Chapter 138: Ryonan vs. Sannoh Industrial
July 7th. Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium. Court A.
Morning: Ryonan vs. Sannoh Industrial.
Afternoon: Rakuzan vs. Aiwa Academy.
"SANNOH! IT'S SANNOH!"
"SANNOH INDUSTRIAL IS HERE!!"
The tunnel lights blazed on and the sound in the building rolled like a wave cresting. Sannoh Industrial's players emerged in their classic white uniforms, stepping onto the court with measured, unhurried strides.
"SAWAKITA! SAWAKITA EIJI! I CAME ALL THE WAY FROM HOKKAIDO FOR YOU!"
"SANNOH! THREE-PEAT THIS YEAR!"
"FUKATSU! KAWATA! OVER HERE!!"
Sannoh's flags swept across the stands in wide, frantic arcs. The chants were coordinated and relentless, and the sound of them filled every corner of the building without effort.
"The scale of Sannoh's support section is something else entirely." In the press seats, Nakamura Heisuke pulled his chin in involuntarily, overwhelmed by the wave of heat hitting him from across the floor. "It feels like a home game for them."
Aida Yayoi had seen this before, during the Toyotama game. The closer Sannoh got to the championship, the louder the swell became. Every round, the same.
"I suppose for them, the national tournament has always been home."
Then the tunnel on the opposite side of the court brightened, and Ryonan's deep blue figures appeared.
Their entrance was met by their own supporters shouting themselves hoarse, every last person in their section giving everything they had. But their voices were absorbed and swallowed by the wall of noise already filling the building.
"Just like Coach said it would be." Uozumi Jun's massive frame unconsciously tightened. "The whole arena is already Sannoh's."
From somewhere in the stands, snatches of Sannoh fan conversation drifted over, carrying the kind of easy confidence that needed no performance behind it.
"Been following Sannoh for three years. Never missed a game past the quarterfinals."
"Ten-year fan here. Didn't even need an invitation."
"With a lineup this complete, this has to be the strongest Sannoh in history."
"Both teams, please take the floor for warmups."
The announcement came through the speakers and both sides pushed their practice balls onto their respective halves.
Sannoh's players had seen venues like this too many times to find anything remarkable about it. They spread across their half calmly, moving into shooting drills, stretching, and passing work with a practiced, unhurried efficiency that looked no different from any Tuesday morning training session.
Ryonan was visibly stiffer.
Koshino Hiroaki's first catch-and-shoot from the corner went in with too much force, the ball smacking off the back of the rim and bouncing high. Ikegami Ryoji's mid-range attempt immediately after came up short, clipping the front edge. And even Uozumi Jun, settling under the basket for a simple catch-and-layup, launched the ball clean off the side of the backboard from hands that had gone rigid.
"Well. Everyone's really feeling it, aren't they."
Sendoh Akira bounced a ball lightly against the floor, the smile on his face exactly as unhurried as always. He looked over at Hikoichi Aida standing beside him, holding a ball against his chest with his whole body trembling faintly.
"Hikoichi, you're the same way. Hard to play like that."
"Sendoh-senpai—" Hikoichi swallowed. "Knowing about it beforehand and actually standing here in it are completely different things."
He was doing what he could to regulate himself. But the rhythm of Sannoh's cheering section kept washing over him in cycles and each time it hit, breathing felt like something he had to consciously remember to do.
"Hikoichi!"
A voice from the paint. Hikoichi locked his eyes on it, reset to training rhythm, and released a three from the arc.
The arc came out weak and graceless.
"Ah—" He was already closing his eyes before it landed.
It was a complete airball. The ball didn't graze the rim, didn't touch the backboard. It simply fell sideways toward the baseline in a long, slow arc of failure.
SMACK.
A hand caught it midway.
"That nervous?" Yagami Sorato's voice was not loud, but it carried clearly to the players nearest him. He was holding the airballed ball in one hand, his gaze moving across the faces around him with a calm that had no performance in it.
"You want to look at something for a second?" He tilted his chin toward the sideline.
The players followed the direction.
