Shoyo made no substitutions after the timeout.
Which meant the adjustment was tactical.
Nango scanned their formation.
Same alignment.
So what changed?
He waited.
Fujima initiated from the perimeter. Hanagata stepped out immediately to set a high screen.
Nango followed.
Switch.
Fujima bounced the ball to Hanagata, who rolled hard toward the paint.
Miyagi couldn't contain him. He lunged for the passing lane — too late.
Now Sakuragi had to step up.
"You swimming-goggles freak! Don't even think about it!"
Hanagata's face darkened instantly.
He drove straight into Sakuragi.
Bang.
They collided.
Despite standing 197 cm tall, Hanagata didn't overpower him. He flipped the shot up awkwardly — and missed.
But—
"Beep! Blocking foul!"
Sakuragi clicked his tongue. "I almost had that…"
Nango glanced at Coach Urano.
Calm.
Expressionless.
A chill crept up his spine.
He leaned toward Sakuragi.
"They're trying to drag us into foul trouble."
Sakuragi nodded. "Got it."
Hanagata sank the free throw.
On the other end, Miyagi finally snapped.
After being dictated by Fujima all game, he refused to defer.
He crossed half court — and attacked.
No pass to Nango.
Straight at Fujima.
You finally lost patience, Fujima thought.
He stayed disciplined, sliding laterally.
Miyagi couldn't reach top speed. Frustrated, he shifted rhythm for a pull-up—
Fujima's hand sliced down.
Clean steal.
Miyagi froze.
He hadn't protected the ball.
Fujima slowed the tempo deliberately instead of fast-breaking.
Experience, Miyagi realized. We can't let him control the pace.
This time, Fujima passed to Hasegawa.
Isolation.
Mitsui squared up.
Under the basket, both Nango and Sakuragi hovered, ready to help.
Hasegawa remembered the timeout.
Urano's words.
"Defense alone doesn't limit a scorer. You must attack him. Make him work."
Fujima had added quietly, "Mitsui's stamina isn't great."
Hasegawa nodded then.
Now he acted.
He backed Mitsui down steadily.
Mitsui fought, absorbing contact, waiting for the release point to contest.
Turnaround jumper—
Miss.
Sakuragi secured the rebound.
"Nice defense, Sakuragi!"
But Fujima encouraged from the perimeter.
"Keep going!"
And then—
Nango struck.
Three-pointer.
Nothing but net.
He understood Shoyo's plan. Drawing fouls and grinding Mitsui down would take time.
Time they didn't have.
If he buried consecutive threes, Shoyo's slow-burn strategy would collapse.
Next possession, Hasegawa posted again.
Miss.
Nango launched another three—
This one rimmed out.
Fujima glanced at Urano.
The coach shook his head slightly.
Stick to the plan.
Urano smiled inwardly.
Smart kid. Coach Anzai taught him well. But this game is long.
We can afford patience.
Persistence paid off.
Hasegawa converted three straight interior possessions.
Confidence surged.
Next trip, he attacked decisively.
Sakuragi leapt to contest—
Pump fake.
Hasegawa leaned in just enough.
Whistle.
Second foul on Sakuragi.
"Damn it!"
He regretted it midair, but instinct was instinct.
Before halftime, two fouls.
He was subbed out.
Kakuta checked in.
The drop-off was obvious.
Shohoku's bench was thin.
Nango licked his lips.
This was bad.
He could already see it unfolding.
From here on, Shoyo would hammer the paint relentlessly.
If he lost control and picked up fouls too—
The game would tilt instantly.
He inhaled slowly.
From now on, every defensive step had to be measured.
No bait.
No cheap whistles.
Or everything would collapse.