Three days later, the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium was already thoroughly enveloped in a wave of heat.
As Tokyo's most prestigious sports arena, all the lights under the dome were on, and the dense crowd in the stands was like a surging tide; the crisp sound of cheering sticks colliding and the rustle of flags waving mixed together, making even the air tremble!!!
The whistle for the National Tournament finals hadn't even blown, but the cameras of the sideline reporters were already flashing in rapid succession, most of their lenses pointed towards Ryonan's warm-up area.
With 15 minutes left until tip-off, the main players from both teams were already warming up on the court.
On Ryonan's side, Uozumi Jun was warming up under the basket, each jump causing a slight vibration on the floor, his arms drawing steady arcs in the air;
Sakuragi Hanamichi was bouncing with the ball under the basket, occasionally turning his head to shout a few words to the sidelines, his red hair glaringly bright under the lights;
Fukuda Kiccho was driving and pull-up jumping from beyond the three-point line, the ball swishing through the net with a crisp sound.
Sendoh Akira was leaning against the basket support, dribbling, but his gaze swept over Meihou's side of the court—
Kawaguchi Shota was low, practicing dribbling between his legs, Takagi Yuta was tying his shoelaces beyond the three-point line, Watanabe Kenji and Nomura Masato were jostling shoulders to box out, and Itakura Yuta was bending his knees, each step making a thudding sound on the floor.
The two voices from the commentary box spread through the loudspeakers, becoming even clearer amidst the court's din: "Good afternoon, audience friends! This is the National Tournament finals, Ryonan versus Meihou—just looking at the pre-game ratings, this matchup seems to come from two different dimensions."
The commentator in the suit smiled and held up the material in his hand, "Ryonan is a solid AA-level seed, and Meihou? They were initially only rated C-level, fighting their way up from the qualifiers; no one would disagree that they are this year's biggest dark horse, right?"
When the other commentator, wearing glasses, took over, his gaze drifted towards Ryonan, and the camera's lens happened to cut to Gu Jin—the young man in jersey number 17 was standing at the free-throw line, flicking his wrist to shoot a ball, and the moment it swished through the net, he raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his temple.
"Ryonan is very strong this year; they just defeated the former king, Sannoh Industrial." The bespectacled commentator's voice deepened, "Ryonan's popularity is unprecedented right now."
"But Meihou shouldn't be underestimated either." The suited commentator tapped the table, "They fought their way through the right half of the bracket, and winning against strong teams like Hainan and Meihou wasn't just luck."
"That's what makes it interesting." The bespectacled commentator smiled, "Right now, the shouts for Ryonan to win in the stands are almost tearing the roof off, but who will actually win? Let's wait and see!"
As the two finished speaking, the court suddenly quieted—the referee walked to center court holding the ball.
Uozumi Jun and Itakura Yuta stood face to face.
Uozumi slightly raised his chin, his 202-centimeter frame standing there, his shadow almost covering Itakura;
Itakura didn't back down, his knees bent like a coiled bow, his fingers curled, his gaze fixed on the ball in the referee's hand.
The cheers from the stands suddenly intensified, and the camera shutters clicked in a continuous stream.
"Beep—"
As the whistle blew, the referee tossed the ball into the air.
Uozumi and Itakura jumped simultaneously, their two arms colliding in the air with a dull thud.
Uozumi jumped higher, and the moment his fingertips brushed the ball, he sharply tapped it backward—the ball flew out with a spin, landing perfectly in the hands of Sendoh Akira, who had just rushed past half-court.
Sendoh didn't stop, dribbling forward while scanning the defense—Kawaguchi Shota was rushing towards him, his steps as fast as a gust of wind.
But he didn't pass; instead, he flicked his wrist, and the ball slid along the floor towards the right sideline.
Gu Jin was already waiting there.
When he received the ball, he was almost running along the sideline, and Meihou's Takagi Yuta and Watanabe Kenji immediately closed in from both sides—everyone knew Meihou was good at drawing fouls, and as the two figures pressed in from left and right, their bodies deliberately brushed against Gu Jin's arm, just waiting for him to raise his hand to initiate body contact.
Many people in the stands held their breath, and even the commentators paused: "Going for a foul?"
