Slam Dunk: Sakuragi learned from Kawamura Eiki's experience

Chapter 148 Shohoku's Bench: Our Time to Make a Difference Has Come

The whistle to end the first half pierced the air above the basketball arena, and the clock struck zero.

The numbers on the scoreboard silenced Meihou Industrial's cheering squad for several seconds; Shohoku was leading by 12 points.

Morishige Hiroshi scored 23 points in the first half, and his personal statistics were still astonishingly impressive, but the point difference on the scoreboard was just as glaring as his personal score.

In the stands, Masashi Kawata watched Morishige Hiroshi's massive figure walk toward the players' tunnel with his head down. His tone carried the words of a seasoned veteran commenting on a rookie, neither polite nor harsh: "A single-core team like Meihou is really too easy to deal with."

Kazunari Fukatsu, standing next to him, chimed in with his usual flat, almost indifferent voice: "That's right. They have no other way to score except by having Morishige Hiroshi force his way into the paint. We only need to use full-court press for five minutes, and their perimeter game will collapse. Those perimeter players aren't even considered good in the prefectural tournament; they can't even get the ball past half-court under intense pressure."

On the other side of the stands, Taoka Moichi turned to the Ryonan team and said, "Meihou is probably the easiest team to deal with among the top four right now. They're a single-core team; all their tactics revolve around one player. Once that player is targeted, the whole team falls apart."

Their run to the semifinals wasn't due to a system, but rather the overwhelming talent of Morishige Hiroshi. Against truly prepared, strong teams, the flaws in this style of play will be laid bare.

Jun Uozumi nodded silently to the side, his gaze falling on the red-haired man with a buzz cut who was being surrounded by his teammates and walking towards the player tunnel.

In the Shohoku locker room, Coach Anzai sat on a bench, waiting for the players to wipe their sweat, drink water, and catch their breath before slowly speaking.

His gaze swept past the starting lineup and landed on the first-year students peeking out from the back of the bench. His voice was gentle, but every word was like a reassuring balm: "In the second half, everyone will have a chance to play. Ishii, Sasaoka, and Kuwata, the three of you, get ready."

Kentaro Ishii, who was sitting in the corner, was startled when he heard this. He suddenly looked up, his eyes wide behind his glasses, and quickly exchanged a glance with Tomokazu Sasaoka next to him. The same thought was written on their faces: No way, we're going to join in too?

Kuwata Toki stood there with his mouth agape, pointing to his chest as if to confirm whether the coach had called him by the wrong name.

This is the semi-final of the national tournament. These three first-year substitutes have hardly touched the ball in any crucial matches since the county tournament, and now they're being called up to play in this situation.

Halftime ended, and both teams returned to the court. When Shohoku's second-half lineup appeared on the court, several gasps of surprise rippled through the stands.

Hanamichi Sakuragi, Kaede Rukawa, Konobu Kinugure, Yasuharu Yasuda, and Kentaro Ishii.

Taoka Shigeichi crossed his arms, his brows furrowed into a deep frown, while the Ryonan team members exchanged bewildered glances.

What's going on? Two first-year starters with three substitutes.

Meihou's veteran coach was stunned for a moment, then a barely suppressed elation spread across his face. He turned and shouted towards the court, his voice filled with the euphoria of a gambler seeing a chance to turn the tide: "Kuan, the chance has come! Shohoku looks down on us! Crush them! Tie the score!"

His judgment was straightforward: two main players with three substitutes, one of whom was a seemingly frail-looking bespectacled guy. This was practically handing Morishige Hiroshi a weakness.

When Kentaro Ishii ran onto the field, his calves were trembling slightly with nervousness, and his breathing was several times more rapid than usual.

He remembered Coach Anzai's instructions in the locker room and sank into the penalty area with Sakuragi Hanamichi, standing only two steps away from Morishige Hiroshi.

Morishige Hiroshi glanced down at him; the shadow cast by his 199cm height enveloped Ishii entirely. Akiyama Shunji, standing beside him, flexed his wrists; his 198cm frame was equally awe-inspiring.

Ishii pushed up his glasses, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down several times, and his heart pounding like a drum.

Meihou had possession of the ball. Morishige Hiroshi received the ball in the low post, leaned his back against Sakuragi, and drove hard into the basket twice before turning around and pushing past Sakuragi to rush to the basket.

He pushed off the ground with both feet, grabbed the ball with both hands, and raised it high above his head, ready to unleash the pent-up frustration from the entire first half with a powerful dunk.

