Mitsui Hisashi slowly stood up and began to loosen his wrist and ankle joints.
Coach Coleman nodded heavily. This trump card, originally planned to be 'absolutely sealed until the Final Four,' hadn't even had training footage leaked.
Yet, he was forced to use it on the way to the Elite Eight.
However, Lihao High School's strength was indeed not to be underestimated.
When Mitsui Hisashi stepped onto the court, none of the Lehao players paid attention to this number 14.
They wouldn't care about a player whose pre-game data only showed 'substitute' with no other remarks.
Moriyama Ryota even smiled at him, with a hint of condescension reserved for newcomers.
Ryokufu started with the ball. John Gedd crossed half-court and passed the ball steadily to Mitsui Hisashi.
Taoka Moichi raised an eyebrow in the stands, a trace of recollection flashing in his eyes: "Mitsui Hisashi?!"
Lehao's Moriyama Ryota shifted his weight casually, looking at this player who was likely just making up the numbers. Even his gesture to block seemed perfunctory.
"Heh, is Ryokufu out of players?" a sneer came from the Lehao bench.
Before the laughter died down, Mitsui Hisashi suddenly gathered the ball.
There were no unnecessary fakes, no fancy footwork. He stood half a step outside the three-point line, knees slightly bent, right hand raised to his forehead. The moment his wrist flicked, his left hand naturally dropped.
The entire motion was as fluid as a pre-programmed sequence. The basketball left his hand with a slight backspin, its trajectory through the air flat and straight.
Moriyama Ryota only then realized something was wrong. He leaped up, extending his hand, but his fingertips only grazed empty air.
"Swish—"
The sound of the net rippling was exceptionally clear in the noisy stadium.
55:45.
The entire court fell silent for half a second. Even many Ryokufu players were stunned—they knew this was a trump card, but they didn't expect it to be a thunderclap when revealed.
Moriyama Ryota landed with a furrowed brow, as if confirming whether that shot was just luck.
In the stands, Taoka Moichi narrowed his eyes, staring at the court, his fingertips tapping his knee: "Hikoichi, look, that shooting form, the power in his wrist, it's still so beautiful... It's indeed still that Mitsui Hisashi."
Aida Hikoichi's pen scribbled furiously on his notebook: Mitsui Hisashi? I must write this down!
After Lehao's inbound, they were eager to catch up. Moriyama Ryota drove hard with the ball but was stolen by John Gedd.
When Mitsui Hisashi stood at the arc again, the look in Moriyama Ryota's eyes, who was guarding him, held a few more points of vigilance.
Mitsui Hisashi first used a crossover step change of direction, then suddenly gathered the ball as if to shoot. Moriyama Ryota leaped up to block, and even Takeshi Arakawa on the baseline instinctively collapsed towards the middle.
In that instant, Mitsui Hisashi flicked his wrist. The basketball arced under Moriyama Ryota's armpit, landing precisely in the hands of Mike Okita, who was cutting into the paint.
Mike Okita received the ball, using Na Takamitsu's screen to box out the recovering Isamu Ishida, and then smoothly made a low-hand layup off the backboard.
55:47.
In just a few seconds of offensive-defensive transition, Mitsui Hisashi had already intercepted the opponent's pass.
As the cheers from the sidelines began, he immediately threw the ball to James Wallace, who was already in position.
"James, over here!" Mike Okita cut from the baseline, raising his hand for the ball.
"Go for it yourself!" Mitsui Hisashi's shout carried an undeniable resolve.
James already had a clear advantage against Isamu Ishida. Now, upon receiving the ball, he had already lowered his shoulder and established his position. At this moment, as a small forward, not to spread out and let James go one-on-one, but instead to cut in and demand the ball to draw fire?
Utterly foolish!
After hearing Mitsui's voice, James no longer hesitated. He slammed his left shoulder into Isamu Ishida, knocking him stumbling backward, then gathered the ball and took off. Over the recovering Takeshi Arakawa, he unleashed a powerful dunk—the rim clanged loudly, making the net ripple violently.
