Chapter 99: We All Have to Win in the End

This is a sponsored chapter, thanks to BraveHeart /// As punishment, Tendou and Aomine, the two reckless idiots, were benched by Shirogane Kōzō and made to sit on the sidelines for the rest of the game. Until the final buzzer, they had no chance to play again. The remainder of the match was carried by Akashi, Midorima, Kise, Nijimura, Haizaki, and Kuroko. As expected, there were no surprises. Perhaps the opposing team had been shaken by Tendou and Aomine's earlier outburst. Their tough playing style at the beginning seemed to have disappeared entirely, and they ended the game without much resistance. The anime barely focused on the court during this time — instead, it kept cutting back to the two boys on the bench. They sat one on either side of Shirogane Kōzō. Tendou lounged back in his chair completely relaxed, while Aomine leaned forward, watching the court. The two of them sat one behind the other, saying nothing at all. Momoi Satsuki watched them anxiously, but there was nothing she could do. It wasn't until the game ended that Tendou, as captain, stood up to shake hands with the opponents. But they didn't dare really shake hands. With a perfunctory gesture, they quickly led their dejected teammates off the court. Even though the final score gap didn't break 100 points, it was still pretty bloody. Even without Tendou and Aomine, Teikō remained the strongest contender for the championship. This match brought a lot of attention to Kise. His terrifying ability to learn and mimic had drawn many people's eyes to this rising second-year Teikō player. But of course, the main focus remained on Tendou and Aomine. Everyone was curious about what had happened between them. Why had a perfectly normal game suddenly turned into a one-on-one brawl? Coach Eiji (from Rakuzan) quickly figured it out. "So this is what you meant by competitive fire, huh?" It was far too impulsive and youthful — completely in line with their age. He had planned to recruit at least two players from Teikō for Rakuzan, but that was clearly not going to happen now. At most, he'd be lucky to get one of these monstrous talents. Naturally, he wanted the strongest — either Tendou or Aomine. That was Rakuzan's style — always choose the strongest! Nakatani Masaaki from Shūtoku had a different take. He also attended this match, scouting future core players for his team. Thanks to his leadership, Shūtoku had remained one of Tokyo's powerhouses for years. His players were all extremely disciplined — the true strength of the team. Every single one of them had to sacrifice personal glory for the sake of victory. His team had no room for ego. That was what teamwork truly meant. Tendou and Aomine? Those two were far too wild. Coaching them would probably lead him to an early grave. Just look at poor Shirogane Kōzō — barely two years, and his body was already giving out. Meanwhile, Takeuchi Genta from Kaijō had the sharpest eye of all. The moment he saw Kise's performance, he was sold. Even if Kise couldn't rival Tendou or Aomine yet, his potential was undeniable. The mimicking talent Kise demonstrated during the match left a deep impression on him. Given time, this boy might just become the strongest of all! Takeuchi had already filled his office with reports and footage of Kise, closely tracking this golden-haired star's rise to prominence. He preferred building for the future over immediate firepower. After all, geniuses always drew attention. Even in the NBA, teams had dedicated scouts following high school and college stars. If they found someone promising, they'd be willing to tank seasons just to get them. The San Antonio Spurs were the kings of this strategy — a small-market team with no choice but to gamble everything on drafting the right players. They loved their centers — from David Robinson to Tim Duncan, and later Victor Wembanyama. Unfortunately, Tendou probably wouldn't get to see how far Wemby would go in his past life. And Popovich might retire soon anyway. The Spurs' future looked uncertain. The game finally ended. On the way back, the team was uncharacteristically quiet. Everyone was still thinking about Tendou's explosive performance — and the madness between him and Aomine. Fighting your own teammate? On the court? In an official game? This had to be a first in the entire history of the national tournament. Even Haizaki, the team's notorious troublemaker, admitted he'd never be as insane as Aomine. Yet even with that chaos, they still crushed their opponents. Only the sound of Murasakibara munching on snacks broke the silence inside the bus. Everyone else — Midorima, Akashi, Haizaki, Kise — all had the same thought: Tendou's performance was just too damn strong. Aomine, who already seemed unbeatable in their eyes, had once again lost — and not just lost, but was completely outclassed. Even though it was only one possession, that display of dominance was unforgettable. His speed, power, and passing — all flawless. As fellow players, they couldn't help but think: What a perfect player. By the time they got back to school, the sky had already darkened. Shirogane Kōzō pulled Tendou aside for a private conversation. "What happened between you and Riko?" he asked bluntly. He didn't beat around the bush — his health was failing, and he needed to focus on resting. He'd promised his family he would stick around to finish this season, then finally step down. Tendou wasn't planning to explain, until he noticed the anime camera had cut to him. So, ever the drama king, he turned to the camera and said with resolve, "I promised Riko — I'd become the strongest." Shirogane's hands trembled on the teacup. Now he understood the reason for Tendou's sudden outburst. Perhaps this power wasn't something that awakened today — maybe it had always been there. And only now, because of a promise to Riko, did Tendou finally unleash it. If that was the case, Shirogane knew there was nothing he could say to stop him. "There are many ways to become the strongest," the old coach finally said. "But all of them... require you to win in the end, don't they?" He wasn't wrong — Tendou couldn't argue. Basketball had always been a sport of victory and defeat. In the U.S., the Dream Team could look down on any league in the world — because they were invincible. When you win that often, when gold medals become routine, you earn the right to dismiss others. To be the best, you have to win — simple as that. Was Jordan unbeatable? Hell yes! He dominated the league at a time when big men ruled, won six championships in six Finals appearances, and changed the entire landscape of basketball. Before him, the rules favored centers. That's why the '80s were full of post-dominant monsters. But after Jordan? The game became all about the perimeter. When he retired, the league desperately tried to crown a "next Jordan" just to make up for his absence. They were hemorrhaging fans — that's how much one man could change the game. Same with Steph Curry. He may not be invincible like Jordan, but his three-point shooting has completely reshaped modern basketball. Before, people played slash-heavy ball — driving into the paint was everything. Now? Even 200-pound dudes in village leagues are standing at the three-point line, chucking shots like they're Steph himself. Tendou once saw a guy like that during his past life — a chubby dude who refused to post up, just floated on the arc throwing bricks, and got benched after five minutes. One day, if you can do what Curry or Jordan did... Then you'll be the strongest.