Mikio: You pulled my clothes! Can't you handle this?!
Sakuragi: You fat pig, the rules on the court are the referee's. Did the referee blow the whistle?
When Sakuragi said this, he was completely oblivious to everything else.
Mikio, having been stabbed in the lungs, couldn't hold back any longer. He had to add the word "pig" before his words, didn't he? He reached out and shoved Sakuragi in the chest, sending Sakuragi staggering back several steps. The force was considerable; the fact that Sakuragi managed to stay upright shows he's got a strong constitution.
This sudden action startled even Masashi Kawata. Everyone knew Mikio's personality; he'd even hand someone toilet paper if they pooped on his head. What was going on?
beep!!
As soon as the referee blew the whistle, Mikio snapped out of his rage and was stunned. That wasn't just a fit of anger; it was clearly all because of the word "pig"!
Once he calmed down, he realized that when he pushed Sakuragi, his own heart was racing, not out of excitement, but out of fear.
In contrast, Sakuragi showed no anger or complaint, simply spreading his hands.
Sakuragi's feigned cowardice was more convincing than genuine cowardice; to outsiders, it looked like he was intimidated by Mikio. Although no one knew exactly what the two had been arguing about, the people on Shohoku's side, such as Yohei Mito, Yoko, and their teammates on the court, immediately understood.
But something's fishy about this. A genius's mind works fast, and he's actually using psychological tactics? If word gets out, this will blow people's minds.
The referee's whistle blew just then, giving Mikio a technical foul and a verbal warning. Shohoku got two free throws for the technical foul. Mikio immediately collapsed; this loss was more unfair than eating shit.
The players from Sannoh and Shohoku all gathered around. Masashi Kawata rushed over, pointed at his younger brother's nose, and yelled, "What are you doing? Didn't I tell you to ignore that guy?!"
Mikio buried his head almost to his chest, his small glasses nearly slipping to the ground. "I'm sorry, bro! I promise I'll never make that mistake again!" He clutched the hem of his jersey, not daring to mention that Sakura had pulled his jersey, partly because he didn't dare, and partly because he didn't have the chance.
In fact, Masashi Kawata had always been annoyed by his younger brother's soft-heartedness, but he never expected that his brother's personality was largely influenced by him. He was a competent older brother, but he also had his shortcomings, but he simply didn't have time to think about it right now.
Mitsui ran over and punched Sakuragi in the chest, his voice booming, "Well done, kid!" Takenori Akagi didn't say anything, but simply raised his fist and bumped it hard against Sakuragi, his meaning clearer than anyone else.
Sakuragi not only defended the basket but also tricked the fat guy – that was an amazing move. Shirasawa gave him a thumbs up, and Sakuragi knew immediately that this guy had figured out his little scheme. The two exchanged a knowing smile, their understanding was undeniable.
Kogure clenched his fists, his face flushed with excitement. " Sakuragi's form is off the charts! He's even more formidable than he was during the Kainan tournament!"
When they played against Kainan, Sakuragi was already invincible, daring to go toe-to-toe with Shinichi Maki under the basket. But now he's even better than before! The key is that the current Sakuragi is not only steady, but also uses his brain! This game's Sakuragi was a completely different player from before.
Coach Anzai smiled slightly upon hearing this and muttered, "The strongest Sakuragi hasn't arrived yet." His voice was so soft that no one heard him, but everyone could sense the confidence in his tone.
Shirasawa stepped to the free-throw line, and no one expected him to score 4 points on this play. He made the first free throw and then easily sank the second. The point difference immediately returned to 7 points. Mikio's mistake cost Sannoh a total of 6 points – his attack, which should have scored 2 points, instead gave Shohoku 4 points.
Mikio was filled with remorse, secretly glancing at his brother and Goro Domoto several times. Although the mistake was a bit serious, it wasn't enough to cause Sannoh's collapse. The loss was manageable; consider it a lesson learned. As long as Mikio could learn from this experience, it would be worth it, and Sannoh accepted the outcome.