A deep blue flag was moving on its pole in the supporter section. The characters on it read "Rule the Floor." Students from Ryonan had made it in a rush specifically for the national tournament, and the people holding it were red-faced and straining, veins visible in their necks, shouting as hard as their bodies would allow.
"I can almost hear them." Ikegami said quietly.
SMACK. Koshino's palm hit his own face. The shock reset something in him and his posture loosened.
"YEAH!" Uozumi's roar tore through the warmup noise around them, and several of the players around him straightened without quite deciding to.
"And over there." Yagami raised his eyebrows.
Near the Ryonan section, scattered through the adjacent seats, were familiar faces. Shohoku's players. Kainan's. Shuutoku's.
And Aomine Daiki of Touou.
"If we stay this tight, we're going to be joining them in those seats real soon." Yagami glanced up at the stands, his tone completely weightless.
The people in the stands couldn't hear what Yagami had actually said. But they had all caught the brief, sweeping look he directed up at them. The exact quality of that look was hard to pin down. Dismissive was the only word that fit.
Every one of them felt it land.
"That guy—" The same thought rose in multiple chests simultaneously.
Then Yagami took the ball, walked to the baseline, and raised it into a shooting stance.
Everyone stopped.
"Wait, what is he doing?"
"The basket is behind him. He's facing Sannoh's side of the court."
People who had turned to look at Ryonan because of Uozumi's roar noticed Yagami's posture and a confused murmur spread through that section of the crowd.
In the Sannoh supporter area, Midorima Shintaro's brow furrowed. He appeared to have understood something a fraction before it happened.
Yagami released the ball.
No hesitation at all. From underneath Ryonan's basket, the ball climbed into the air on a steep, high arc, backspin churning hard against its trajectory, crossing the full length of the court.
"He's not—"
"Is he aiming for Sannoh's basket?! Is this a joke?!"
More of the crowd caught onto the ball's path and the noise shifted into something uncertain. On Sannoh's side, the players heard the sound of something cutting through the air above them and looked up instinctively.
The orange ball descended like a precisely guided projectile, backspin intact, completing its improbable journey, and—
CRACK.
It struck the exact center of Sannoh's backboard square, dead in the painted rectangle.
Then, in front of a few thousand eyes that had all gone wide at once—
SWISH.
It dropped straight through the net.
"OHHHHHHH—"
The arena detonated.
The full-court bank shot tore through the atmosphere and left the building rewriting its own understanding of what it had just witnessed.
"WHO WAS THAT?!" Sannoh's players spun around simultaneously. Every pair of eyes shot to the baseline on Ryonan's end, and the figure still holding the follow-through pose, number ten.
"Yagami Sorato?!"
"From there? Into OUR basket?!"
"That has to be luck!"
"No but even if it was luck—"
Sawakita Eiji blinked once. Then his eyes lit up.
"Nice shot. I'll send one back."
"Sawakita—hold on—"
Sawakita had already picked up a ball at his feet, turned to face Ryonan's basket, and launched it with full force.
CRACK.
Complete airball. The ball hit the floor near half court and bounced away uselessly.
"You absolute idiot, you just handed them the momentum!" Kawata Masashi didn't hesitate, one hand coming down hard on the back of Sawakita's head with a sound like a dry board snapping.
"Son of a—" Sawakita's hand flew to his skull.
He was still a little annoyed.
"Haha! Classic Yagami."
"Beautiful shot, Sorato!"
The tension that had been sitting in Ryonan's half of the court dissolved. The stiffness that had been in their shoulders and wrists came loose, and as warmups continued the shooting motions gradually found their natural fluency. The anxiety in their eyes was replaced by the focused look of players who remembered what they were here to do.
Before long, warmups ended and both starting fives walked back to their benches before lining up at center court.
The referee walked out carrying the ball.
"National High School Athletics Championship Basketball Tournament. Semifinal. Ryonan High School versus Sannoh Industrial!"
"Play ball!"
"Let's have a great game!"
Ryonan starting lineup: PG Sendoh Akira (190cm/82kg), SG Koshino Hiroaki (174cm/63kg), SF Yagami Sorato (190cm/80kg), PF Ikegami Ryoji (183cm/76kg), C Uozumi Jun (202cm/96kg).
