The game lost all suspense after Kawamoto Kazuki's earth-shattering tomahawk dunk.
Once Kawamoto had stolen the ball one-on-one and finished the fast break with a thunderous dunk in the most direct way possible.
The last shred of fighting spirit left in the upperclassmen's team instantly drained away.
The rest of the game became completely one-sided.
Kawamoto Kazuki had no intention of showing any mercy.
He moved straight to center and personally guarded Takenori Akagi.
This was no longer a defensive mismatch, but a head-on clash between aces!
Yet what this showdown revealed was a despairingly overwhelming gap.
On defense, Kawamoto completely dominated Akagi.
When they battled for rebounding position under the basket, the strength Akagi took such pride in seemed so feeble before Kawamoto.
Every time they jumped.
Kawamoto always used his more precise positioning.
And his more terrifying leap speed and explosive power to reach the basketball half a step ahead.
Easily gathering the rebound into his arms.
Akagi gave it everything he had, yet he could barely secure even a defensive rebound.
When Akagi tried to call for the ball in the low post and go one-on-one.
Kawamoto's defense was an impenetrable wall.
Wanted to face up and power through?
Kawamoto's defensive coverage was astonishing, and any attempt to attack the basket faced the threat of a merciless block or steal.
The only thing Akagi could do was use the midrange shot he had practiced so hard.
And he had to shoot the instant he caught the ball.
With even the slightest hesitation or adjustment, Kawamoto's enormous hand would instantly loom over him, obscuring his view of the basket.
As a result, his shooting percentage was pitifully low as well.
The situation was clear.
Kawamoto Kazuki had completely shut down Takenori Akagi, one of Kanagawa Prefecture's top centers.
On offense, meanwhile, the first-years were firing on all cylinders.
Kaede Rukawa switched into an unstoppable isolation mode.
Facing Kiminobu Kogure, whose defensive experience was extensive but whose physical abilities fell far short of his own.
Kaede Rukawa put his offensive talent on full display.
Pull-up jumpers, turnaround fadeaways, lightning-fast drives...
He scored in every way with effortless ease.
Kogure gave it his all, but he could not contain his scoring and could only watch helplessly as the gap kept widening.
Even the beginner Hanamichi Sakuragi's monstrous athleticism began to make a difference.
He fought hard for the ball and actually grabbed several crucial offensive rebounds while the upperclassmen were mentally off balance!
Even more surprisingly, he actually fluked in two consecutive baskets with the little close-range floater Kawamoto had taught him during their early-morning special training!
After scoring, Sakuragi raced excitedly all over the court.
For the upperclassmen's team, the twenty-minute practice game felt as long as a century.
Every second was agony.
Every offensive possession was an uphill struggle.
Every defensive possession was practically nonexistent.
Turnovers, bricks, steals, blocks...
Scenes of failure played on repeat.
The scoring gap snowballed.
30-0,
45-4,
60-8...
The constantly changing numbers on the scoreboard were like dull knives, slicing into their dignity and confidence over and over.
When team manager Ayako finally blew the whistle to end the game, the score froze at a jaw-dropping number-
78-12.
An enormous margin of sixty-six points!
The upperclassmen's pitiful twelve points.
Had come almost entirely from lucky shots by Kogure, Yasuda, and the others.
And their undisputed centerpiece, Takenori Akagi, had not scored a single point under Kawamoto Kazuki's constant attention!
"Tweeeet!"
The instant the whistle sounded, Takenori Akagi seemed to lose every bone in his body, his huge frame collapsing onto the floor with a thud.
Sweat streamed down his face like little rivers, and his chest heaved violently.
This was not merely immense physical exhaustion, but the weakness that followed a complete mental collapse.
The combined mental and physical pressure he endured every second he matched up against Kawamoto Kazuki.
Was far greater than anything he had faced against any previous opponent, even when multiple players had trapped him!
He instinctively raised his head, his gaze struggling to find that nightmarish figure.
Then he saw something that nearly stopped his heart-
Kawamoto Kazuki stood quietly near midcourt.
Though fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
His breathing was long and steady, and there was not even much fatigue on his face.
It was as though he had just finished an easy warm-up rather than an intense contest.
Could it be...
A terrifying thought pierced Akagi's nearly numb mind like an icicle.
This still wasn't his true strength?
Who on earth was he?
Just how... strong was he?
Akagi screamed inwardly.
He reviewed the entire game in horror.
Kawamoto Kazuki had been capable of practically anything on the court.
On defense, he had guarded every position from point guard to center.
Locking down the center and stealing from the guards.
On offense, he could drive with the ball, run the offense and distribute, shoot threes...
Center, power forward, shooting guard, point guard, small forward...
He seemed perfectly suited to every position.
And he was not merely filling in.
The dominance and destructive power he displayed at every position had reached an inconceivable level.
Just as Akagi sank into profound self-doubt, a figure walked up to him, blocking the overhead light.
It was Kawamoto Kazuki.
He calmly held out a hand to Akagi, who sat slumped on the floor.
Akagi stared blankly at that hand, its knuckles clearly defined and terrifying strength contained within, unable to react for a moment.
"Sorry, Captain Akagi."
Kawamoto's voice remained level, but his words made Akagi shudder. "Whenever I'm on the court, I take things very seriously."
He paused briefly before continuing, "Your ability is still pretty good..."
Those words made Akagi's heart tremble slightly, stirring a faint glimmer of hope.
Akagi numbly reached out, and Kawamoto Kazuki easily pulled him to his feet.
His head hung low, his massive figure looking hunched and forlorn.
It seemed that Shohoku's captain, the King Kong beneath the basket, would need a very, very long time to nurse his utterly shattered heart.
With heavy steps, he walked over to Coach Anzai, who had remained seated courtside and quietly watched the entire game.
He lowered his head like a child who had done something wrong, waiting for a scolding.
Yet the criticism he expected never came.
"Ho ho ho..."
Coach Anzai let out a kind, gentle chuckle.
A smile rested on his round face.
"Akagi,"
Coach Anzai's voice was slow but firm. "Don't lose heart."
Akagi abruptly looked up, his eyes filled with confusion and hurt.
Coach Anzai's gaze moved past Akagi and settled on Kawamoto Kazuki, who was quietly drinking water in the distance.
His eyes held an indescribably complex mixture of emotions: appreciation, curiosity, and even a trace of reminiscence.
He turned his gaze back to Akagi and said clearly:
"Kawamoto's ability... was never at a level you should expect from a high school student."
Those words exploded like thunder in Akagi's ears!
Coach Anzai leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice, yet his words carried even greater weight. "Even... among the national-team players I've seen, those who possessed such well-rounded skills and terrifying physical gifts at his age were exceedingly rare. He ranks among the very best."
National-team players...
The very best...
Those two phrases nearly stopped Akagi's breathing.
He could not imagine that Coach Anzai would rate Kawamoto Kazuki's ability so highly!
"So, Akagi,"
Coach Anzai's tone became gentle again, yet carried a guiding strength.
"He isn't a mountain standing before you that you need to overcome."
"He should be the goal you strive to catch up to!"
"To have a teammate beside you who can test your ability at any time and let you see the gap clearly."
A meaningful smile appeared on Coach Anzai's face.
"Isn't... that a tremendously good thing?"
Takenori Akagi stood rooted to the spot, turning Coach Anzai's words over in his mind.
The confusion and despair in his eyes began to fade little by little.
A flame of understanding and refusal to submit was quietly kindling amid the ruins.
Perhaps defeat was another kind of beginning.