30,000 high schools meant 30,000 high school basketball teams.
With a 12-man roster per team, that was 360,000 high school players every year.
And the ones who actually attracted attention? Only about 20 each year.
These were the ones called five-star recruits.
Of course, there were exceptions—like LeBron's son Bronny James, who got more attention than the top-ranked player simply because of his father.
But that was rare.
For Yuuto to break into this list was already remarkable.
And the article said Yuuto was only ranked lower because of limited exposure and footage.
As a former teammate, how could Kagami not know Yuuto's strength?
He would only get better.
In other words, Yuuto breaking into the top ten was just a matter of time.
And once you reached the top ten nationally, everything changed—you became a target for the entire country.
First the NCAA, then the NBA...
Comparing himself to Yuuto, Kagami felt his mentality waver. His dream was also to make the NBA.
Yet here he was, still struggling, fighting desperately for the Inter-High, while Yuuto had already entered ESPN's discussion of the best high school players in America.
"The gap between us... it's gotten bigger."
Kagami wanted to find footage of Yuuto's games.
The rest of Seirin was curious too, so the next day they gathered in the school's media room and pulled up Covanord's game recordings.
Watching only made them more silent.
Even through a screen, they could feel just how intense American high school basketball was.
It wasn't that the tactics were especially sophisticated—they weren't.
High school games were relatively simple: give the ball to the best player and let him handle it.
Everyone played to their talents. Nothing complicated.
Both sides understood this, which meant everyone swarmed the opposing team's core player—their ace.
Yuuto averaged 30+ in exactly this environment.
They could see that the defensive attention Yuuto faced in the NSAA was several times what he'd dealt with in Japan.
Over there, even if opponents weren't as skilled as Yuuto, plenty could match him physically. Unlike Japan, where only the Generation of Miracles and Kagami truly stood out.
It was as if Yuuto faced double-team pressure from Generation of Miracles-caliber players every single game!
"It's only been a year since we saw him, and he's already become unrecognizable." Hyūga didn't notice the cold sweat beading on his forehead.
The impact of watching Covanord's games was enormous.
Especially that matchup where Yuuto went head-to-head with a local Indiana five-star recruit.
They'd traded buckets from the opening tip through the final seconds, neither giving an inch, until Yuuto hit the game-winner.
Throughout the game, both players had at least two defenders on them constantly, yet they still found impossible ways to score.
That Yuuto could do this wasn't surprising—he'd always been a monster.
What shocked Seirin was how many players over there could match him.
The gap in overall level was enormous. They weren't even in the same dimension.
In truth, the gap between American and Asian basketball was even larger than they imagined.
In a few years, there would be a highly publicized friendly match.
Montverde Academy, ranked third nationally, would face China's national youth champion, Zhongguancun Middle School.
The result would leave Chinese fans speechless.
Final score: 109-33. Montverde demolished the Chinese youth champions by 76 points.
This served as a wake-up call for Seirin, who'd just won their district.
Their joy evaporated. They couldn't afford to rest—they had to keep training harder.
Because the gap was simply too vast.
Similar realizations occurred at Rakuzan, Tōō, Kaijō, Shūtoku, and Yōsen.
They were all deeply affected.
Part of it was happiness at Yuuto's success abroad. Part of it was unease at the exposed gap.
As for Seihō—they'd had bad luck this year. In group play, they'd drawn Tōō. Without Yuuto, they'd battled hard for 40 minutes but ultimately lost.
Haizaki still couldn't beat Aomine. He still hadn't broken through the limits of his talent-stealing ability.
Soon, the Inter-High began. Like every year, it was an internal war among the Generation of Miracles.
Before these players met each other, other teams were just along for the ride.
Blowouts of 50, even 100 points were common.
This year, Rakuzan once again reached the finals. But their opponent wasn't Seihō—it was Tokyo's other powerhouse: Seirin.
In the end, Seirin won by a single point, hitting a buzzer-beater to finally climb to the top.
Akashi sighed silently.
He already knew the method to enter the Zone's second door, but that door in his heart remained locked.
Something seemed to have sealed it shut.
...
Time flew, and soon summer vacation arrived.
One day, Kagami and Kuroko were walking down the street.
The heat was unbearable. Kuroko was hiding behind Kagami, using him as a sunshade, which drew complaints from Kagami.
This had become their daily routine.
Amid their bickering, Kagami's phone rang. It was his mentor calling.
She wanted Kagami to leave Japan and return to America to continue his basketball development.
"...Hm?"
Kagami hesitated, not agreeing immediately.
Meanwhile, in Florida, Alexandra Garcia was speaking with a Black coach.
"I've passed along your request, but I can't guarantee he'll agree."
Alexandra hung up and told the man.
"That's enough. I'm sure he'll make the right choice."
"I hope so too. But I have to say, I never expected you to recruit from Asia."
The coach shook his head and walked to the window.
"That's thanks to Yu. Without him, I never would have noticed your student, and I certainly wouldn't have trusted Asian players."
American arrogance was unmistakable, especially in basketball. As the world's best, they had plenty of domestic talent.
Asia's so-called prodigies couldn't compare to America's baseline.
Of course, top-tier talent had nothing to do with his school.
Florida was a basketball powerhouse state, but his school was mediocre at best.
He was reaching out to Kagami Taiga because he'd noticed him while watching Yuuto's game footage—Kagami's leaping ability had caught his eye.
Covanord's success had sparked the idea of recruiting Asian players.
This was a gamble; he had no real confidence.
But this wasn't about signing a superstar—just a high school kid. Giving him a chance meant giving himself a chance too.
Whether it turned out to be a winning ticket or worthless, only time would tell.
If it worked, great. If not, they'd lose nothing.
"I can guarantee he loves basketball more than anything else."
"Love alone isn't enough."
The coach shook his head again. Countless people in America loved basketball, but how many actually made it?
Basketball was about talent.
He didn't need love—he needed talent to pull his team out of its slump.
...
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