Just as he was about to jump, Kentaro Ishii rushed over from the side, stretched out his hands, and grabbed Morishige Hiroshi's waist.

The referee's whistle pierced the noise of the arena. White number 15, defensive foul.

Morishige Hiroshi stood still, looking down at the short, bespectacled guy still clinging to his waist, his expression shifting from astonishment to disbelief.

He stepped to the free-throw line, received the ball from the referee, dribbled it twice, raised it, and took the first shot. The ball bounced off the back of the rim and flew away. The second shot bounced off the rim and rolled out. He missed both free throws.

Sakuragi Hanamichi snatched the backboard, landed, and passed the ball to Kakuta. Then, he reached out and slapped Ishii Kentaro hard on the shoulder, so hard that Ishii stumbled forward half a step.

Sakuragi looked down at Ishii, a mischievous grin on his face, and said, "Well done! See? You stopped him!"

Kentaro Ishii pushed up his glasses, which had been knocked askew by Sakuragi, and a somewhat uncertain smile slowly crept onto his lips.

He looked down at his hands, the hands that had just embraced a 199-centimeter-tall monster, which had missed two free throws right in front of him.

The tension was still there, but it had subtly changed; it was no longer fear, but rather a mixture of excitement and courage.

In the following game, Morishige Hiroshi encountered the most bizarre second half of his basketball career. Every time he received the ball, the short guy with glasses would pounce on him, not to defend, but to deliberately foul him, grabbing him, pulling him, and hanging on him without saying a word.

The referee's whistle blew again and again, and Morishige Hiroshi stepped to the free-throw line time and time again, but his touch became increasingly stiff.

The first free throw missed. The second free throw also missed.

He changed his posture in the next possession, took a deep breath to adjust his rhythm, but still couldn't score. His dominance in the paint, which had been overwhelming all game, was dismantled in such an almost shameless way by a first-year substitute.

In the stands, Taoka Shigeru's expression shifted from confusion to sudden enlightenment. He turned to look at Hiko next to him, his voice carrying a sense of "experience is the best teacher": "Coach Anzai's move, though a bit underhanded, is really effective."

Goro Domoto of Sannoh Industrial crossed his hands on his knees, a meaningful smile playing on his lips, his tone revealing the appreciation of a fellow coach: "Coach Anzai's move was a bit underhanded, but it was indeed precise."

Meihou is a one-man team, and their star player's free throws are their Achilles' heel. If Morishige Hiroshi's free throw percentage is good, this fouling tactic is just giving away points. But Morishige Hiroshi's free throw percentage is so low. So they can foul recklessly. Coach Anzai calculated it very clearly.

When Kentaro Ishii received his fifth foul and was signaled to leave the court by the referee, the way he walked off the court was completely different from when he entered the court.

His legs were shaking when he went on the field, but his steps were steady when he left. As he was substituted and walked to the bench, his teammates reached out to pat his shoulder, rub his head, and give him a thumbs up.

Kentaro Ishii is off and Nori Kuwata is on top.

Coach Anzai nodded to him, and Kuwata took a deep breath and ran onto the field, taking on the task of committing a foul.

Throughout the second half, Shohoku constantly rotated their bench players to execute a fouling strategy. Morishige Hiroshi spent the longest half of his life at the free-throw line. His free-throw percentage was already low, and with repeated interruptions and a loss of composure, it became even more disastrous.

Meihou's veteran coach stood on the sidelines, his tactical board hanging at his side. All the tactics he knew were rendered ineffective by Coach Anzai's "Hack Morishige Tactics," because the problem wasn't with the tactics, but with Morishige Hiroshi's free throws.

When the point difference is widened to more than 25 points, those in the know understand the outcome; the result is already decided.

In the final minutes, Coach Anzai also began rotating the starting lineup to conserve energy.

Morishige Hiroshi stepped to the free-throw line time and time again, but just couldn't make the shot. He never expected to encounter such a situation. He had dominated the entire prefectural tournament, single-handedly breaking through the defense of every opponent in the paint.

But today, the opposing team didn't beat him with their inside game, but with fouls and free throws, and his mentality has collapsed.

The final buzzer sounded, and the scoreboard froze. Shohoku won the game by 27 points, advancing to the finals.

Morishige Hiroshi turned and walked toward the players' tunnel, his teammates following silently behind him. Before entering the tunnel, he glanced back at the court one last time, only one thought repeating in his mind: he had to work on his damn free throws.