Kaisei Middle School entered this year's tournament with bold ambitions.
Prior to the Inter-High preliminaries, Youth Sports Weekly ran a detailed review of the major teams in the Tokyo region.
Their assessment of Kaisei? Underwhelming.
The reason was simple: four of their starting five from last year had been third-years. With all of them having graduated, it was assumed Kaisei's overall strength had taken a significant hit.
But Kaisei didn't see it that way.
Their head coach knew better. While it looked like they'd lost their core players, the truth was that this year's new starting lineup—last year's second-stringers—had surpassed the old team in both skill and cohesion.
Their goal today was simple: take down the giant known as Teikō.
They wanted to show Tokyo—and the whole country—that these so-called "genius" first-years were nothing but hype.
What they didn't know was that their entire playbook had already been laid bare—thanks to their "spy," Momoi Satsuki.
Tendou Kageyoshi still remembered how she'd casually commented:
"Kaisei's coach is pretty conservative."
"How so?" Tendou had asked.
"According to the data I collected, even last year, the current starters—then second-stringers—were evenly matched with the old starters during scrimmages."
"…What does that mean?" Aomine had scratched his head, thoroughly confused.
Momoi sighed and shot him a look. "It means last year's bench players were already mature and had more potential than the starting five. If the coach had trusted them more, they might've achieved better results." The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the NovєlFіre.net
Here's how it played out:
Last year, each of Kaisei's starters averaged over 30 minutes on the court. In a 40-minute game, that left barely any time for the bench. On top of that, the starters didn't get enough rest to handle the grueling tournament schedule, leading to fatigue and performance drops.
Athletic fatigue accumulates. You can't just sleep it off and bounce back good as new.
Compared to Shirogane Kōzō—who boldly promoted first-years—Kaisei's coach really was overly cautious.
Ironically, that's the very trait Kaisei's coach took the most pride in instilling in his players:
A warrior's will. Relentless resolve.
"So really, we're the weird ones," Tendou muttered, hands on his hips at center court.
Murasakibara gave him a puzzled look. "Why'd you say that, Ten-chin?"
I said we, okay? Don't try to dodge responsibility, dammit!
Seriously, who said this guy was dumb?
"Based on the intel from Momoi, we've got the most first-years in our lineup."
"Really?" Murasakibara asked, surprised.
"Of course! Maybe try reading the team reports once in a while instead of letting snacks rot your already-tiny brain."
Tendou's words were brutal, but Murasakibara didn't take it to heart. He even patted his own head.
He thought his brain was plenty big—and even compared it to Tendou's, claiming his was larger.
Tendou felt like he'd just tried to punch a marshmallow.
"This is the national tournament, after all," said Nijimura Shuzō as he walked over and clapped both their shoulders. "The games are brutal—and so is the competition within your own team."
"Some players go through all of middle school without ever seeing the court. Coaches prefer veterans. So you two better show me what you've got. Otherwise, Aomine's coming in to take your spot."
"Him?" Tendou scoffed, glancing at Aomine on the bench, who was stomping his feet in frustration. "That guy probably couldn't even take Murasakibara's spot."
"Why use me as the example?" Murasakibara pouted.
Because you're so clever.
At the café where Tendou worked part-time…
Today, the owner and the regular waitresses didn't even glance at the door. It was like they'd completely forgotten about business.
Their eyes were locked on the TV screen—eager, nervous, and a little anxious.
"Excuse me! One Americano, please!"
A customer had come in and sat down, but when no one responded, she grew annoyed.
"Hey! I said one Americano, please!"
Only then did the owner snap out of her daze. But the customer, who'd looked irritated just seconds before, suddenly smiled when she caught sight of the TV.
"Oh! Isn't that little Tendou?"
"Uh… yeah, that's him."
"I didn't know he played basketball. No wonder he's so fit for someone so young." She abandoned her seat and joined the others at the bar. "You don't mind if I watch too, right?"
The owner and the staff exchanged glances—then shook their heads.
At this point, Tendou Kageyoshi had become the café's unofficial mascot.
Seventy percent of their female customers showed up just to see him.
After the obligatory "Let's play fair," it was time to try and murder each other on the court.
All that "friendship first, competition second" nonsense?
If you're here to play, you're here to win. No one remembers second place—the so-called "top loser."
Both teams were fired up and ready to go.
As the ball was tossed into the air, Murasakibara's towering frame loomed above everyone. With his height and freakish agility, it was no contest.
He smacked the ball straight to Teikō's side.
Tendou launched forward the moment Murasakibara made contact, sprinting across half court like a leopard.
"Jump ball violation!"
Tendou slammed on the brakes. "You big idiot!"
Murasakibara tilted his head. He didn't think he'd fouled.
"You're not supposed to jump that fast! Have a little respect for the elderly!"
Technically, Murasakibara hadn't broken any rules. His insane reflexes let him react the instant the ball reached its peak.
But the referee—unable to track it accurately—assumed he'd jumped too early, and called it a violation.
Kaisei, meanwhile, was fuming.
This brat needed to be taught a lesson.
A few glances passed between their players—silent communication. Message received.
Possession switched. Kaisei had the first real offensive chance.
Their captain, playing point guard, brought the ball up and immediately passed it to the player matched up against Tendou.
"You've got a big mouth for a first-year."
Tendou smirked. "I don't run my mouth in front of weaklings."
…Yep. This kid really needed to be humbled.
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