Possession changed hands, Sannoh stopped using Mikio, letting him rest and handing the ball to Masashi Kawata, letting the older brother teach the younger one a lesson. Sakuragi held off Mikio, but Takenori Akagi was still being pressured by Masashi, after all, Masashi's advantages were undeniable.
Masashi pulled Akagi to a high position, feigning a drive, but actually creating space. Akagi, afraid of losing his rhythm, followed him up, falling right into Masashi's trap. Masashi stopped abruptly, stepped back, and launched a mid-range jump shot, which swished through the net.
Akagi stood rooted to the spot, caught between a rock and a hard place, only able to watch the ball go in. Masashi's move was a clear message to Akagi: you'd better follow me, or I'll shoot you to death. Akagi sighed, feeling immense pressure. He felt the same way he did against Uozumi back then—lacking energy on both offense and defense, and his stats were nothing to brag about.
At that moment, Coach Anzai called Shohoku's first timeout. There were 5 minutes left in the first half. Coach Anzai stood up, Moichi Taoka in the stands frowned, muttering, "Finally going to unleash his killer move, Anzai -senpai?"
The timeout ended, and both teams returned to their benches. Coach Anzai hadn't called a single timeout since the start of the game. Even after Mikio came on and dominated Shohoku's interior, narrowing the gap to 3 points and making it seem like Sannoh was about to turn the game around, he remained incredibly calm.
Calling a timeout to interrupt Sannoh's counterattack momentum wouldn't be a bad idea, would it? Now Shohoku has regained the initiative.
Coach Anzai suddenly blew the whistle for a timeout. The moment this was done, the stands erupted in chaos. Goro Domoto on the Sannoh bench was completely stunned—this timeout was called in a completely unexpected way, and he didn't know how to give his players any instructions.
On the opposite side of the court, Ryonan's Moichi Taoka was staring in Anzai's direction, as if he had figured something out. He vaguely felt that Anzai was waiting for an opportunity, and this opportunity was most likely related to Hanamichi Sakuragi.
But he couldn't quite figure out what kind of opportunity it was. In any case, the timing of this pause call wasn't exactly ideal.
Taoka muttered, stroking his chin, "What exactly is this old man Anzai up to?"
Coach Anzai glanced at the Shohoku Team had gathered around him and simply said, "You played well, keep it up," leaving them completely bewildered.
Takenori Akagi spoke first, his voice slightly muffled. "It's my fault. I'll step up my defense against Masashi Kawata and make sure he doesn't score so easily again!"
He couldn't quite figure out Anzai's true intention in calling a timeout, but he felt that it was somehow related to him. After all, he was the worst performer on the court, and he had just been outmaneuvered by Masashi Kawata, resulting in a point for Anzai.
He guessed that Anzai was telling him to calm down and not get carried away. His brows were furrowed tightly, and his face was full of guilt.
He felt like he was dragging the whole team down. Uozumi probably understands how he felt when he was completely dominated by him back in the day. If he continues playing like this, his performance will only get worse, and the pressure will eventually break him.
This is what makes Masashi Kawata so terrifying. He doesn't need to use his full strength; he just focuses on hitting you, and after a few rounds, he can make you experience what despair is, causing your mentality to collapse completely.
Of course, if he unleashed his full power, the effect would be even more explosive. Looking across the entire high school basketball scene, no one could stop him. Akagi was already strong enough, but Masashi Kawata was ridiculously strong!
Coach Anzai reached out and patted Akagi's arm, the pressure neither too light nor too heavy; he understood the pressure the kid was under. Masashi Kawata and Akagi were both top-tier centers, but there was a whole level between them—a difference that meant leaving others far behind.
This is a lack of talent, it has absolutely nothing to do with hard work. So Coach Anzai spoke up, " Akagi, you've worked hard. Take a break for the next few minutes."
The moment those words were spoken, the entire arena froze. Was this satisfaction or dissatisfaction? If Akagi was taken off the court, who would replace him? While Akagi couldn't stop Masashi Kawata, who else on Shohoku's bench could hold his own? Kakuta? Don't be ridiculous, what good is that?