Sannoh Industrial starting lineup: PG Fukatsu Kazunari (180cm/70kg), SG Matsumoto Minoru (184cm/71kg), SF Sawakita Eiji (188cm/73kg), PF Nobe Masahiro (198cm/96kg), C Kawata Masashi (194cm/95kg).
Beeeep.
The referee sent the ball straight up.
At center circle, two enormous figures exploded off the floor. Uozumi Jun's 202-centimeter frame reached the descending ball first, his fingertip flicking it back toward the Ryonan end—
But Kawata Masashi's vertical speed was faster. His fingertip found the underside of the ball at almost the same instant and pushed it off course.
The ball's trajectory bent. Its landing point became unclear.
"Mine!"
Sendoh Akira and Fukatsu Kazunari both rushed the ball simultaneously.
CRACK.
Fukatsu made contact but didn't try to control it. He redirected the ball again, and Matsumoto Minoru gathered it and held on without immediately pushing into attack mode.
"FALL BACK!" Sendoh called it loudly, and Ryonan's whole unit retreated into their halfcourt set.
Sannoh had first possession.
"Already this intense from the opening tip." Fukatsu received the return pass and pushed smoothly through half court.
Sendoh stepped up immediately.
"Defense! Defense! Defense!"
"Defense! Defense! Defense!"
"Great, now it feels like playing against the crowd too." Koshino couldn't entirely stop his mind from going there.
Fukatsu's defensive stance was textbook. Weight low, eyes locked on Sendoh's shoulder and dribble hand, expression undisturbed.
"He wants to prevent the drive." Sendoh read the angle of the pressure quickly. The fundamentals were clean, which meant the defensive intentions were visible in them.
Sendoh tested a between-the-legs change of direction. Fukatsu's read was precise, adjusting smoothly to stay in front. Sendoh didn't force it. He signaled Ikegami Ryoji to come set a screen.
The screen formed. Sendoh used it and accelerated off the contact—
Sannoh's switch was immediate. Nobe Masahiro stepped up early to clog the driving lane before Sendoh could fully capitalize, while Fukatsu navigated the screen and recovered to the front simultaneously.
Ikegami received the pass with a momentary window but his shooting range didn't extend comfortably to where he was standing. He didn't take the shot. He cut toward the paint instead.
But Nobe had already recovered to cut off that path too.
"Fast."
The pick-and-roll that Ryonan ran without problems all season had been taken apart in one exchange.
Ikegami, pressured, returned the ball to Sendoh.
Clock running. Sendoh made a decision and lobbed the ball high into the post, then cut hard off the ball into the paint.
Uozumi Jun caught it, pump-faked a return pass, and rose for a short bank shot.
"Too obvious!" Kawata Masashi closed out and went up to contest.
CLANG.
The shot came off hard. High bounce.
Kawata landed and immediately sealed Uozumi's body. Their frames collided with a heavy, dense sound. Kawata stood eight centimeters shorter, but the leverage in his base was extraordinary and his core force was something else entirely. The position didn't move.
Nobe Masahiro pulled down the rebound cleanly.
"Sannoh rebound!" the commentator called. "In that interior exchange, Kawata was clearly the dominant force!"
"The commentary is already biased and it's been one possession." Hikoichi grumbled from the sideline.
Sannoh pushed immediately. Fukatsu took the outlet and drove hard, Sannoh flowing into their frontcourt like a tide. Ryonan got back in time. Fukatsu gave ground and swung to Sawakita Eiji on the right.
"Here it comes. The ace one-on-one."
Sawakita ran consecutive changes of direction at the arc, then launched left off Yagami Sorato's side with explosive force.
Yagami turned and sealed the path.
"Stopped it!"
"No—"
At the exact moment of contact, Sawakita sent the ball behind his back to the arc. Matsumoto Minoru came off Fukatsu's screen and gathered it, adjusted his feet, and released before the contest could arrive.
"Ah—"
SWISH.
Three points. Clean.
Ryonan 0, Sannoh Industrial 5.
"Them again!"
Two minutes in. Sannoh had opened the game with a perfect five-to-nothing run.
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