It was Kaisei Middle School's ball.
On their first possession, they were dead set on teaching that cocky punk Tendou Kageyoshi a lesson. They immediately passed the ball to the player matched up against him.
The shooting guard, who had been holding back for an entire year, exploded with fierce speed, aiming to drive straight into the paint.
Tendou pressed in immediately, body-to-body.
Thanks to his recent training, his physical strength had grown significantly. He wasn't quite a tank yet, but more than enough to handle 90% of guards nationwide.
Today's defensive strategy was built around Tendou disrupting the opponent's ace. As long as he could force them to give up the ball, his defense was considered a success.
And this guy—Ichize Junjin—was the undisputed ace of Kaisei Middle School.
Or as Momoi called him: their "King."
Shirogane Kōzō believed that if they could force Ichize to pass, then no matter how open the other players were, their firepower couldn't compete with Teikō.
The moment Ichize made contact with Tendou, he realized this ridiculously good-looking kid was no pushover.
He swore that when he was a first-year, he hadn't been nearly this solid.
After a few failed attempts to break through, he had no choice but to lob the ball inside.
The post player was a towering 188 cm tall—an elite height for middle school.
But unfortunately for him, today he was facing Murasakibara.
The post player received the ball with his back to the basket and tried to muscle his way through.
Murasakibara didn't budge. His face barely changed—maybe a touch of confusion at best.
It was the kind of expression a woman might make when wondering why the guy hadn't even started yet.
Brutal.
"Why is he so light?" Murasakibara thought.
His opponent, on the other hand, was thinking, "Why is this kid so solid?"
Giving up on brute force, he quickly faked and spun for a layup. Good angle, good touch—he was sure it would drop.
That's when Murasakibara's massive arm swung down like a guillotine.
Smack! The ball was swatted violently out of bounds.
Too fast!
Aside from his questionable mental focus, Murasakibara's physical stats were maxed out. He was easily the most gifted player in Teikō's not-so-orthodox squad.
But—whistle.
"Goaltending!"
This time, the referee was sharp. He caught the trajectory just right—the ball was already descending.
2–0. Kaisei Middle School drew first blood.
From the stands, Kaisei's all-male cheering section erupted in rhythmic, thunderous chants.
"Was that really goaltending?" Tendou muttered. The call had been razor-close. Without advanced replay, it was hard to be sure with the naked eye.
But the livestream chat gave him the answer:
『Bad call, not goaltending!』
『No way! The ball hadn't started falling yet!』
『Give this blind ref a pair of glasses already!』
『How is Murasakibara that huge AND that quick??』
『Tendou has insane court vision. Even when the ref can't tell, he sees it instantly!』
Murasakibara didn't have access to the stream, of course. He just shook his head.
"Oh well. We'll get it back."
"Yeah!"
Switching to offense, Nijimura Shuzō brought the ball up and was immediately double-teamed.
Teikō's captain was considered one of the best—if not the best—power forwards in the country.
Fans, coaches, even reporters called him a basketball genius—always making the right play at the right time.
Nijimura wasn't rattled. This was exactly what Coach Shirogane had predicted.
"Looks like Teikō's luck has run out this year," the opposing captain taunted.
"Bringing a bunch of rookies to the big stage? How are you planning to win—by scoring 100?"
This was his second time facing Nijimura. The last time, Teikō had barely edged them out by five in the final round.
Nijimura just smiled. "You really shouldn't underestimate them. They might surprise you."
"Oh yeah? Let's see ab—"
Before the guy could finish, Nijimura whipped a bullet pass to Tendou.
Ichize Junjin immediately pounced to guard him.
An eye for an eye!
But Tendou didn't hesitate. He took one dribble forward, then instantly stepped back beyond the three-point line and launched a jumper.
Ichize hadn't expected him to shoot so decisively. Most rookies would treasure their first shot—not waste it like this.
In his eyes, Tendou was an arrogant clown.
And yet—
As the ball sailed through the air, Tendou's form was smooth, effortless. His leg flicked slightly as he released it—pure confidence.
"No discipline at all," the Kaisei coach sneered. "I'd never allow a kid like that on my team."
That's why he didn't like rookies.
They were always trying to be the hero. Reckless. Unpredictable.
And they always ruined the game.
They didn't understand how rare good opportunities were. Without that, how could they—
Swish.
...Score?
The Kaisei coach stared, stunned, as Tendou casually held up three fingers in celebration.
"Forced shot?" Tendou thought. "Come on. You think Kobe Bryant ever passed up a wide-open look just because someone had a hand in his face?"
That's not contest—that's confidence.
Do you even understand the Mamba Mentality?
Back in this era, the three-point shot was seen as a tool—a threat—but rarely the main weapon.
But for someone like Tendou Kageyoshi, who had come from the future, the three-pointer was the core of modern basketball offense.
If your team had multiple sharpshooters who could defend and shoot from deep, then your spacing would be unmatched.
The defense would be stretched thin.
Leave them open?
Enjoy the rain of threes.
Close out?
Get ready to be shredded in the paint.
There was no win-win—only trade-offs.
Old-school fans often said today's players wouldn't last in the '80s or '90s.
But Tendou knew the truth.
Back then, the game was fought in the paint. Big men ruled. No matter how good your jumper was, it couldn't beat a dominant post player.
The defense was intense, the contact was real—but the scoring was low. A lot of teams barely cracked 70.
If you put a modern team against one from the '80s or '90s, Tendou believed the modern squad would win more often than not.
Because basketball evolves.
"Treating them like kids will only backfire," Nijimura said with a smile, watching Tendou strut back down the court after sinking the three.
Among all of Teikō's first-years, Tendou Kageyoshi was easily the most unique.
Aomine, Midorima, Murasakibara, even Akashi—they were all incredibly talented.
But they played within their roles, doing what was expected of their positions.
Tendou? He could do everything.
He could shoot threes like Midorima.
He could pass like Akashi.
He could score like Aomine.
Defense like Murasakibara? Okay, maybe not. Tendou wasn't quite ready to body centers.
But it didn't matter.
He and Murasakibara were the team's defensive anchors.
A complete all-rounder. A Swiss Army knife.
Nijimura didn't know if that made him stronger than the others…
But he did know that Tendou's style was more modern. More versatile.
It was filled with limitless potential.
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