Akagi opened his mouth to argue, but swallowed his words back. He really hadn't played well. The stats were there for all to see: 15 minutes of playing time, 4 points, 1 rebound, 0 blocks, and he even got blocked once. To say he was practically detached from the court would be an understatement.
On offense, he was alright. Shirasawa was the main offensive threat, and his four points came from two baskets fed to him by Shirasawa. On any other team, getting those two opportunities would be considered good. But on defense? He was completely invisible, constantly being pulled to the perimeter by Masashi Kawata, barely even staying under the basket, and that guy even scored several points in front of him.
If we're really talking about his plus-minus on the court, it's definitely negative. He's so ashamed of his performance that he doesn't even want to admit it, so it's no wonder the coach substituted him. To put it bluntly, he couldn't defend against him anyway; on the court, he was no different from Satoru Kakuta. Akagi's mentality has completely collapsed; his spirits have been deflated, and his mind is filled with self-blame.
Coach Anzai looked at him solemnly. " Akagi, don't overthink it. Even if you get 20 points and 10 rebounds right now, I will still make this decision—because now is our best chance to change our formation!"
Upon hearing this, the entire team was even more bewildered. They were going to trade him even for a 20+10 performance? So, Akagi's departure had absolutely nothing to do with his performance; it was all for that "roster change"!
Anzai added, "I'm not saying this to comfort you. Akagi, your style is different from Masashi Kawata's. What you can do, he may not be able to do. Many things cannot be measured by data alone."
In my opinion, you've done very well. Of course, I hope you can play even better in the second half.
Akagi nodded, somewhat bewildered, but the pressure in his heart eased considerably. Hanamichi Sakuragi leaned closer, exclaiming, "Dad, what exactly do you mean?"
Sakuragi wasn't idle; he was squatting on the sidelines, doing tiptoeing and leg kicks. Even with only a dozen seconds left for substitutions, he didn't dare stop—a 1% drop in performance could mean being utterly crushed by that big fat guy ( Little Kawata ).
This kid hasn't played in many serious national competitions, so he doesn't have all the fancy tricks. He's focused on one thing: he has to fight to the death with that 200-pound behemoth later and he absolutely can't falter.
While everyone else on the field was still staring blankly at Anzai's bald head, their minds filled with "why replace Akagi?", only Shirasawa knew perfectly well—during the preparation period for the National Tournament, Anzai had talked to him about many tactical details, and he had even mentioned a crazy idea.
At that time, he was the absolute core and offensive initiator of Shohoku. It was normal for him to discuss tactics with the coach, but what Shirasawa said that time shocked Anzai.
Looking at that idea now, it was absolutely unconventional, with incredibly high potential returns and outrageously high risks—even Anzai, who had seen his share of storms, thought it was daring, but after thinking it over, he felt it could succeed.
Shirasawa was only responsible for proposing ideas; whether or not to use them, and how to use them, was Anzai's business—everyone has their own expertise. Before the match, Anzai hadn't mentioned this at all, and Shirasawa thought the old man had chickened out, after all, the idea was too risky. But now, judging from Anzai's decision to replace Akagi, and looking at the situation on the field, the old man was going to go all out!
Anzai's gaze swept across the entire room, landing squarely on Shirasawa. The old man nodded slightly— Shirasawa had guessed correctly.
Coach Anzai ignored Sakuragi, who was leaning closer, and shouted directly, " Kogure, substitute Akagi!"
Kogure was staring blankly at the water bottles on the sidelines when he was suddenly called upon. He was stunned for a couple of seconds before jumping up and saying, "Huh?! Okay, okay, Coach!" He hadn't expected to be playing in the national finals, and his hands were trembling a little.
When everyone saw that Anzai had been replaced by Kogure instead of Kakuta, they were even more confused and quickly perked up their ears to listen to the instructions.
Coach Anzai pointed to the whiteboard. " Xiao Bai, Mitsui, Kogure, the three of you, be the shooting guards on the outside. Shoot threes whenever you have an open look!"
He then pointed at Miyagi: " Miyagi, use your speed to cover the entire court, set screens for your teammates, and cut inside as much as possible!"