Chapter 68: Full Firepower

"Get back on defense!" Kasamatsu Yukio was still in shock when their coach roared from the sideline. You want to know what Teikō's most terrifying weapon is this year? It's not their pick-and-roll. It's not even their newly revamped triangle offense. The most feared part of Teikō's game is their transition offense. From the qualifiers up until now, Teikō has averaged an astounding 26.9 points per game just off fast breaks—more than double the average. Close to 30 points a game, with a 90% efficiency rate. In short, any team wanting to beat Teikō must find a way to stop their transition game. Kasamatsu landed from his jump shot and immediately turned to sprint back—but Teikō's players were already faster than him, swarming forward like a wave. They were all quicker than their marks, creating a 4-on-3 fast break opportunity. Kumamoto Iwa's weakness was fully exposed in this moment. By the time Murasakibara was charging into the paint, Kumamoto had just barely crossed half-court. This was the downside of using a floor-bound, heavy-built center—he was a liability in transition defense. The monster appeared again, towering over the court and casting its shadow over the basket. Tendou's palm, wreathed in black flames, launched the ball toward the rim. Boom! With a deafening slam, Murasakibara threw down the alley-oop with both hands. With Kumamoto left behind, there was no one left to stop Murasakibara. They had a dominant low-post weapon too—Teikō's own version. 4–2! Teikō casually took the lead. Tendou turned and began his signature grandpa-walk back on defense. As he passed Kasamatsu, he threw out a line: "Congrats—you just made the Top 10 Plays of the Day." Tendou loved talking trash. When his opponent got mad, he felt even better—double satisfaction! Of course Kasamatsu wasn't stupid. He knew Tendou was being sarcastic. After all, his shot was stolen mid-air—what kind of Top 10 Play was that? A background reel, maybe? That's exactly what Tendou meant. There was no jumbotron on-site, so Kasamatsu couldn't clearly see what had just happened. But he'd studied Tendou's game tape—he knew he'd just become the latest victim of that lightning-fast steal. "His timing on that steal was perfect!" "No wonder he averaged 8.8 steals during the qualifiers. With his crazy wingspan, Tendou covers way more ground than most perimeter defenders." "Any offensive player going up against him has to stay constantly alert." The two commentators were stunned—the first time they'd watched Tendou live, and already this Tokyo phenom was blowing their minds. The crowd went wild, chanting his name. His fanbase dwarfed that of every other team combined. Many women who had no idea how basketball even worked showed up at the stadium just to cheer for him. Shirogane Kōzō finally relaxed a little on the sideline. Even though the game had started rough—with a jump-ball violation and then an easy 2 points given up—Teikō still had the momentum. The game was clearly tilting in their favor. The folks from Kanagawa simply couldn't handle the tsunami of their offense. Now behind on the scoreboard, Kasamatsu played more cautiously. He stopped trying to take on Tendou one-on-one. Kasamatsu had never been the selfish type anyway. With Tendou guarding him, there was no easy option—and even if he avoided a direct matchup, the seed of fear was already planted. From this point forward, every decision he made would be with Tendou in mind. They began running their offense through Kumamoto Iwa again. But this time, his short-range jumper bounced off the rim. Murasakibara still wasn't quite used to guarding this kind of low-post technician. The guy felt... weird. He could only rely on reflexes to try and disrupt the shot. It felt like one of those old Europe vs USA matchups. European players never looked fast, couldn't leap out of the gym, but still found ways to score with subtle changes in rhythm. They looked like they were playing chess out there. Jokić, Doncic, and going further back, Ginóbili—those kinds of guys. Meanwhile, Murasakibara felt like the classic "black and strong" athlete getting outmaneuvered left and right. After the stop, Teikō launched another lightning-fast counterattack. If you wanna park a chunk of beef under the rim for set plays, we'll just exploit your slow mobility in transition. Basketball doesn't have a perfect strategy. There's no guaranteed win condition—it all comes down to execution. This time, Kasamatsu and company got back fast—they were clearly prepared for it. Teikō settled into a half-court set. Nijimura, Tendou, and Midorima formed a textbook triangle—shifting and mirroring each other. Midorima set an off-ball screen for Tendou, the two of them crisscrossed, switching positions. Tendou sprinted to the corner—but instead of stopping, he kept cutting toward the paint. That drew the defense in, freeing up Nijimura for a one-on-one isolation. Nijimura seized the chance, forcing the defenders to collapse on him— And just like that, he spotted the monster and kicked the ball out immediately. Now Tendou had the clean look. Kasamatsu and his teammates felt like they were being toyed with. Every Teikō player was dangerous—leave anyone open, and it was an instant bucket. Tendou drained the jumper. Another 2 points. He now had scoring stats on all three of Teikō's opening possessions. Efficiency through the roof. "Excellent cutting and decision-making. Kamizaki Junior High is clearly overwhelmed—they're not ready for Teikō's triangle offense." The commentators quickly latched onto the "triangle offense" buzzword. One asked what it was, giving the other the perfect setup to explain the strategy to viewers. Just two minutes in, Kamizaki's coach called the first timeout. Their defensive approach was completely wrong—they had to adjust immediately. Tight, on-ball defense! That was the best-known way to defend the triangle. The NBA had already proven it—tight pressure on the ball handler could disrupt the passing rhythm that triangle offenses relied on. But this meant... Midorima's moment had come. Remember Steve Kerr with the Bulls? He once had a season where he shot 51.5% from three. Was that his real ability? Not quite. He shot that well because the triangle system forced defenses to overcommit, leaving him wide open for catch-and-shoots. And with Midorima's god-tier shooting talent... What kind of numbers could he hit in this system? --- Vote with some power stones in this story. By using them on this book, you guarantee bonus chapters weekly.