Chapter 133: The Heart of a Champion
"BUZZER-BEATER! A HALF-COURT THREE AT THE HORN!"
The commentator was on his feet, voice tearing through the arena as the building detonated.
"Not only did Touou pull off a miraculous defensive stop to deny Rakuzan's sure-fire possession, but then—UNBELIEVABLY—captain Imayoshi Shoichi hit an impossible half-court three at the buzzer to end the first half!"
"YEAH!!!"
The Touou bench and cheering section lost their minds completely. Players leaped off the bench waving towels, screaming until their voices broke.
That three-pointer froze the margin at four points going into halftime.
"First half over! We'll resume after a fifteen-minute break!"
"He hadn't even attempted a single three under Akashi's defense all half!" Hayama Kotaro shouted, more irritated than he wanted to admit. "That is so infuriating!"
"Could it have been luck?" Mibuchi Reo's brow furrowed. "But in that moment, there was something coming off him. A composure and confidence that didn't feel ordinary. That wasn't a lucky shot."
Both teams made their way back to their respective benches. Akashi Seijuro walked calmly, but his heterochromatic eyes settled briefly on Imayoshi Shoichi as he moved, and in them, just for an instant, was something rare: genuine surprise.
Imayoshi felt the gaze, turned, and answered it with his most crooked smile.
In the press area, Aida Yayoi was buzzing.
"What a half! Calling this a finals preview isn't even an exaggeration!" She was already building her lede in her head. Just the first half alone had given her enough material to fill three features.
"Right? These two programs are playing at a level that feels beyond high school," Nakamura Heisuke said beside her, shaking his head. He had spent the past several weeks cramming footage of recent high school basketball, and he still felt like he was watching something that shouldn't exist at this level. Without any exaggeration, either team on this floor right now could have matched any national champion from the past few years.
Then her phone buzzed in her pocket.
A ringtone. She glanced at the screen. Her editorial section chief.
"Yayoi, something urgent." A male voice. "Sannoh Industrial approved the interview request. But the window is tight. It has to be right now. Coach Domoto says they have training scheduled in thirty minutes."
"Right now?" Yayoi looked toward the court. "But Rakuzan and Touou's second half is about to—"
"Nakamura can cover the second half. The Sannoh interview matters more. This kind of access doesn't come along often." The section chief's tone left no room for debate. "I've sent the address to your phone. It's the third training gym, just beside the main venue."
"Understood. I'm heading over now."
She hung up and moved quickly, gathering her equipment.
Nakamura leaned over. "Senpai, you're leaving?"
"Sannoh agreed to the interview. I'm going." She handed him the camera. "You have the second half. The focus is on Aomine Daiki and Akashi Seijuro, but don't miss the supporting players' big moments either."
"Got it!" Nakamura straightened. Then something occurred to him. "Wait. Sannoh isn't in the arena? They didn't come to watch this game?"
Yayoi paused mid-step.
She had just realized the same thing.
Touou and Rakuzan were both potential semifinal opponents for Sannoh. And yet across the entire first half, she hadn't spotted a single Sannoh player in the stands.
"The chief said the interview location is the training gym nearby. They're probably using the time to practice." She said it as a guess, because it was the only explanation that fit.
"Training? Right now?" Nakamura raised an eyebrow. They had finished a game just this morning.
"It's the only thing that makes sense." She was already moving toward the exit.
Because she genuinely could not picture Coach Domoto Goro—that measured, meticulous, utterly unsentimental man—using this window to disrespect an opponent. If he wasn't watching, it was because he had something more important to prepare.
The July heat hit her the moment she stepped outside. She followed the address on her phone toward a white building about a hundred meters from the main gymnasium—one of the auxiliary training halls attached to Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, normally used by competing teams for warmups.
She pushed open the glass door. Cold air and the sound of basketballs hitting hardwood greeted her simultaneously.
The hall was fully lit. On a regulation court, more than twenty players were warming up in groups. Half of them wore Sannoh Industrial's white uniforms. The other half wore mismatched training gear in various colors, their builds noticeably more developed, their movements carrying a maturity that went beyond high school.
Coach Domoto Goro stood at the sideline with his arms folded, watching an offensive drill on the floor with complete focus. His assistant coach stood beside him, the two of them exchanging brief, quiet words.
"Coach Domoto." Yayoi approached and presented her press credentials. "I'm Aida Yayoi from Weekly Basketball. Thank you for agreeing to this interview."
Domoto's gaze moved from the court to her. He gave a small nod. His voice was measured and unhurried. "Ms. Aida. Time is limited. We can begin immediately."
"Of course." She opened her recorder and let her eyes move quickly across the players on the floor.
The interview proceeded in an orderly fashion.
Yayoi's questions covered Sannoh Industrial's goals for this national tournament, their assessment of their own current condition, and their outlook on upcoming matches. Domoto's answers were exactly what she had heard described of him: concise, grounded, airtight. No grandstanding, no hollow declarations. Just bedrock confidence in the shape of plain speech.
But it was too ordinary. Not the kind of material she had come here hoping to find.
So she stopped holding back and looked directly at the players gathering at center court, who were clearly preparing to begin a scrimmage.
"Coach Domoto, could I ask about these players—"
"We're running a simulated scrimmage." His tone was completely natural, as if describing the most routine arrangement imaginable. "To prepare for our likely upcoming opponent, I brought in some college players to serve as training partners."
Since he wasn't deflecting, Yayoi didn't pretend not to look. She studied the college players carefully.
They were tall, powerfully built, clearly not from the same program. Their warmup movements carried a physical ease and ball feel that no ordinary college player possessed. Yayoi had covered enough basketball to recognize the gap immediately.
