At the referee's signal, Momoharu Hanazono and Konishi Manabu moved to center circle to prepare for the jump ball.
The two appeared to be vastly different in build—Konishi stood at 196 cm, a few centimeters taller than Momoharu. Where Momoharu was athletic and explosive, Konishi was a tank-type center, built like a wall with muscle mass that had been developed through years of relentless training.
However, what Konishi had in size and strength, Momoharu matched with pure jumping ability and timing.
As the referee tossed the ball high into the air, both players exploded upward the moment it reached its peak. Konishi's reach was longer, his vertical less impressive, but he was a fraction of a second too slow.
Momoharu's superior timing and explosiveness allowed him to slap the ball toward Chiaki before Konishi could react.
Tokiwa, watching from the sideline with arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. Impressive jumping ability for someone his height. He's got serious bounce.
But the tip-off win didn't translate to possession.
As Chiaki tried to control the loose ball, Tarou Kabachi appeared like a blur, his quick hands snatching the ball away with practiced ease.
"Fast!" Nabe exclaimed from the bench.
Tarou immediately pushed the ball up the court himself, his ball-handling smooth and confident. Before Kuzuryu's defense could set, he pulled up from mid-range with that irregular, stop-and-go form Tokiwa had warned about.
The release was awkward, the timing unpredictable—but the ball swished through.
2-0, Kitasumi High.
"Don't worry!" Nao called from the sideline. "Get back into position! Run the offense!"
Chiaki brought the ball up slowly, his basketball IQ immediately reading the court. Kenji setting up on the left wing. Sora already in motion on the right side. Momoharu establishing position in the paint. Yasuhara spacing the weak side.
This was the motion offense Sora had conceptualized, but it was Chiaki who made it breathe, who gave it life through his decision-making.
He saw the opening immediately—Kenji's defender was playing too tight, afraid of his isolation ability.
Chiaki fired a quick pass to Kenji on the wing.
Kenji caught it, took one dribble to create separation, and rose up for a mid-range jumper.
Perfect form. Perfect rotation.
SWISH.
2-2.
"Nice shot, Kenji!" Sora called out.
But Kitasumi answered immediately.
Their offense was structured, veteran-like. Hasebe brought the ball up, immediately looking for Tarou, who curled off a screen from their power forward. The defense had to respect the threat, and when Yasuhara tried to fight through the screen, Tarou had just enough space.
Another shot with that irregular form.
SWISH.
4-2, Kitasumi.
"They're good," Kenji muttered, sprinting back on defense.
Back on offense, Chiaki initiated the motion system.
"SPLIT!" he called out.
Sora immediately began his work—constant movement, running off screens set by Momoharu and Yasuhara. His enhanced speed from the Miyagi integration meant he moved faster than defenders expected, his cuts sharper, his changes of direction more explosive.
The defense had to track him. Had to chase him. Because leaving Sora Kurumatani open was basketball suicide.
He curled off Momoharu's screen on the left block, his defender fighting to stay attached. When the defender tried to go under the screen, Sora rejected it and flared out to the three-point line.
Chiaki saw it instantly—the window was open for maybe half a second.
The pass was perfect, hitting Sora in rhythm.
Catch. Rise. Shoot.
Sora's shooting form was textbook—deep knee bend generating power, smooth upward motion, perfect release at the peak of his jump, soft touch on the follow-through.
The defender was still recovering from the screen when the ball left Sora's hands.
SWISH.
5-4, Kuzuryu High.
The gymnasium erupted. Their first lead against a legitimate opponent.
Tokiwa, who had been about to leave for his music studio, paused at the door. His eyes were locked on the court.
That motion. That spacing. That shooting. They've improved dramatically since. And that shorty—his movement off the ball is elite. He's pulling defenders like gravity.
"Interesting," Tokiwa murmured. "Very interesting."
-----
Coach Koga noticed something immediately—his players were wearing only their practice jerseys, not their official uniforms. He looked across at Kuzuryu High's bench and saw the same thing.
They're not taking this seriously yet, he realized. Neither team is.
"Listen up!" Koga barked. "Go put on your official jerseys. All of you."
"Coach?" Tarou looked confused. "It's just a practice match—"
"Did you see that last possession?" Koga interrupted. "The way that short first-year moved off the ball? The spacing they created? The decision-making from their point forward?"
The team fell silent.
"I underestimated them," Koga admitted. "I thought this would be a casual scrimmage. But that team has been training seriously. They have a system. They have roles. They have potential."
He looked each player in the eye.
"So we treat this like a real game. Official jerseys. Full effort. Show them what a veteran team looks like."
Tarou's competitive grin spread across his face. "Now you're talking, Coach. I was planning to go all-out anyway."
Konishi's usually-closed eyes opened slightly. "Momoharu-sempai has improved. This will be interesting."
On the Kuzuryu bench, Nao addressed her team during the same timeout.
"You're executing well," she said. "Sora, your off-ball movement is creating exactly the spacing we need. Kenji, your isolation scoring is keeping them honest. Chiaki, your reads are perfect."
"But?" Chiaki prompted, sensing there was more.
"But Kitasumi is a second-round Inter-High team. They haven't shown their full strength yet. Neither have we. When they adjust, we need to be ready."
"Then let's keep attacking," Sora said, his determination burning bright. "I want to see how good they really are!"
-----
Chiaki brought the ball up, immediately scanning the defense.
