Today's game, Kubo Jun once again arrived at the venue in person.
When he previously suggested to his editor-in-chief that this year's coverage focus more on Tendou Kageyoshi, the chief had said,
"Don't be ridiculous. Everyone in the media knows Teikō is Nijimura Shūzō's team. If we pour all our resources into reporting on a first-year, the rest of the press will laugh us off."
But once the national tournament began, that same editor pulled him into the office and said,
"You're not going anywhere this year. Until that handsome kid Tendou Kageyoshi is eliminated, don't report on anyone else or any other team."
So this year, Kubo Jun was assigned to stick with Teikō's every step.
Men really are creatures whose mouths and hearts can't be aligned.
Kubo Jun arrived at Teikō's game on time.
At first, when he saw Musashi Junior High's playing style, he'd been a bit worried that Tendou was going to get smacked down hard.
This kind of choppy, stop-and-start game rhythm was the worst possible matchup for rookies.
The difficulty wasn't even mainly physical—it was psychological.
They're teenagers, after all. Hot-headed, impulsive, easy to lose control when things feel "unfair."
Who hasn't had a little edgy, middle-school heat in their blood?
Just look at Murasakibara Atsushi—another first-year.
He didn't even last five minutes on the court before getting booted.
Clearly lost it from being pissed off by a half-blind ref.
But then—
Tendou Kageyoshi came back in after Teikō's first timeout and instantly adapted to the rhythm.
He even used his unstoppable steal ability to swat apart their dirty tricks like glass shattering.
Tendou, goddammit, you really are a genius!
And to think—he even figured out that way of handling it.
Kubo Jun frantically flipped through his camera—on it, he had clearly captured how Tendou disarmed those grubby little tricks.
Just like swatting a fly—light, casual, and elegant as hell.
"Goddammit—even this kinda thing he does so elegantly!"
Kubo Jun thought Tendou's playing style was just too pleasing to the eye.
No wonder all his cheer girls were squealing like they'd been hit by a dragon.
The score gap returned to 4.
The Musashi coach couldn't help but call his first timeout.
Teikō's scoring power was terrifying—especially when that damn No. 14 hit his rhythm.
Their offense became nearly unstoppable.
Because Teikō still had a hidden final boss—Nijimura Shūzō.
This man, the best power forward in the nation, had been quietly doing his job this entire tournament, while the first-years stole the spotlight.
But if you actually looked at his numbers, you'd see that this Teikō captain was putting up a steady 20+5+7 average.
He was the spiritual pillar of the team.
If they couldn't shut down that No. 14's performance, Musashi would suffer the same fate as Kaisei:
A total rout.
When the players returned, their coach didn't draw anything on the whiteboard.
He grabbed it from the assistant coach and slammed it aside.
"That first half of the game—you bastards played like kings. This was the best goddamn half we've had in this whole damn tournament!"
The coach wasn't stupid.
He knew exactly what kind of team Musashi was.
To win games, they had to keep their players fired up.
Even though they were trailing, he screamed his praise like they were ahead.
This stunned the boys for a second—
But what came after was a surge of hot-blooded adrenaline.
However...
Tendou Kageyoshi really wasn't afraid of this level of physical play.
And since the offense had been handed over to Nijimura for now, the rhythm was under firm control.
Musashi never even got the chance to stick to Tendou.
A one-on-one opportunity!
A single call of "Cleave," and Tendou stripped the ball cleanly once again.
Nijimura, already anticipating it, pounced to scoop up the loose ball immediately.
Smooth as hell—like he practiced it in front of a mirror.
Musashi's defenders chased him like a pack of wolves, charging toward the Teikō captain.
But instead of attacking the basket, Nijimura veered to the right.
Musashi's attention was fixed on him—so much so that they didn't notice two of their own being drawn completely out of position.
By the time Nijimura hurled the ball out with force, it was too late—
They realized too late they'd been lured away from the rim.
Tendou Kageyoshi had already cut through and was gliding into the paint like a panther.
Caught the pass.
Scored the layup with ease.
Unstoppable. Simply unstoppable.
Against absolute power, the wolfpack tactic was useless.
Because Musashi wasn't facing rabbits—
They were facing lions.
In the crowd, even the top high school coaches of Tokyo shook their heads.
Sure, they respected Musashi's unyielding spirit.
But you can't build a kingdom on shortcuts alone.
It's a simple truth:
If you focus all your energy on stopping your opponent from scoring—
You start forgetting that you need to score more than them to win.
Musashi just couldn't stop Teikō's momentum.
And once Teikō kept scoring, Musashi started thinking more and more about how to stop them.
They forgot the real game plan—they were the ones who needed points more desperately.
The players just didn't have enough court awareness.
Look at Tendou Kageyoshi.
Now that's high basketball IQ.
He knows the only way to win… is to get the ball in the damn basket.
End of the first quarter.
Teikō led 28–17, an 11-point difference.
Tendou's numbers:
9-for-7 shooting, 2 three-pointers, 16 points, 3 rebounds, 2 steals,
0 assists, 0 free throws.
Which really showed how sneakily those little bastards were fouling him.
Although Tendou had delivered plenty of flashy assists in previous games, Shirogane Kōzō knew full well:
This disciple of his... was a grade-A ball hog.
To what extent?
Even his prized defense was all about one-on-one matchups.
Zone defense? Help defense?
Tendou Kageyoshi doesn't do that crap.
Even his assists—those were just for show.
Like that time he fed Aomine a pass for a dunk—
The audience focus stayed on him, the passer, not the finisher.
Tendou didn't expect his top-tier acting to be seen through by his own coach.
He never forgot—he was playing under the eyes of an audience.
The problem? This story wasn't supposed to be his.
This was Kuroko's show.
But the game wouldn't air in full—just highlight reels.
That was far from enough to keep the spotlight on him.
So to show off his stat spread, Tendou had to stuff the box score as much as possible.
Otherwise, how would the viewers know how insane he really was?
In today's game, he'd been diving into the paint to chase rebounds way more than usual—
Because Murasakibara wasn't there.
With that purple-haired giant baby in the paint, Tendou rarely fought for boards.
He couldn't beat that guy.
The dude's reflexes were off the charts—
Tendou would leap for a board and see Murasakibara already holding the damn thing.
"Pisses me off!"
But now?
The baby got served righteous judgment by the ref—
Tendou's hustle went up three gears, racking up three boards in the first quarter.
If the flow allowed it, he was definitely going to hunt for a triple-double—maybe even a quadruple-double.
Just to smash the viewers with a data nuke.
In that respect, Tendou really was a chip off his idol LeBron's block.
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