The game was drawing to a close, the "Generation of Miracles" first-years unknowingly using it as a grinding session.
With 23 seconds left in the fourth quarter, Tendou Kageyoshi snagged his 13th rebound and went into a full-court sprint.
In that instant, all of Musashi Junior High collapsed on him in a final desperate attempt to stop him.
But after crossing half-court, the only one still able to keep up with Tendou's pace was the mentally-fried Tanaka Goro.
This guy could really run.
He'd played nearly the whole game—less than five minutes of rest total—and was still hanging onto Tendou's heels.
Was he naturally gifted?
That kid was running on nothing but pure willpower.
Even now, his head was flashing with scenes straight out of an anime.
The classic "flashback power-up" trope.
But reality isn't a shōnen manga—you don't suddenly awaken and turn the tide just because you remembered your childhood.
Unless he knew Dim Mak or something...
Tendou didn't even glance back.
He exploded forward again, racing straight into enemy territory, then leapt into the air, stretching out mid-flight like a shooting star.
The gym shook with the slam. Tendou had absolutely hammered the ball through the rim.
And just like that—game over.
Tendou didn't celebrate.
He simply stood there, tall and calm, looking down at the collapsed Tanaka Goro like a king on a throne.
This poor kid, clearly inspired by his flashback sequence, had tried to stop Tendou's dunk head-on—
Only to get bodied out of bounds like a ragdoll.
At that moment, Tendou stood there, back straight, posture regal, gazing down upon Tanaka Goro's lifeless soul like an emperor surveying his fallen enemy.
The crowd was thunderstruck.
Tendou had soaked up every single spotlight in the arena tonight.
Teikō's captain had played a solid game too—quietly putting up 24 points, 5 rebounds, and 6 assists.
He exploded with a game-high 46 points, along with
A 40-point quadruple-double.
When the commentators announced Tendou's stats to the Tokyo audience, jaws dropped across the city.
"This kid... might become one of the greatest ever."
"No doubt about it—he's the strongest first-year this year. Maybe even the strongest in history."
"I've never seen a first-year perform . Even Nijimura Shūzō, who's currently the best PF in the country, didn't reach this level in his first year."
"Tendou Kageyoshi's performance today was phenomenal!"
And phenomenal it was.
Tendou had looked it up beforehand:
No one in the history of Japan's junior nationals had ever recorded a quadruple-double.
『40-point quadruple-double?!』
『King among bronzies! How do you NOT ban this guy?!』
『WILD. Even LeBron and Kobe couldn't put up numbers at that age.』
『Don't be so surprised—Kobe was hyped in high school as a scoring Magic Johnson.』
『True, a lot of NBA stars were lightyears ahead in high school too.』
Tendou was reading the comment stream post-game, watching the audience debate his jaw-dropping stat line.
People were even comparing him to Kobe, LeBron, and other NBA titans.
If he was being honest—
This quadruple-double was crazy, yeah, but it wasn't unheard of.
Just like that one commenter said:
Kobe was called a scoring Magic Johnson back in high school.
But any real Kobe fan knows how hilariously chaotic his passing was.
Kobe's passes usually came when he jumped like he was about to shoot, then flung it to a teammate at the last second. This text is hosted at ɴovelfire.net
Legendary misdirection. Also known as: Kobe Assists.
Commentator Bryant used to trash every other Laker for making those passes—called them selfish and dumb.
But when Kobe did it?
"That's elite court vision. He fooled everyone.
If the teammate missed it? That's on them. Bad basketball IQ!"
Bro, your teammates were already crashing the glass thinking you were gonna shoot.
How were they supposed to catch the damn ball?
Same thing with Dwight Howard.
He got hyped in high school as a center with a jumper.
He shot 56.6% from the free-throw line his whole career.
Only 6.6% better than Ben Simmons.
And Simmons is the only non-center in the top 10 worst FT shooters in NBA history!
It all comes down to overwhelming talent advantage.
When you're that much better than everyone else, you can do whatever the hell you want on the court.
Want to score? You score.
Want to pass? You pass.
Want to flex? You flex.
But when they get to the NBA, where everyone's elite?
That freedom disappears.
That's where fans feel betrayed—
The contrast is so huge, they wanna return the product.
The NBA's not short on talent.
Only a few guys can dominate purely off talent—Shaq, LeBron, Duncan.
Even Jordan had to endure seven years of heartbreak with the Bulls before rising to the top.
He got bullied by Magic, Bird, and the Bad Boy Pistons until he grinded hard enough to take them all down.
Teikō steamrolled their opponents again.
Fans had expected a fierce showdown.
But so far this tournament, that just hadn't happened.
This year's Teikō was downright terrifying.
Several high school coaches were already recalculating Tendou's future.
Nakatani Masaaki, head coach of Tokyo's powerhouse Shūtoku, didn't even know how to describe what he'd just seen.
His coaching instincts could tell:
Tendou's numbers were padded.
He was stat-padding, no question.
But that's the thing.
If you can pad stats in a high-stakes match?
That's proof of how dominant you are.
He could stat-pad because the game wasn't even close.
Because he didn't feel a lick of pressure.
"Has he already reached the level of our Shūtoku starters...?"
Yeah, his starters could put them up—if you told them to stat-pad.
Meanwhile, Tanaka Goro had never felt so humiliated.
He got wrecked by Tendou—completely outclassed in every way.
He had multiple lowlight moments all game long.
That final dunk, where he got posterized and launched out of bounds, was just the cherry on top.
"Great game," he heard someone say.
"Great?" he muttered.
When the two coaches shook hands, Musashi's coach was surprisingly composed.
"That was a disaster.
I thought we might lose.
This was beyond imagination. I'm not even upset.
The gap was just… too damn big."
This was a proper lesson from Teikō.
"Congratulations, Shirogane. You've got a team full of monsters."
Tendou Kageyoshi aside, there was still Aomine, Murasakibara, Akashi, and Midorima.
Not to mention—Shirogane Kōzō could still use them for two more years.
"You're not worried about shortening your lifespan?" Musashi's coach said, half-joking.
"Uh... I'll keep that in mind," Shirogane replied.
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