"Damn it, we still can't do it?!"
The second quarter ended.
Seihō failed to close the gap to a one-possession difference. Instead, they trailed Teikō 57–43, a 14-point deficit.
It wasn't an insurmountable score. In modern basketball, forget 14—even 24-point comebacks weren't rare.
But in this era, with offenses built more around half-court sets, a 14-point difference wasn't so easy to chase.
Especially since Seihō wasn't known for three-point shooting. If they wanted to chip away with twos, they'd need to get seven successful stops and capitalize on every opportunity.
That was way too difficult.
And on top of that, there was another hidden danger looming over them—
Teikō's players were already starting to adapt to their ancient martial arts-style movements.
That discovery shocked the players of Seihō.
In the past, when they faced other teams, it usually took a full game for the opponent to adjust to their strange style.
At the very least, not until the fourth quarter would teams begin to acclimate—by which time the outcome had usually already been decided.
In just two quarters, Teikō's first-years were gradually getting used to their movements and no longer so easily fooled by their sync-opposite footwork.
"What kind of monsters are they..." Seihō's coach clenched his jaw, then sighed helplessly.
Little did he know—Teikō was able to adapt this quickly not just because of their freakish talent.
More importantly, they had the most capable intelligence-gathering specialist around.
Momoi Satsuki wasn't just a pretty face!
Of course, the Seihō coach didn't think any of this had to do with that cute little girl who always got along with the players.
Just a team manager, what could be so special about that?
Their basketball club had a manager too. So what if Teikō's happened to have a bigger chest?
The game entered halftime.
As Seihō's players walked off the court, each of them looked utterly deflated. Find the newest release on N0v3l.Fiɾe.net
The old man clapped sharply. "Don't look so defeated—we're not finished yet this year! Save your revenge on Teikō for Nationals!"
"So in the next two games, get your spirits back up. Because next time, there won't be any room left to retreat!"
After a dose of classic Seihō-style motivational soup, their fighting spirit rekindled.
This match had made them clearly aware of just how far the gap between them and Teikō really was.
Still, it wasn't impossible to compete with them, so they weren't so disheartened as to spiral into despair.
Just 14 points. If they worked hard, it wasn't impossible to come back from that.
There was still time before the National Tournament. They could charge forward again.
Next time they met—they'd bring Teikō down!
With that thought, the boys of Seihō turned their blazing eyes toward Teikō's side.
This manga-worthy moment left Tendou sweating.
And so, when the second half began, spectators noticed right away—Seihō had raised the white flag.
All five of their starters, including Kasuga Ryuhei and Tsugawa Tomoki, were sitting on the bench to rest.
On the court were five young substitutes—players who had barely gotten any minutes during the group stage.
Even though team morale was low and they'd clearly accepted the outcome, the game still had to be played.
In combat sports, if the difference in strength was too great, you might see a knockout in 10 seconds.
For the weaker fighter, that could almost be a relief.
At least they could die in peace.
But in team sports like basketball, it didn't matter how badly you were getting pummeled—you still had to survive until the final buzzer.
Seihō's substitutes couldn't help but glance up at the clock.
Damn it. Only four minutes into the third quarter...
Their long, painful road still wasn't over.
White-haired old man Shirogane Kōzō wasn't going to brandish a butcher's knife against an opponent that had already lost its will to fight.
Tendou and the others were subbed out early.
But here was the issue: Teikō's substitutes... used to be last year's first string.
Those third-years, even if they'd accepted backup roles for the sake of the team and winning a championship, didn't mean they'd stay passive when given minutes.
After this year, they'd be graduating. This was their last chance to make an impression.
If they didn't show what they had now, their future prospects would be even slimmer.
"I don't want my junior high career to end so quietly..." said Yamanaka Yūta, watching from the bench as Tendou joked around with Riko again.
Thanks to that little brat, every Teikō game this year had been packed with people.
There were always a few scouts from high school basketball teams.
From what he'd seen, Kirisaki Daiichi's Makoto Hanamiya and Shūtoku's Masaaki Nakatani had each shown up at Teikō games at least three times.
Those guys were busy elite coaches. Their time was valuable.
If they kept showing up, it obviously wasn't for someone like him—only for prodigies like Tendou and the others.
"I've got to make a good showing. Who knows, maybe in high school I'll get to be teammates with them again."
Can't deny it—this kid had a future. He already understood the importance of clinging to someone powerful.
But Tendou had an even brighter future. He'd learned an even better way to win from his idol, Durant:
If you can't beat them—join them.
As expected, Teikō easily took their first win of the round-robin.
Tendou was unquestionably the brightest star today. Even though he left early and didn't have crazy numbers—just 17 points, 3 rebounds, 7 assists, and 4 steals—
His performance in the first half, where he tore through Seihō's "Iron Wall" defense alone, still left everyone stunned.
And most of that stat line came from the first half alone.
Which just goes to show... screw your basketball dreams. If you don't have talent, get off the damn court.
Tendou was beginning to realize just how naive his past self had been.
The court belonged to the chosen ones. Ordinary people were only there to wave pom-poms.
After today, not just the Tokyo crowd, but fans nationwide would remember the name—Tendou Kageyoshi.
And not because he was a model. But because he was a basketball player.
Speaking of his modeling career—whether it was because of how good he was at basketball or simply because of his looks—his fanbase had only grown larger.
Now he was a man with tens of thousands of mommy-fans.
His agency wanted to strike while the iron was hot and rushed him to do more shoots.
Photo shoots, that is. Don't get it twisted.
But Tendou turned them all down. This was what he said at the time:
"I'm going to dominate Nationals. Right now, it's basketball or nothing.
When I've won it all, you'll have plenty of time to make money off me.
Until then, take that damn phone and flush it down the toilet. Don't bother me again."
Even the agency president was stunned—then said he had a point and let him go.
Oh, by the way, the agency president was a woman.
Tendou's very first mommy-fan.
She thought her little Tendou was so full of drive. Absolutely wonderful.
If he didn't want to take photos, then that was fine too. What's a little money compared to chasing a dream?
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