55:49. Still trailing by 6 points.
James pounded his chest heavily as he landed. Mitsui Hisashi smirked from the sidelines.
Mike Okita spun sharply towards James, his voice full of anger: "I was open at the free-throw line just now! When Takeshi Arakawa came to help defend you, there wasn't even a soul in front of me—why didn't you pass to me?"
James had just caught his breath and was stunned by the question: "I had already jumped, boxing out Isamu Ishida. Besides, the timing to pass to you then would have made it easy to get stolen."
"Easy to get stolen?" Mike Okita's voice grew louder, "You clearly only had eyes for the basket!"
"Enough!" Mitsui Hisashi suddenly interjected, separating the two, his gaze fixed on Mike Okita, "Why didn't he pass to you? Because your running position was completely mistimed!"
He pointed to the previous position in the paint: "When James lowered his shoulder and pushed past Isamu Ishida, he had already completely occupied the space under the basket. How can you still talk about Takeshi Arakawa's help defense? Didn't you bring him over from the other side?
James's entire body weight was forward; he could only throw the pass backward. And your position at the free-throw line was precisely on Takeshi Arakawa's defensive recovery route!"
Mitsui Hisashi's tone was stern: "Is this how you play basketball in America? Cutting and running, connecting the whole team is not your strength at all. Who are you imitating? Or do you want to prove you're better than someone? Remember, this is a game, and a game is about winning or losing."
Mitsui was actually right.
Mike Okita's explosive power and first-step quickness were his sharpest weapons. In the American high school league, he relied on sudden stops and drives after consecutive changes of direction, able to tear open defenses even against 2.1-meter centers.
But somehow, ever since Fujisawa Eri enthusiastically told him how amazing Gu Jin was, and how much she liked that style of play, he changed.
This change made him feel like he was tripping over something on the court. He kept trying to create opportunities with his movement, but instead, he abandoned the advantages he should have been using most.
"I..." Mike Okita opened his mouth, the anger from before suddenly dissipating by more than half.
Mitsui Hisashi took a deep breath, his voice deepening: "Next possession, when the ball gets to you, drive straight into the paint. Stop thinking about going around. Play the way you're most familiar with."
Lehao inbounded from the baseline. Takeshi Arakawa steadily handed the ball to Moriyama Ryota.
Ryokufu's entire team returned to defense. Mitsui Hisashi stood at the arc, his eyes fixed on Moriyama's dribbling rhythm.
James's dunk earlier had brought Ryokufu to 49:55, still a 6-point deficit, and Lehao was clearly eager to widen that gap now.
As long as they didn't allow a three-pointer, they still had a chance.
Moriyama Ryota suddenly accelerated, using Isamu Ishida's screen, and drove straight into the paint. Na Takamitsu came over from the diagonal for help defense, but Moriyama flicked his wrist, dishing the ball to the weak-side corner.
The Lehao player caught and shot immediately. The basketball bounced off the front rim, and the moment James grabbed the rebound, Mitsui Hisashi was already sprinting to the half-court line.
"Over here!" Mitsui Hisashi shouted, raising his hand.
James threw the ball over his head with one hand. Mitsui Hisashi received it with a step and a sudden stop. The moment Moriyama Ryota rushed over to defend, he suddenly executed a behind-the-back dribble to his left hand, and immediately took a step back towards the sideline—Moriyama Ryota lunged at empty air, watching helplessly as Mitsui Hisashi jumped half a step outside the three-point line.
With a flick of his wrist, the basketball traced a flat, straight line, swishing cleanly through the net.
52:55.
The Ryokufu bench instantly erupted. Mitsui Hisashi didn't look at the scoreboard when he landed, only patted Na Takamitsu, who ran over: "Back on defense."
Moriyama Ryota clenched his fists, his knuckles white—this number 14's three-pointers were too consistent. Each one felt like a slap to his face.