Kitasumi had adjusted—they were now in their official jerseys, and their defensive intensity had visibly increased. Tarou was denying Kenji the ball, their center Konishi was protecting the paint aggressively, and their wings were fighting through screens.
They're taking us seriously now, Chiaki thought. Good. Let's show them what we've got.
"MOTION!" he called out.
The offense activated like a machine.
Sora immediately began his perpetual movement—cutting baseline, curling off Momoharu's screen, relocating to the corner, then sprinting to the opposite wing off another screen from Yasuhara.
His defender, a quick wing player, tried desperately to stay attached. But Sora's speed was too much, his changes of direction too sharp.
And here was the beauty of the system:
Because Sora was pulling his defender all over the court, his man couldn't help. Couldn't leave to provide support. Because if he did, Sora would be open for a three-pointer.
Kenji recognized the one-on-one opportunity immediately.
He called for the ball with a subtle hand signal. Chiaki delivered it instantly.
Kenji faced up his defender at the top of the key. One dribble right. Hesitation. The defender bit slightly.
Kenji exploded left with a lightning-quick first step—the same move that had made him such a feared isolation scorer. His defender scrambled to recover, but Kenji had already created separation.
He rose up from mid-range, his form pure, his confidence absolute.
SWISH.
7-4, Kuzuryu.
"That's what I'm talking about!" Momoharu pumped his fist.
But Kitasumi wasn't fazed.
Tarou brought the ball up himself this time, his eyes locked on Sora.
"So you're the shooter, huh?" Tarou said, his competitive smirk widening. "Let's see how you defend!"
He attacked Sora directly with a drive, and immediately Sora's height disadvantage became apparent. Despite his enhanced lateral quickness and defensive footwork training, Tarou was bigger, stronger, more experienced.
Tarou used a Euro-step to get past Sora's contest, then rose up for his signature stop-and-go shot off one leg.
But Kenji had rotated over to help—his elite defensive instincts reading the play.
The contest forced Tarou to adjust mid-air.
The shot still went in, but it was harder than it should have been.
7-6, Kuzuryu.
"Good help!" Nao called from the bench.
The game continued at a frenetic pace.
Kuzuryu's next possession showcased the full power of their motion offense:
Chiaki initiated from the top. Sora immediately ran off a staggered double-screen set by Momoharu and Yasuhara on the right baseline. His defender got caught on Yasuhara's body, creating a full second of separation.
Chiaki hit Sora with a perfect pass.
Sora caught it in rhythm at the three-point line, but his defender was recovering fast—too fast to shoot comfortably.
This is where Sora's enhanced court vision from the Izuki integration became deadly.
His Eagle Eye saw everything: Kenji flashing to the opposite wing, his defender late on the rotation. Momoharu rolling to the rim after setting the screen, Konishi having to choose between staying home or helping on Kenji.
Sora made the read instantly.
Instead of forcing a shot, he fired a skip pass across the court to Kenji on the weak side.
Kenji caught it with his defender still two steps away.
Wide. Open.
He didn't hesitate.
SWISH.
Three-pointer.
10-6, Kuzuryu.
Tokiwa's eyes widened at the sideline. Seems like they're not a one man show anymore
Konishi called for the ball in the post, clearly frustrated by Momoharu's earlier tip-off win.
When he received it, he backed Momoharu down with his superior size and strength. Two hard dribbles created space, then he turned for a jump hook.
Momoharu contested as best he could, but Konishi's height and reach were too much.
SWISH.
10-8, Kuzuryu.
"Post defense!" Nao called out. "Momoharu, you need to front him when he's that deep!"
But Kuzuryu answered right back.
This time, the motion offense created something different:
Sora ran his defender ragged with cuts and screens, pulling the defense to the right side of the court. Kenji set up in isolation on the left wing.
Chiaki saw it—Kenji had his defender on an island, and with Sora occupying help defenders on the opposite side, no double-team was coming.
The pass went to Kenji.
One-on-one.
Kenji worked his man with a series of crafty dribble moves—hesitation, in-and-out, then a devastating crossover that left his defender stumbling.
He attacked the rim, elevated, and finished with a smooth floater over Konishi's outstretched hand.
12-8, Kuzuryu.
"YES!" Sora shouted. "That's how we do it!"
The pattern was becoming clear:
The Three-Engine System was working.
Sora = Gravitational force through constant movement, pulling defenders away from the action, creating spacing just by existing on the court.
Chiaki = Offensive brain, making all the reads, deciding when to feed Kenji for isolation, when to hit Sora for threes, when to dump it to Momoharu for easy baskets.
Kenji = Mismatch terminator, the pressure-release valve when the offense broke down, the one-on-one killer who could get a bucket whenever needed.
And the beauty of it was that defenses couldn't stop all three.
Focus on Sora? Kenji goes one-on-one and dominates.
Double Kenji? Sora gets open threes.
Try to help on both? Chiaki finds the open man or feeds Momoharu for dunks.
Coach Koga called another timeout.
"They have a system," he told his team. "And it's working. Time to show them what a veteran team looks like when they adjust."
Across the court, Nao smiled at her exhausted but excited team.
"Keep executing. Trust the system. We're proving we belong."
Sora looked at his teammates—Kenji's determined scowl, Chiaki's knowing grin, Momoharu's fired-up intensity.
This is it. This is real basketball. This is what we've been training for.
The game was just getting started.