Three days later, the Kanagawa Prefecture Sports Weekly was freshly released. The cover bore the striking headline “Prefectural Player Strength Ratings,” and the inside pages featured an in-depth analysis of Ryonan’s “Twin Stars”—Gu Jin and Sendoh Akira. It stirred up the entire Kanagawa basketball scene as soon as it hit the shelves.
In the Hainan gymnasium, Kiyota Nobunaga’s knuckles were white as he clutched the newspaper, the bold black rating numbers like thorns in his eyes: “Are you looking down on me? I, Kiyota Nobunaga, only got 77 points, a B+ rating? What’s the point of this broken rating?!”
“Don’t get too agitated,” Jin Soichiro handed him a bottle of water, his voice gentle. “You’re a first-year rookie, and you haven’t been on the Hainan first team for long. This rating is already a recognition. If you’re really not convinced, wait until the Prefectural Tournament. Make a name for yourself, and people will naturally change their minds.”
“What about Gu Jin?” Kiyota pointed sharply to another column. “He’s also a first-year! How can he be rated S-class, surpassing A Mu? This makes no sense at all!”
“Whether it makes sense or not, the court will tell.” Maki Shinichi’s voice came from the sidelines. He was twirling a basketball, his eyes sharp. “The first round of matches starts this afternoon. You’ll likely meet him in the 1v1. If you can beat him, that’ll be more effective than shouting ‘I’m not convinced’ a hundred times here.”
Kiyota clenched his fists, his fingertips digging into his palms—what he always wanted was not “the rating a rookie should have,” but to be treated as a true genius.
On the other side, in the Shoyo gymnasium, Hasegawa Kazushi looked at Gu Jin’s photo in the newspaper for a long time.
The young man in the photo was wearing a Ryonan Team uniform, shooting a basket. His profile was sharp, yet it exuded an undeniable keenness.
“Gu Jin… Sendoh…” He murmured the two names, his fingertips tracing the title “Ryonan’s Twin Stars.”
The warm-up match between Daiei and Ryonan had unintentionally made this rookie, Gu Jin, famous.
“Hasegawa, what are you spacing out for?” Hanagata Toru walked over. “The first round of individual matches starts this afternoon, aren’t you going to prepare?”
Hasegawa folded the newspaper and tucked it into his bag, his gaze deepening: “Got it.”
He suddenly looked forward to their clash this afternoon—just how much strength did this rookie, who was exceptionally rated S by the Sports Weekly, truly possess?
At 1:30 PM, the entrance of the Kanagawa Prefectural Gymnasium was still constantly filled with people, and the cheers from the stands almost lifted the roof—the first round of the Public Welfare Cup 1v1 Challenge was attracting more attention than expected.
The electronic screen in the center of the court lit up, displaying the names of 74 participants scrolling by, as the match schedule was randomly generated on site.
It finally settled on the list of 18 matchups for the first round.
Immediately, a flurry of discussions erupted throughout the venue:
Muto Tadashi vs. Koshino Hiroaki
Hasegawa Kazushi vs. Kuroki Meisa
Oda Tatsumasa vs. Kosha Kazuma
Hanagata Toru vs. Naito Tetsuya
Rukawa Kaede vs. Ebina
Fujita Ichiro vs. Kogure Kiminobu
Edogawa Daiki vs. Ono Kikuma
Ikegami Ryoji vs. Jin Soichiro
When the last group of names appeared, the uproar in the venue suddenly escalated by a notch—Gu Jin vs. Kiyota Nobunaga.
Kiyota Nobunaga straightened up almost instantly, his eyes fixed on the names on the screen, his hand gripping his wristband so hard it turned red.
The harsh words he had spoken that morning in the Hainan gym still echoed in his ears, and now a fire seemed to burn in his chest: “I’m going to beat you 10-0… This time, I’m absolutely going to let you know who the strongest rookie in Kanagawa is.”
A Mu, standing nearby, patted him on the back: “Remember the rules: 10 consecutive shots. So, don’t think about a quick victory, play steadily.”
The “10 consecutive shots” rule meant that the scoring player retained possession. This implied that once an opponent found their rhythm, they could very likely score 10 consecutive points.
Under this rule, the pace of offense and defense was faster, posing a great test to a player’s endurance and mentality.
Gu Jin stood in Ryonan’s resting area, his fingertips unconsciously tapping his knee.
He glanced at Kiyota, who was eager to try, then looked at the rule description on the electronic screen, a subtle smirk playing on his lips—this rule, where you either dominated or got dominated, was much more interesting than a regular 1v1.
The referee blew a whistle, signaling the first group of players to take the court.
Kiyota, however, suddenly jutted his chin towards Gu Jin, his eyes openly defiant.
The show, it seemed, had started early.
With the referee’s whistle, the first round of the Public Welfare Cup 1v1 Challenge officially began.
This fierce battle raged for forty minutes, and the outline of victory and defeat had gradually become clear amidst the offensive and defensive exchanges.
Results of the first eight groups:
Muto Tadashi vs. Koshino Hiroaki: Muto Tadashi won 10:7, relying on his more stable mid-range shooting.
Hasegawa vs. Kuroki Meisa: Hasegawa’s defense suppressed his opponent’s offense, ultimately winning 10:5.
Oda Tatsumasa vs. Kosha Kazuma: Kosha Kazuma defeated Oda Tatsumasa 10:3, relying on his solid inside skills and experience.
Hanagata Toru vs. Naito Tetsuya: Hanagata Toru used agile footwork and precise jump shots to break his opponent’s strength advantage, winning 10:8.
Rukawa Kaede vs. Ebina: Rukawa Kaede’s speed and offensive efficiency held an absolute advantage, winning easily 10:3.
Fujita Ichiro vs. Kogure Kiminobu: Kogure Kiminobu defeated Fujita Ichiro 10:7, relying on consistent performance and crucial shots.
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Edogawa Daiki vs. Ono Kikuma: Edogawa Daiki’s breakthroughs were more threatening, defeating his opponent 10:6.
Ikegami Ryoji vs. Jin Soichiro: Jin Soichiro’s outside shooting was hot, narrowly defeating Ikegami Ryoji 10:8.
After the first eight matches concluded, the spotlights in the center of the court suddenly illuminated.
Gu Jin and Kiyota Nobunaga simultaneously walked towards the center of the court—this long-awaited showdown was finally about to begin.
The showdown between Gu Jin and Kiyota Nobunaga was explosive from the start, but Gu Jin clearly got into his rhythm faster.
Kiyota, like a cannonball, tried to break through with explosive power, but his first layup was precisely anticipated by Gu Jin, who flicked his wrist lightly and stole the ball—this opening steal instantly stalled Kiyota’s momentum by half a beat, and also triggered the first gasp from the entire crowd.
Gu Jin advanced with the ball at a calm pace. Facing Kiyota’s tight defense, he changed direction, then executed a sudden stop and jump shot, scoring a steady 1 point.
“1:0!” The referee signaled the score, and possession remained with Gu Jin.
Kiyota gritted his teeth and played tight defense, his fingertips almost touching Gu Jin’s jersey, but the opponent steadily fended him off with a back-to-the-basket dribble.
Gu Jin suddenly turned, flicked his wrist, and the basketball flew past Kiyota’s fingertips, swishing through the net—another mid-range shot. 2:0.
Exclamations were already starting to erupt from the crowd, and Kiyota’s breathing faltered.
He tried to reach out and steal the ball, but Gu Jin seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, pulling the ball to the other side in advance, then accelerating for a breakthrough and scoring a layup. 3:0.
In just two minutes, Gu Jin scored 3 consecutive points with continuous offensive drives, Kiyota barely even touching the ball a few times.
He suddenly looked up, the sharpness in his eyes replaced by alarm—this was not the “head-on clash” he had envisioned, but rather the opponent controlling the rhythm firmly, as if playing a ball-handling game.
“Kiyota, don’t rush!” Jin Soichiro couldn’t help but shout from the sidelines.
Kiyota took a deep breath, and when he lunged again, his movements were more aggressive, almost using his body to collide.
It was only then that Kiyota finally caught a gap during one of Gu Jin’s changes of direction, pouncing like lightning to try and steal the ball—his fingertips even touched the ball, but Gu Jin flicked his wrist, pulling the ball back from his grasp.
Gu Jin turned with the momentum, his elbow gently pushing, perfectly blocking Kiyota’s point of force, then immediately executed a sudden stop and jump shot, the basketball bouncing off the backboard and falling into the hoop. 4:0.
Kiyota’s fingertips were still stiff in mid-air, the sweat in his palms almost soaking his jersey.
He had clearly touched the ball just now, but it was as if an invisible force had blocked him—it wasn’t a difference in speed or strength, but that the opponent had calculated even the timing of “letting him touch the ball” perfectly.
As Gu Jin advanced with the ball, Kiyota, red-eyed, pounced on him, almost like a wild beast tearing at its prey.
Gu Jin, however, seemed to be stepping on cotton, sidestepping with Kiyota’s force, while simultaneously flicking his wrist, the basketball flying under Kiyota’s armpit and steadily falling into the hoop. 5:0.
The cheers from the crowd were already tinged with sympathy. Kiyota leaned on his knees and caught his breath, a sudden feeling of dread coming over him as his gaze fell on Gu Jin.
All his defensive moves, steals, and jumps just now felt like hitting cotton—the opponent hadn’t clashed with him head-on at all, yet he made every one of Kiyota’s efforts ineffective.
“Kiyota, calm down, don’t fight it!” Maki Shinichi shouted from the sidelines, but Kiyota was no longer listening.
Like a trapped beast, he charged with his last bit of spirit, only for Gu Jin to create distance with a step-back, followed by a three-pointer—the sound of the basketball swishing through the net was like a heavy hammer in his ears. 6:0.
It was too ugly!
He was losing quite badly!
In fact, if Kiyota Nobunaga had calmed down, he might not have been unable to block a shot.
But he was completely flustered!
The next four minutes felt like a long forty minutes for Kiyota.
He pushed until his knees trembled, barely touching the ball twice with almost fouling moves, only to be solidly dunked on by Gu Jin at the moment he was about to block;
For the last few shots, Gu Jin’s offense even began to become casual:
Sometimes he would stand outside the three-point line, waiting for Kiyota to rush over, then quickly change direction and shoot;
Sometimes he would dribble with his back to Kiyota, waiting until Kiyota’s stamina was almost depleted, then turn and easily lay up the ball.
After each score, possession remained in his hands, giving Kiyota no time to even catch his breath.
Actually, Gu Jin didn't necessarily have to defeat Kiyota Nobunaga in this way, but Kiyota Nobunaga's bold declaration before the game that he would beat Gu Jin 10-0 was, by chance, overheard by Gu Jin.
When the last shot ended, the scoreboard was frozen at 10:0.
Kiyota slumped to the ground, sweat dripping from his chin into the floor cracks, his vision a little blurry.
All his desperate efforts just now seemed like child’s play to Gu Jin—the opponent hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Gu Jin walked over, “Your prediction was correct, it really is 10-0!” Gu Jin’s voice was calm, as if stating something trivial.
Kiyota lowered his head, his throat tight, unable to utter a single word.
He finally understood that some gaps could not be filled by “giving your all”—when the opponent stood on a higher level looking down at you, all your struggles might be meaningless in his eyes.