominated by some unknown freshman.
Taoka had researched Shohoku beforehand.
The big center was a first-year, just like Uozumi.
“I didn’t expect Shohoku to have another excellent player besides Mitsui,” Taoka muttered.
His confidence had taken a hit.
But he recovered quickly, rationalizing: “Uozumi’s still a novice.
With his talent, give him a year—he’ll beat that kid.”
Currently, Uozumi had nothing but height and wingspan.
He needed time to develop.
Play resumed.
Matsushita called for another Uozumi screen.
But Uozumi was rattled, mentally checked out.
The pick-and-roll quality was garbage—soft, poorly positioned.
Matsushita took one step, and Ito squeezed past Uozumi easily, staying attached.
Under pressure, Matsushita kicked it to Captain Ozawa.
Ozawa caught it, immediately settling into triple-threat.
Kogure defended him a step off, ready.
Kogure didn’t underestimate Ryonan’s captain for a second.
Ozawa Yusaku wasn’t just the leader—he was the engine.
Last year’s prefectural tournament, Ozawa averaged 26.8 points per game.
Second on the scoring leaderboard.
His athleticism was above-average at best, but his offensive arsenal was diverse, polished.
They called him “Kanagawa’s Offensive Kaleidoscope.”
Ozawa had carried Ryonan to the quarterfinals before finally losing to Tsukubu.
Elite scorer.
Legitimate threat.
In a flash, Ozawa attacked right.
Kogure slid laterally to cut him off— Get faster updates on novelping.com.
The ball seemed glued to Ozawa’s hand.
His dribbling rhythm was hypnotic, subtle variations forcing Kogure’s weight to shift.
Ozawa exploited the opening instantly, blowing past.
Kogure spun to chase.
Too late—Ozawa was already rising for the pull-up.
Swish.
Pure.
Ryonan extended their lead.
Nothing Kogure could’ve done.
Maxed reaction worked against average players, but Ozawa operated beyond that threshold.
His ball control was exceptional, probably 90+ on the attribute scale.
Shohoku inbound.
This time, Ryonan loaded up on Akagi.
When Okamoto fed the post, Inoue crashed down without hesitation for the double-team.
Unlike raw Uozumi, Inoue was a seasoned blue-collar power forward.
His physicality rivaled Akagi’s.
Trapped between Inoue and Uozumi, Akagi had to elevate and fire an outlet to the open Sato.
Sato had some mid-range touch, but only close to the paint.
And his release was slow.
By the time he gathered, Inoue had closed out.
The contest disrupted his rhythm.
Clang.
Miss.
Sato had raised his arc to avoid the block, killing his accuracy.
Uozumi used position to seal Akagi, reaching for the defensive board—
Akagi shifted his feet and reversed position, pinning Uozumi instead.
Positioning, rebounding instincts—the rookie Uozumi couldn’t match Akagi in these fundamentals yet.
Akagi snatched the rebound out of the air, gathered to go back up—
Inoue rotated over.
Front-and-back sandwich with Uozumi.
Akagi secured the ball against his chest, protecting it.
“Here!”
A familiar voice.
Red jersey flashing into vision.
Akagi jumped and delivered the pass.
The moment Kogure caught it, Ozawa was already closing.
Ozawa didn’t know much about this kid yet.
Earlier defensive effort had been solid, but otherwise?
Unimpressive physically—actually weaker than Ozawa himself.
Ozawa stayed attached, using superior strength to compress Kogure’s space, forcing him toward the sideline.
Then Kogure’s footwork shifted dramatically—exaggerated lateral swings, left-right oscillation.
The Eurostep.
Ozawa’s eyes widened.
He wasn’t the type to get fooled easily, but the move completely misdirected his defensive read.
This kid’s not as weak as I thought.
Before Ozawa could recover, Kogure had penetrated into the paint and finished the easy layup.
“Nice, Kogure!”
“Akagi, good pass!”
They slapped hands, then sprinted back on defense.
Ryonan answered immediately.
“Matsushita—here!”
Ozawa posted up Kogure, calling for the ball.
Matsushita fed him without hesitation.
Facing Kogure’s defense, Ozawa’s expression turned serious.
Focused.
But he didn’t attack immediately.
Instead, he asked: “That was a Eurostep, wasn’t it?”
Kogure nodded, still locked in defensively.
He stayed alert for any opening.
With his weak defensive fundamentals, gambling for steals with his maxed reaction was his best chance at slowing Ozawa down.
“I’m going to drive,” Ozawa announced.
Warning given.
Jab step, then crossover—Ozawa shook Kogure’s balance and exploded past him.
They crossed paths.
Seeing Ozawa attacking the rim, Akagi immediately sealed Uozumi and rotated over to help.
Bang.
Ozawa spun into Akagi’s body, lowering his center of gravity while faking left toward the basket.
Akagi shifted reflexively.
Ozawa reversed—spun back right, creating separation.
Before Akagi could close the gap, Ozawa elevated.
Wrist flick, soft touch.
Swish.
Perfect rotation.
The net snapped beautifully.
Ozawa pumped his fist, glanced at Kogure, then jogged back on defense.
But Kogure barely noticed.
His attention was consumed by the notification blazing across his vision: