Chi Tong's predictive ability was too absurd. Conventional tactics were useless; they could only disrupt the rhythm and take a gamble.
Mori Zhongkuan nodded heavily after hearing this. A fire of fighting spirit gradually ignited in his stubborn eyes. He looked toward Chi Tong again, his fists clenched even tighter.
The whistle blew, and the game resumed.
Although the game had resumed, nothing on the court had changed. The rhythm remained firmly in Ryonan's hands, like a taut rope choking Mingpeng Industrial by the throat.
Mingpeng Industrial's offense was still being crushed until they could barely breathe. Takeuchi Yusi's passes were repeatedly intercepted by Ryonan's players, while Nakamura Yachi's outside shots were constantly thrown off by Fukuda Kiccho and missed their mark.
The most frustrated was Hiroshi Morishige. He was like a trapped beast in the paint. Whenever he tried to turn and drive inside, Chi Tong always predicted his route; whenever he tried to grab a rebound, Yu Zhu firmly boxed him out. Though Ye Benli San had given him instructions, Sun Zhongkuan still lacked experience.
He was used to crushing opponents with his body and strength. Now that he was deliberately changing his movements, he instead seemed bound hand and foot, every step stiff and awkward.
The massive body he had once been so proud of now seemed almost laughable before Chi Tong.
Soon, possession returned to Ryonan.
Chi Tong held the ball beyond the three-point line, lightly spinning it on his fingertips as his gaze swept over Mingpeng Industrial's defensive formation like a scanner.
Takeuchi Yusi guarded him from the side, while Nakamura Yachi watched the perimeter.
Finally, his gaze settled on Morishige Hiroshi directly in front of him. He could clearly see the glaring red swelling on Morishige Hiroshi's knee, and he could feel the unyielding