She had heard the rumors. Sannoh Industrial regularly brought in high-level college players for specialized practice sessions.
Then her breath stopped.
"Is that Yoshida Ryota from the sports university?"
The name slipped out before she could stop it.
Even without following college basketball closely, she knew Yoshida Ryota. Second-year and already a national team selection. And before that, in high school, he had single-handedly carried Daiei Gakuen to the national runner-up finish as a third-year—that year's champion being Sannoh Industrial themselves.
"That's correct." Domoto's explanation was easy and unhurried. "Yoshida has a decisive release, a steady mid-range game, and enough playmaking ability to function as a secondary creator. I asked him specifically to simulate Sendoh Akira's tendencies. There are real technical similarities between the two of them."
Yayoi turned her eyes to the next player and her mouth nearly fell open. "And that—is that Ohno Yuki?"
"Yes. His frame is comparable to Uozumi Jun's, and he is an elite defender."
Yayoi felt the floor shift slightly under her.
Ohno Yuki stood 208 centimeters. Last year, he had taken an unknown program all the way to the national Final Four before graduating and being specially recruited by Akita Sports University, where he was logging regular rotation minutes as a first-year.
He had also been the only player last year who could legitimately contest Kawata Masashi for the title of top center in the country.
And his game wasn't only defense. His offensive technique was unrefined in places, but his hook shot percentage near the basket was exceptional, and his low-post passing instincts were in a class of their own among anyone she had ever covered.
This was the player Domoto had brought in to simulate Uozumi Jun.
Yayoi was not in the business of diminishing Kanagawa's center, but the comparison was not close. In nearly every measurable area, Uozumi would be outclassed.
She spent the next few minutes quietly identifying the remaining college players. Each one had emerged from high school basketball in the past several years and continued to make an impact at the college level. Stars, every one of them. And she noticed that half of the eight college players were Sannoh Industrial graduates.
Even accounting for that, the picture was extraordinary.
More than that: given that Sannoh had only learned their semifinal opponent was Ryonan after winning this morning's quarterfinal, it meant Domoto had almost certainly arranged all of this in advance.
"Coach Domoto," Yayoi said, and she meant it fully. "I'm genuinely in awe. Even facing an opponent with no prior national tournament success, you haven't allowed yourself even a fraction of complacency."
"Thank you, but this is what being a coach requires." The corner of Domoto's mouth lifted briefly, then settled back. "Every team that stands in front of us has earned the right to one hundred percent of our preparation. To take any opponent lightly is to betray everything your own program has built."
Domoto Goro was forty-two years old. Not old among coaches. But there was already a conversation about whether he was the best active high school basketball coach in the country.
"That philosophy is something I'll carry with me," Yayoi said. "And I have no doubt Sannoh is the biggest threat to the national title this year."
"When everything is said and done, no matter how strong our players are, they are still high school students." Domoto's expression became solemn. "And in a game of basketball, anything can happen."
Yayoi had assumed he was referring to Ryonan. When she followed his gaze, she realized he was looking at his own players.
"This tournament is single elimination," he continued. "That means we cannot afford to lose a single game. Every team here carries within them the potential to create something extraordinary."
"Cannot afford to lose a single game."
Yayoi repeated the words to herself quietly. Something inside her chest shifted.
Sannoh Industrial's sustained dominance at the top of the national game was not built only on talent and technical superiority. It was built on this—this exact refusal to believe that any situation was safe.
On the floor, both groups had finished their warmups and were gathering at center court.
Domoto turned back to her with a slight nod. "I apologize, Ms. Aida. The scrimmage is starting. That will have to be where we end."
Yayoi snapped back to herself. She bowed quickly. "Of course. Thank you very much, Coach Domoto. I'm sorry for the intrusion!"
She packed her notebook and recorder and stepped back toward the sideline. She did not leave.
Because something told her that what was about to happen on this floor was not any smaller than the quarterfinal being played two hundred meters away.
Beep.
The scrimmage began.
Ohno Yuki won the opening tip by a comfortable margin, and the college team took first possession.
Yoshida Ryota pushed up the floor at a measured pace, unhurried. But almost before the other players had finished setting their positions, the ball had already threaded through the group and arrived in the hands of Ito Tanisui, who was standing in the role of Yagami Sorato.
The pass had been accurate and perfectly timed. And the opening-play fast break was unmistakably modeled on Ryonan's signature pattern.
Ito Tanisui faced Sawakita Eiji's defense, pump-faked a drive, pulled back, and released a fadeaway.
SWISH.
Three points.
"Beautiful!" Yoshida shouted.
"That was the pass that made it easy." Ito slapped his teammate's hand and dropped back into defense.
If Yayoi hadn't been told about this arrangement beforehand, she would never have guessed this group had been assembled hours ago. Beyond just individual technical similarities, they were actively replicating Ryonan's offensive identity as a team.
Transition. Sannoh offense.
Fukatsu Kazunari controlled the ball with practiced calm. He ran a pick-and-roll with Matsumoto Minoru, cut into the paint, drew Ohno's help defense, and delivered a direct feed to the basket.
Kawata Masashi caught it and dropped in a clean running hook.
Transition again.
"Fukatsu, press tighter! When you're on 'Sendoh's' ball, apply pressure early. Don't let him survey the floor comfortably."
"Sawakita, 'Yagami' has a lot of options. Don't commit to his first fake. Watch for the change."
Only the second offensive possession, and Domoto was already making defensive adjustments at the detail level. Yayoi's expression had grown considerably more serious.
Against this kind of preparation, she thought, can a miracle still find a way to happen?