"The space under the basket is yours."
Shirakawa's calm words exploded in Hanamichi Sakuragi's mind like a thunderclap.
It was an order, a sign of trust, and even more so, a master's expectations for his disciple!
"OOOOOH—!"
Hanamichi Sakuragi felt the blood throughout his body boil. There was only one thought in his single-celled brain right now—he could not let Lord Shirakawa down!
Like a red humanoid tank, he thundered into Miuradai's paint and, with his terrifying physical gifts, forcibly claimed a favorable position in the key.
Miuradai's center and interior players were both startled by Sakuragi's reckless momentum.
"What the hell is this guy doing...?"
"Who cares?! Push him out!"
The two immediately sandwiched him from both sides, trying to use their weight advantage to force Sakuragi out of the paint. Yet to their horror, they discovered that the red-haired kid was like an old tree rooted in the earth. No matter how hard they shoved, he would not budge!
This is... the box-out technique Lord Shirakawa taught me! Sakuragi rejoiced wildly, recalling how Shirakawa had used all kinds of inhuman methods during training to temper his lower-body strength. Those torturous-looking drills were proving unimaginably useful now!
At the frontcourt, Shirakawa dribbled unhurriedly.
Miuradai's defenders treated him like a major threat and no longer dared to relax in the slightest. Two men double-teamed Shirakawa, while the other three held their positions tightly, terrified that Shirakawa might make another unfathomable pass.
"Stop him! No matter what, stop Number 1!" Murasame shouted himself hoarse from the side, clutching his arm.
Shirakawa looked at the tense defense before him, a teasing curve forming at the corner of his lips.
"Do you think my only weapons are driving and passing?"
Before his words had even faded, he suddenly took a step back and