The game resumed with seven minutes left in the first half.
Toyotama had possession. But this time, they didn't let Minami challenge Nango one-on-one again.
After two failed attempts, they finally realized it wasn't a smart idea. So they shifted their focus—toward Sakuragi Hanamichi.
From their earlier exchanges, they could tell this red-haired kid wasn't some naive basketball newbie. In some ways, he was just like them—wild, prideful, easy to provoke.
So Toyotama came up with a plan: ignite that fire in Sakuragi… and let it burn Shohoku from the inside.
After a series of quick passes, the ball ended up in Kishimoto's hands. The moment he received it, he squared up for a face-to-face battle with Sakuragi.
Sakuragi grinned. "Ponytail! Bring it on! It's time to settle our score from the train!"
Kishimoto snorted. "Red-haired kid, don't get cocky! You'll never be able to stop me!"
He gave a simple fake before lowering his shoulder and charging toward the baseline.
Sakuragi reacted instantly, sliding his feet and using his body to cut off the path, closing down Kishimoto's space.
This guy's quick… Kishimoto thought. But that's exactly what I want.
Controlling the ball with his right hand, Kishimoto subtly raised his left elbow—and jabbed it straight into Sakuragi's stomach.
"Ugh!"
Caught off guard, Sakuragi stumbled back a step, and Kishimoto took the chance to drive in and score a layup.
Okusu frowned. "Huh? What happened to Sakuragi? Why didn't he block that?"
Yohei leaned forward. "That ponytail must've done something dirty. I know Sakuragi—he wouldn't let that slide for no reason."
After scoring, Kishimoto laughed loudly.
"Heh! Told you, you can't stop me!"
"Damn it! You shameless punk!" Sakuragi roared, his temper flaring. But he managed to hold it back and turned to the referee. "Ref! Isn't that a foul?!"
"A foul?"
The referee blinked in confusion—he hadn't seen anything.
Before Sakuragi could argue further, Nango quickly stepped in, grabbing him by the shoulder and covering his mouth.
"Don't say anything."
"But, Nango—just now—"
"I know." Nango's tone dropped low. "That's how these guys play."
"What?" Sakuragi blinked, then frowned. He was half-tempted to ask if he could play like that too—because if he could, he'd be unstoppable.
Nango leaned in, whispering firmly, "Did you forget what I told you before? They're trying to provoke you—to make you snap and get ejected. That's their game plan. Are you really going to fall for it?"
Sakuragi gritted his teeth. "Hmph! The great me won't be tricked that easily!"
Hearing words like ejection and trick cooled his temper a bit. The last thing he wanted was to get thrown out of Shohoku's first Nationals game—that would be too humiliating to live down.
Nango smiled, patting him on the back. "Good. Now let's get even on offense."
"No problem!" Sakuragi flexed an arm and smirked. "Watch how I teach that ponytail a lesson!"
As Shohoku advanced across half-court, Sakuragi used his strength to shove Kishimoto behind him, muscling into position at the edge of the paint. It was a perfect spot—if Nango lobbed the ball right, he could attack immediately.
Nango saw the opportunity and didn't hesitate. Using his height, he lobbed the ball into Sakuragi's hands.
Kishimoto pressed a forearm into Sakuragi's back, smirking. "Red-head! I'll give you a chance. Show me what you've got!"
"Hmph! I was gonna do that anyway!"
Sakuragi spun toward the baseline, moving faster than anyone expected. With one explosive step, he shook Kishimoto. With the next, he rose high into the air—ready to finish with a powerful layup.
I got it!
The rim was right there. Victory surged through him—until a sudden force yanked him down.
Slap!
Kishimoto's open palm smacked across Sakuragi's face.
Thud!
Sakuragi crashed hard to the floor.
"Ah!"
Haruko gasped, covering her eyes, peeking through trembling fingers. "Is… is Sakuragi hurt?"
"Bastard!" Takamiya slammed his hand against the railing, standing up in anger. "What the hell is that guy trying to do?!"
The rest of the Sakuragi Gang stood with him, ready to charge down if their friend was seriously injured.
From the commentator's table, Aida Yayoi frowned deeply. "These Toyotama players are going too far. That was completely unnecessary."
"I hope Sakuragi Hanamichi isn't hurt…" Nakamura said, worried. "It'd be a shame if he had to withdraw from the tournament."
On the court, the culprit crouched down beside Sakuragi, pretending to look concerned.
"Oh dear, I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" Kishimoto said with a fake smile.
Slap!
Sakuragi swatted his hand away and stood up slowly. His expression was dark—dangerously calm.
Come on, Kishimoto thought, heart pounding. Hit me! Punch me in the face! Give me an excuse!
But Sakuragi didn't take the bait. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly through his nose.
Then he opened his eyes—steady, cold, controlled.
"Ponytail," he said quietly, "I'll remember this."
He turned to the referee and pointed at Kishimoto. "So? What's the call?"
The referee met his gaze—and though Sakuragi wasn't yelling, that silent fury made the man tremble slightly.
After a pause, he blew his whistle.
"Blue team, number 5—flagrant foul!"
Hearing the call, Sakuragi nodded once and said nothing more.
Kishimoto blinked, stunned. The red-head who used to explode at the smallest insult was suddenly calm and composed. For the first time, he couldn't tell who the real Sakuragi was.
He's grown up… Nango thought, feeling oddly proud as he jogged over. He'd expected to break up a fight, but Sakuragi's restraint surprised him.
"You okay?" Nango asked. "That was a heavy fall. Does your back hurt? You need to rest?"
Sakuragi rubbed his lower back and shook his head. "I'm fine. It doesn't hurt much anymore." Then, after a pause, he asked curiously, "But… what's a flagrant foul?"
Nango chuckled, relieved. "It's a serious foul. You'll get two free throws—and we'll get the ball back afterward."
"Oh, I see." Sakuragi nodded in understanding.
Nango grinned. "You've matured, Sakuragi."
"Hmph, of course!" Sakuragi puffed his chest and smirked proudly.
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