In the 570th game, Akita's foul statistics told the corresponding story: Kawata, Fukatsu, and Ichinokura had each picked up one foul. No more, no less—exactly three.
Those three seemingly insignificant fouls and the resulting free throws had added up to Kanagawa's five-point lead.
These fouls.
Domoto Goro lightly tapped the foul records on the stat sheet with his fingertips. His brow furrowed tighter as he sank into deep thought.
He closed his eyes, and the three moments from the game immediately flashed through his mind. Every foul came back with perfect clarity.
Fouls were perfectly normal in a game, especially in such a high-intensity shootout. Physical contact was frequent, and the occasional foul was almost unavoidable.
These three fouls had been ordinary to the extreme.
Kawata Masashi's foul had come when he tried to stop Akagi's post attack and accidentally struck his opponent's wrist while raising his hand. Fukatsu Kazunari had been a step late while defending and lightly tugged at his opponent's jersey. Sawakita Eiji had brushed the ball with his fingertips while contesting Sento's three-pointer, but also caught his opponent's arm.
The three fouls had come in different possessions and from different players. None of them had been serious. The referees had merely signaled the calls, and the flow of the game had not even been noticeably interrupted.
At the time, both teams had been playing with bloodshot eyes, completely immersed in the rapid rhythm of offense and defense.
No one had paid special attention to those three trivial fouls. To them, winning the current possession and stopping the next attack had been what mattered most.
It was not just the players. The spectators in the stands had long since been gripped by the lightning-fast exchanges on the court. Every gaze chased the basketball back and forth, hearts