There are two minutes left in the first half.
The scoreboard reads 68:0.
Shohoku is far ahead.
Kawamoto Kazuki got up and went to the restroom through the players' tunnel.
At the same moment his figure disappeared into the shadows of the passageway, a tall foreign figure hurriedly walked in from the entrance on the other side of the stands.
It was Rudy Tomjanovich.
He was delayed for about ten minutes due to some urgent personal matters.
At this moment, a hint of urgency crossed his face, and his gaze swept quickly across the field, as if searching for the figure of that silent boy.
No.
He frowned, then looked at the scoreboard.
68:0?
A flicker of surprise crossed Rudy's blue eyes.
A shutout was extremely rare even in matches where the teams were vastly mismatched.
Has the gap in high school basketball in Japan really gotten this large?
He didn't find a seat; he just stood at the entrance with his arms crossed, watching the final moments of the game.
However, what he saw was just a trash basketball game devoid of any competitive aesthetics.
It can't even be called a competition.
The players from Miuradai were like sleepwalkers, their offense was completely disorganized, and their defense was practically non-existent.
With a large lead, Shohoku simply passed the ball around and shot mechanically.
The match was so dull it was appalling; it was not only incredibly unwatchable but also utterly devoid of any passion.
It was like a poorly written performance.
Rudy Tomjanovich's eyes were filled with deep disappointment.
He had initially become curious about the boy Kawamoto Kazuki because of his sea voyage.
There was even a faint hope that I could see something different in him on a formal basketball court, even if it was just a rudimentary form.
But now it seems I might have been overthinking things.
That boy might simply possess amazing physical abilities and a calm personality.
As for basketball?
The current match speaks for itself.
Despite their overwhelming advantage, the Shohoku team didn't show any outstanding performance in his eyes.
This game confirmed the mediocrity of Japan basketball as a whole.
He shook his head; the flicker of hope in his heart had been extinguished by the dull and boring match.
"It seems I shouldn't have had any unrealistic fantasies about Japan basketball."
Rudy said to himself.
Geniuses aren't so easy to find.
Before the game ended, the renowned NBA coach had already turned and quietly left the county stadium.
Rudy Tomjanovich could never have imagined that those ten-odd minutes of delay would cause him to completely miss Kawamoto Kazuki's amazing performance, who single-handedly ended the match within the first four minutes.
He could never have imagined that today's missed opportunity would signify such a turning point in his destiny.
Four years later.
Toyota Center, Houston, United States.
NBA Finals, Game 7.
Under the world's watchful eyes, that cold-faced young man from the East shattered the very foundation of the dynasty that Rudy Tomjanovich was just one step away from building with countless explosive dunks.
With each precise shot, he pierced the throne of the dynasty's godfather, a throne he might only be crowned once in his life.
The young man was so successful that he could become famous in a single battle.
And they were fearless, and reckless.
The second half of the game ended hastily in an absurd atmosphere.
When the final whistle blew, the score settled at an even more exaggerated number.
The players from both sides lined up and greeted each other.
When Kawamoto Kazuki walked up to the Miuradai team members, the previously lifeless Miuradai members finally had a renewed spark of youthful vigor in their eyes.
This guy in front of them destroyed their match and crushed their dreams in the most cruel way.
Even though that dream was so unrealistic.
But that was a boy's dream!
"That bastard... he's so awful!"
Kazuo Araki cursed under his breath.
Kawamoto Kazuki seemed not to hear the whispers.
He calmly walked up to Captain Kengo Murasame and stopped.
Then, under Murasame's complex and unfathomable gaze, he bowed slightly and extended his left hand.
"Thank you for your guidance, Senior Murasame."
His tone was standard post-match courtesy, and his face showed neither the arrogance nor pity of a victor.
Kengo Murasame looked at the hand that was being extended in front of him.
It's this hand!
They made those damn three-pointers...
They intercepted those crucial balls...
They snatched those desperate rebounds...
Now it extends itself out in such a polite manner.
A strong sense of humiliation and anger surged into Murasame's heart.
He abruptly raised his head, staring intently at Kawamoto, his voice trembling with agitation. "Shake hands? Are you here to mock us? To mock our crushing defeat?"
Faced with Murasame's angry glare and questioning, Kawamoto Kazuki slowly shook his head.
No, I didn't mean to mock you.
His gaze swept over the other members of the Miuradai, finally settling on Murasame's face. "At the very beginning of the match, when you faced our team, which finished last year, the confidence and fighting spirit in your eyes were only natural. I also saw your pride as a top-eight team last year and your determination to win."
Even after I made a few three-pointers, you guys were still trying to adjust and fight back.
" Murasame- senpai, you took the initiative to defend me; Araki -senpai, you tried to drive; Kawasaki- senpai, you established position in the paint... At least for the first few minutes, you guys were serious about winning this game."
"This confidence, this fighting spirit to try and fight back in adversity, is something worthy of respect as a basketball player."
Kawamoto's voice clearly reached the ears of every member of the Miuradai.
They were stunned.
He's saying... respect?
Do we respect this team that suffered a crushing defeat and even gave up the game?
"Many factors influence the outcome of a match."
Kawamoto continued, "Skill, form, tactics, even luck. But your initial desire to win was genuine."
"That's what I meant."
He pointed to Murasame's chest, watching the anger gradually subside and the confusion rising in his eyes, and continued, "So, thank you for your guidance."
After saying that, he reached out his hand again.
Murasame hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand.
He gripped Kawamoto's hand tightly, forcing out a few words through gritted teeth. "You're a despicable bastard!"
The hatred in his tone was gone; instead, there was approval.
Kawamoto looked at Murasame's conflicted yet earnest face, nodded, then withdrew his hand and walked back to his own group.
We lost, we lost completely, we lost all face.
But strangely enough, the huge weight that had been pressing on my heart because of the crushing defeat and the coach's realistic remarks seemed to have loosened a little.
This guy is called Kawamoto Kazuki.
He was as powerful as a monster, as calm as an inhuman, yet possessed a captivating charm that made him approachable.
He himself never expected that this opponent would utterly humiliate him.
In such an unexpected way, they gave him a little bit of affirmation during the lowest point of his life.
He never imagined that this game would bring him a jerk friend who would change his life in the future.
The world of basketball is more than just basketball.