But Gu Jin's footwork suddenly changed.
He didn't slow down; instead, he used his momentum to leap sharply, his body gliding to the left in the air as if blown by the wind.
Takagi and Watanabe's arms missed, and just as the two almost collided, Gu Jin in the air lightly flicked his wrist—the ball, held in his right hand, smoothly switched to his left, and with a flick of his fingertips, the ball flew upwards with a gentle arc.
There was no physical contact whatsoever.
When the ball swished through the inside of the rim, the net swayed gently.
"Swish—"
The electronic scoreboard changed to 2:0.
The court was silent for half a second, then erupted in deafening cheers.
Sakuragi Hanamichi was jumping and clapping in place, Sendoh Akira was walking back with a smirk, and Uozumi Jun raised his hand to pound his chest.
Reporters in the stands frantically pressed their shutters, their lenses still capturing Gu Jin's figure as he landed—he didn't look back at the basket, just bent down to pick up the ball that had rolled to his feet, and as he handed it to the referee, his fingertips were still stained with a bit of the anti-slip powder he had just used, shining brightly.
The commentator's voice held a hint of awe: "An in-air hand-switch floater! He gave no chance for a foul... What a beautiful first shot to open the game!"
When the referee handed the ball to Kawaguchi Shota, the Meihou team hadn't yet recovered from that floater—Takagi Yuta grabbed the hem of his jersey to wipe off some sweat, Itakura Yuta stomped his foot heavily under the basket, and only Watanabe Kenji walked towards Ryonan's half with his chin up, his gaze fixed on Sendoh Akira.
Kawaguchi bent down and passed the ball out, and just past half-court, Watanabe reached out for it.
He received the ball, dribbled, and retreated two steps beyond the three-point line, then suddenly beckoned to Sendoh: "Hey, Sendoh, come here for a one-on-one."
Sendoh Akira raised an eyebrow.
Watanabe stared at him and smiled, his voice not loud, but enough for those around to hear: "I hear you're pretty popular lately?"
He dribbled with more force, the ball thudding loudly against the floor, "But have you forgotten? In junior high, who defended you so hard you couldn't even dribble properly?"
These words were like a thorn, and the cameras of the sideline reporters started flashing again.
Sendoh, however, merely curved his eyes, a casual smile playing on his lips, and didn't respond.
"Trying to act like you don't care?" Watanabe was provoked by his demeanor and suddenly lowered his center of gravity to drive to the left—his steps were quick and urgent, his shoulder deliberately bumping into Sendoh's, trying to create an opening through contact.
But just as he dribbled and changed direction, Sendoh's hand suddenly shot out.
It was as fast as wind, his fingertips brushing the ball with a crisp "snap," and the ball flew directly out of Watanabe's hands.
Watanabe froze for half a second before reacting, turning sharply to chase, but Sendoh had already bent down and scooped up the ball.
He didn't even look at the person rushing behind him, dribbling two steps and then bursting past half-court; Takagi, who was chasing to defend, tried to jump to block, but Sendoh suddenly stopped and jumped, his body stretching into a clean arc in the air—
"Slam!"
The basketball was forcefully slammed into the hoop, and the backboard shook with it.
Sendoh landed, taking half a step back, the smile on his lips even more pronounced than before.
4:0.
Sakuragi Hanamichi immediately bounced over to him, hugging his arm and shaking it: "Sendoh! What a shot!"
Uozumi Jun shouted a muffled "Nice job" from under the basket, and Gu Jin, from beyond the three-point line, glanced at Meihou—Watanabe was still standing in place, his face flushed, his fists clenched, as if he had suffered a great insult.
The commentator's voice came through with a smile: "A beautiful steal! A beautiful dunk! Sendoh Akira's move was so decisive—that 'underdog' Watanabe mentioned earlier? It seems we need to change that terminology now! After all, people do improve."
In the stands, Ryonan's cheering section completely erupted, the shouts of "Sendoh" mixing with the crisp sounds of cheering sticks, surging onto the court like a wave.
Kawaguchi Shota picked up the ball that had rolled to his feet, patted Watanabe's back, and said something in a low voice, but Watanabe just gritted his teeth, not responding.