Alex had puzzled over it all morning without figuring it out. It wasn't until the afternoon that it finally clicked.
Seihō's games were fairly fast-paced, with decisive fast breaks, but they still operated within Japan's typical game rhythm—no different from other teams.
Yuuto had completely integrated himself into the team, which was why Alex hadn't noticed at first.
However—
Thinking about it now, she realized that wasn't Yuuto's true game tempo. He was deliberately slowing himself down.
Because his teammates couldn't keep up with his rhythm, he had to adjust to match them.
This wasn't just about physical speed—it was the speed of tactical thinking, processing, and execution. Faster in every aspect.
Compared to the other players here, he was operating at a higher level. His game tempo could be even faster.
Fast enough to compete with American prodigies.
"Something like this is actually possible." Alex felt like she was dreaming.
Sure, China had produced some elite players in recent years.
Stars like Yao Ming, and first-round picks like Yi Jianlian.
But those were all big men. Asian guards generally weren't taken seriously.
Physical battles, athletic ability—they just weren't up to par.
Asian players lacked athletic gifts. Most relied on static talents to play.
"His name is Yuuto... he's not Japanese?"
"He shouldn't be. Apparently his parents died in an accident when he was young, and he came here with his guardian."
"I see."
Alex thought to herself: that country really is about to have an explosion of talent.
After Yao Ming and Yi Jianlian, China might be producing another first-round pick.
58 points, 12 rebounds, 14 assists, 5 blocks, 6 steals.
That was Yuuto's final stat line.
He was simply taking whatever he wanted on both offense and defense.
This continued into the second game.
Seihō stuck with their 2-1-2 zone variation.
With Yuuto as the core, they shut down opponents' baseline cuts. Kasuga Ryuhei and Tsugawa Tomoki would let players drive inside, giving Yuuto numerous opportunities for blocks and steals.
In fact, given enough playing time, a quadruple-double or even quintuple-double wasn't out of the question.
But Seihō didn't pursue that, and neither did Yuuto.
In both games, Coach Yamazaki kept Yuuto's minutes under 30.
Fans were used to it—Seihō always rotated heavily in mismatched games.
Meanwhile, Yōsen had also finished their games.
Their scores shocked basketball fans nationwide.
Both games ended with triple-digit blowouts—but the truly terrifying part was their defense.
Both games: shutouts. They hadn't allowed their opponents a single point.
"Shutouts?"
"Is... is that even possible?"
"Am I watching a soccer match?"
The Seirin players had just finished their game when they got this news.
"Yes. This is Yōsen—known as the Absolute Defense."
Coach Aida Riko briefed them.
"They're a defense-first team. Their starting lineup has three players over two meters tall. They have the greatest height advantage in the nation."
At the high school level, finding even one player over two meters was difficult.
Powerhouses like Shūtoku, Tōō, Rakuzan, Kaijō, and Seihō typically had centers around 190 centimeters.
It wasn't that they didn't want taller players—centers with that kind of height were just too rare.
Remember that random team at the Inter-High? They'd had Papa Mbaye Siki—a center over two meters tall with incredible athleticism—and that alone gave them the confidence to challenge the Generation of Miracles and Yuuto.
That was pure physical advantage.
And Yōsen? They had three players over two meters.
Their roster was absolutely stacked.
"So after the next round, it's..."
"Seihō versus Yōsen! If they both advance to the quarterfinals, they'll face each other!"
The Seirin players immediately perked up.
If everything went according to plan, Seihō and Yōsen would meet in the quarterfinals.
And the likelihood was high—Seirin couldn't imagine either team losing before then.
Winter Cup knockout stage, Day 3.
Seihō's game was scheduled for the morning.
As Seirin expected, they faced no real challenges, dominating throughout and winning in typical Seihō fashion.
Airtight defense that held their opponent under 50 points, combined with Yuuto's playmaking and fast-break scoring.
Their scoring output wasn't as explosive as Shūtoku's—not even matching Kaijō, Rakuzan, or Seirin.
But their scoring was absurdly consistent. So consistent that the gap between baskets never exceeded 5 seconds.
That was terrifying.
And Yōsen?
Another shutout. Murasakibara didn't even bother with offense, just camping under his own basket, complaining about chips and snacks while waiting for opponents to come to him.
Any demon or ghost who dared enter the three-point line would face his sky-blotting palm.
When the games ended, both Seihō and Yōsen had advanced to the Elite Eight.
"This means—!"
"Seihō vs. Yōsen is happening!"
"Yuuto against the last member of the Generation of Miracles!"
"..."
The crowd erupted—not for Yōsen's win, but because another Yuuto vs. Generation of Miracles clash was imminent.
After his game, Himuro Tatsuya looked toward where his brother and teacher were sitting.
He silently clenched his fist.
Tomorrow they'd face Seihō. He swore he'd win.
As for Seihō?
"Simply stacking height is outdated."
Coach Yamazaki was watching courtside.
He respected Coach Araki Masako's philosophy—after all, Seihō was also built on defense.
But Yamazaki no longer blindly prioritized height.
Once upon a time, basketball—the NBA, the whole world—really was a big man's game.
Back in the ancient era before the three-point line, you'd see all ten players crammed under the basket in physical battles.
But times had changed.
When Jerry West emerged as an iconic perimeter player, people realized basketball wasn't purely about height.
After him came Elgin Baylor, George Gervin, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, and other Hall of Famers. Fans' eyes gradually shifted to the perimeter.
And the man who sealed the deal? The one who changed basketball's entire ecosystem?
Michael Jordan—the God of Basketball.
His emergence triggered an explosion of perimeter talent. The game was no longer about dominating the paint.
Modern basketball required more than height—it needed mobility. Otherwise, how would you stop those perimeter scorers?
Yamazaki Shirou felt smug pointing out his junior Araki Masako's shortcomings.
But Seihō's players couldn't help their internal commentary.
What gives you the right to call her outdated?
They really didn't want to point it out, but before Yuuto arrived, their coach had been the very definition of an outdated old-school coach.
...
Get 20+ chapters ahead on - P.a.t.r.e.o.n "RoseWhisky"