A Modest Rise to Fame (1)

Immediately afterward, his body leaned back slightly, his left shoulder dipped, and he twisted sharply around his right foot as a pivot, completing an almost impossible turn within an incredibly small space.

The momentum from those two dribbles had actually been a deliberate feint, luring both defenders into charging forward at the same time.

Sakuragi Hanamichi and Liu Chuanfeng had already been wholly focused on the steal, their bodies poised to spring forward.

The instant they moved, Chi Tong changed direction and spun past them like the wind, the ball slipping quietly through the gap between the two.

Yet neither could stop their momentum. Their feet slipped at the same time, their centers of gravity lost, as though invisible ropes had tripped them. They staggered, then both pitched forward and crashed awkwardly onto the floor, kicking up a cloud of invisible dust.

Two dull impacts echoed like hammer blows against everyone's hearts.

Sakuragi Hanamichi and Liu Chuanfeng knelt sprawled on the ground, their minds blank. They looked exactly like two gate guardians kneeling to welcome their king. Shitong did not pause or speak. His gaze remained as still as an ancient well, while his right hand steadily dribbled the ball, its rhythm as calm as a heartbeat.

He slowly passed through the space between them, and the entire gymnasium was left with only the monotonous sound of dribbling.

One beat after another, like a countdown—or a funeral bell.

Every gaze followed his back. No one spoke, no one cheered. Even their breathing softened, afraid to disturb this nearly ceremonial act.

When he reached a step in front of Shohoku's free-throw line, he paused slightly and raised his hand to shoot. The motion was simple, without any unnecessary flair. The ball left his fingertips softly, tracing a high arc as it