Tetsuya Takao practically roared as he snatched the basketball from his teammate inbounding at the baseline, then dribbled upcourt alone without looking back, charging forward like a madman!
He was faster than ever before, as though he had cast off every shackle, leaving nothing but the most primal desire to attack!
Seeing this from the sideline, Hakata Commercial's head coach instinctively rose to his feet and opened his mouth to shout.
He wanted Takao to calm down, wanted to remind him of the team's tempo and tactics.
This all-or-nothing solo effort went against the basketball philosophy he had always instilled in them.
But when his gaze swept over the other players on the court-
Their faces still bore traces of their fear of Ryota Kudo, along with an almost imperceptible reliance on the idea that "perhaps leaving it to the captain would be enough."
They also wore expressions of having given up thinking, and the head coach forcibly swallowed the words already on his lips.
He sank dejectedly back onto the bench, his mind plunged into tremendous turmoil and self-doubt.
Was my philosophy... wrong? He watched Takao charge ahead fearlessly, looking as though he had returned to being that dazzling young prodigy from his middle school days.
Could it be that what young players really need is this kind of reckless drive and individual star power?
But although the players I develop can't become superstar centerpieces, they can all become capable team players and survive at higher levels of competition. Isn't that right?
(What the head coach did not know was that, years later, the Chinese men's basketball team had already tested for him what basketball built on ultimate teamwork without stars looked like: a decline from the dominant force in Asia to a team that could not beat anyone.)