Chapter 78: One Pass, Nine Players Panic

Thud! With a sharp smack from his elbow, Tendou redirected the ball and changed its trajectory mid-air, passing it to Nijimura Shūzō. The animation gave this scene a full three replays, each from a different angle, making sure viewers could fully appreciate how exactly he pulled it off. Fans watching at home could only keep spamming the same reaction: 『Holy sht!』 『Holy sht, that's White Chocolate's elbow pass!』 『One pass, nine players panic!』 『That was so flashy!』 Newer fans were stuck on repeat, but veteran basketball fans immediately thought of a flashy legend: White Chocolate—Jason Williams. A 2000 NBA rookie, seventh overall pick by the Kings, Williams wasn't remembered for accolades—he never even made an All-Star team. But he left a deep impression on any fan from that era for one reason: his jaw-dropping passing. "One pass, nine players panic" was coined for him—because when he held the ball, no one—teammates or opponents—knew what he'd do next. He was a walking highlight reel. His signature elbow pass was one of his most iconic moves. Tendou, now with access to the system, had once asked the cat-like assistant about Jason Williams and confirmed it: Williams had a passive skill that let him surpass the limits of ball control. Once you watched him play, it was hard not to become a fan. He brought streetball flair to the pro level, and somehow made it look even better than streetball. It wasn't even tactical—it was all instinct and flair. That's what made him so fun to watch. Just like now—even Nijimura, the receiver of the pass, wasn't ready. He was prepping to crash the boards, thinking the ball was going to Midorima. But then—a basketball the size of his face suddenly came flying at him. He caught it just in time—and realized he was completely wide open. Okay, that was an exaggeration. But still, there was nobody around him. He reset quickly and drained the jumper. Just like that, Teikō's lead reached double digits. But what stuck with Hayama Kotarō wasn't the score. It was that creature—shadowy, cloak-like—hovering over Tendou's shoulders. "Is that... your Wild Instinct?" It looked nothing like what he'd imagined—definitely not some animal spirit from nature. "Huh?" Tendou blinked. "Nah. If I had to describe it, I guess... it's my brain." Hayama didn't believe him. He figured Tendou must've had some kind of vision-related skill—how else could he have known where Nijimura was? But no, really—he didn't. "Coach Shirogane!" "Hmm. From now on, we're making sure he joins every strategy meeting." Coach Shirogane Kōzō could vouch for Tendou. Even though the kid had insane spatial awareness, he didn't have eyes in the back of his head. "But that's the crazy part." Nijimura had moved early—that throw was based purely on Tendou remembering the pre-game playbook and anticipating where Nijimura should be. He just fired it off based on memory. The throw itself wasn't even perfect. It nearly clocked Nijimura in the face. "Dad..." "Yeah," muttered Aida Kagetora, watching from the stands. "His understanding of strategy? That's professional level." In pro ball, there are two major differences from amateur play: physical ability and basketball IQ. Tendou? Already had both. Aida's daughter, Aida Riko, had earlier commented on his freakish physical potential. Now, with this pass, she saw that his court vision and decision-making were just as scary. If he kept going at this pace, even his worst-case scenario was becoming a pro. Hayama, meanwhile, was spiraling. He'd never been this humiliated on both ends of the court before. Not even when he faced Nijimura last year had he felt this helpless. But today, this first-year kid—possibly his future teammate—was giving him a clinic. At this point, Yamagata Middle School had only one option left: Double-team. Clearly, Hayama couldn't guard Tendou one-on-one anymore. On their next possession, Hayama again used a screen to break into the paint. But before he could even rise to shoot, his teammates yelled out: "Watch out, Hayama!" And sure enough, Tendou—like a cockroach immune to screens—had already chased him down. Was that screen even effective at all? Hayama had to back out, nearly running out the shot clock. He barely found an open teammate for a desperation three. It went in—but it was pure luck. Buzz. First quarter over. The score: 26–14. Yamagata trailed by 12. That was with them throwing everything they had at stopping Teikō's transition offense. Their scouting report had helped. Just... not much. Tendou's first-quarter stat line: 16 points, 1 rebound, 4 assists, 3 steals. Total dominance. As always, Tendou sat the second quarter. Coach Shirogane didn't change his substitution strategy—because so far, no team had forced him to overplay his starters. And really—why would he? Their bench was stacked too. With Akashi leading the second unit, plus Kuroko and Haizaki in support, the backups never even gave up a lead—at worst, they just kept pace. And now with Tendou's addition—and his early awakening of Kuroko's talent—this Teikō team looked absolutely unbeatable. Championship? At this point, it almost looked like a given.