"Don't tell me that idiot didn't read the scouting report again?"
Just from the dazed look in Murasakibara's eyes, Shirogane Kōzō could tell—the brat definitely hadn't done his homework.
He had told his players again and again to take advantage of Momoi's intel.
That kind of battlefield foresight could dramatically boost their chances of winning.
Shirogane truly believed that Momoi Satsuki was a godsend for the team.
And yet... all of Momoi's carefully collected intel had ended up being treated like toilet paper by these hooligans.
That's right. You heard correctly—not just Murasakibara, but none of the first-years had bothered to develop the habit of reading scouting material.
Tendou did have a habit of studying opponents—but not through written reports.
"I'm not going to let numbers cloud my judgment."
Which, honestly, fit his personality perfectly. Following the rules wasn't his style.
"Scouting? What for? Momoi, you should stop wasting your time with this boring stuff."
He didn't even care—pure instinctual player. Zero prep, all vibes.
Akashi's reasoning was similar to Tendou's:
"Rather than trying to predict with numbers, I'd rather adapt in real time."
Midorima actually read the report, but it wasn't much use to him. The four-eyes refused to step inside the arc—as if a two-pointer was a betrayal of his precious threes.
He memorized a bit about how the opponent guarded the perimeter—just a little.
As for Murasakibara… no comment.
Classic McGee-type player—all stats below the neck.
As long as no thinking was involved, he was absolutely top-tier.
"So in the end, the only people who actually studied the opponent were the coaching staff and Nijimura?"
Shirogane's blood pressure spiked.
What the hell kind of monster squad was he coaching?
『Pfft~ I'm dying, none of them read it!』
『Poor Momoi… all that hard work flushed down the drain!』
『So damn reckless, these kids!』
『Nah, that's what you call confidence. Absolute self-confidence.』
While Shirogane was raging on the sideline, the real-world bullet comments were laughing their butts off.
Tendou and the others' attitude perfectly matched the viewers' image of anime geniuses:
Unhinged and unbothered.
That's when Kuroko quietly raised his hand.
"Coach, I studied the materials."
"No… I didn't understand any of it."
Shirogane's blood pressure hit new heights.
You don't understand it and you still brought it up?!
The viewers burst into another round of laughter.
And this was just the first possession of the game—and Shirogane already felt like flipping a table.
This was the kind of thing that never happened in the qualifiers.
This was the difference between qualifiers and the real thing—you couldn't afford to relax for even a second.
Back on the court, Nijimura used Tendou's screen to drive hard into the paint.
His explosiveness was overwhelming—if you got beat by him, it basically meant your defense had collapsed.
Kumamoto Iwa, the opposing center, scrambled to rotate to the rim.
Kasamatsu Yukio also lurked nearby, ready to cut off any passing lane to Murasakibara.
But Nijimura didn't drive it into the paint—instead, he kicked it back out to Tendou, waiting at the perimeter.
At that moment, there was only one defender standing in Tendou's way.
With just a simple drive, cut, and kick, Teikō had already scrambled the opponent's airtight defense.
Tendou took one explosive step in, prompting the defender to retreat hard in anticipation of a full-speed drive…
But then Tendou slammed the brakes.
The defender overcommitted, shifted his weight too far back, and could only desperately reach forward—watching helplessly as Tendou drilled the shot.
Teikō's triangle offense paid off immediately in its first real game.
"Nice try. You almost got a taste of my exhaust fumes," Tendou quipped as he backpedaled on defense.
He was originally going to say: "Nice try, you almost stopped me."
But that line had been used to death—so he quickly improvised something even more annoying.
As expected, the opponent's small forward visibly turned red with rage.
Kasamatsu Yukio rushed over to calm him down.
"Don't let it get to you. He's just trying to throw you off."
But inwardly, Kasamatsu felt an ominous chill.
When he first learned they were facing Teikō, they'd meticulously prepared defensive strategies to counter Tendou's ball-dominant playstyle.
He wasn't even handling the ball anymore—he was running off-ball, playing a completely different style.
Just like that, all their prep went out the window.
Their scouting? Worthless.
Oh, that was being put to full use.
Her analysis and breakdowns far outclassed anything their staff could do.
The Teikō players might not read it, but the coaches sure did—and they had built tailored defensive schemes around it.
Kumamoto Iwa posted up and demanded the ball.
That's how basketball worked—if you can't stop me, I don't need to change. I'll just keep scoring until you break.
Teikō, of course, had prepared.
As Kasamatsu brought the ball up, he saw Teikō's defense compress the paint.
But that only made him grin.
Both he and his coach had anticipated this.
They'd encountered similar situations in the round-robin qualifiers—when Iwa started dominating the post, teams would collapse the paint.
If they folded every time that happened, they wouldn't have made it this far.
And the reason they did… was Kasamatsu himself.
He slowly dribbled, reading the floor—then suddenly burst into top speed.
A rapid one-step drive into a sudden pull-up jumper—mirroring Tendou's move from earlier.
Kasamatsu was famously good at this in the anime—a sign of excellent body control.
The rhythm was perfect—Kasamatsu knew his shot was dead-on.
He felt amazing. His form, balance, timing—everything clicked.
The screen went black.
The viewers instantly knew what was coming.
Sure enough, in the next second—a flash of white light sliced through the dark screen like a blade of dawn.
The bullet comments exploded in a wave of rainbow-colored "Cleave" across the screen.
In the next breath—BOOM—the ball smashed into the hardwood with force.
Just as Kasamatsu went into his shooting motion, Tendou had already stripped the ball.
The camera showed Tendou's back to the screen, arm extended midair, as if he had sliced through time. Read complete version only at NoveIＦire.net
Facing the camera, Kasamatsu's expression was one of total disbelief.
He slowly lowered his head—and in that moment of daze, he could swear he saw a monstrous, shadowy face staring back at him.
But when he looked again—Tendou was already gone.
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