Chapter 39: Heavy Taste

"Why the hell are you calling that a foul on me?!"

Murasakibara dropped his usual sleepy tone. His face twisted in fury.

A furious ten-something-year-old kid… who stood nearly 190cm tall.

"Calm down, Murasakibara," said Nijimura Shūzō, hurrying over to pull him back.

It was never wise to challenge a referee on the court.

To be fair, this referee was already fairly lenient.

He knew full well Musashi's players hadn't been interested in playing clean from the start.

They'd gone straight for physical contact, trying to disrupt Teikō's rhythm with sheer brute force.

That was the only reason Murasakibara hadn't been slapped with an additional technical.

Shirogane Kōzō quickly requested a substitution, pulling the clearly agitated Murasakibara off the court.

And just like that, Teikō lost their key rim protector.

Musashi saw the opening immediately and began hammering the ball inside, quickly evening up the score.

Yes, even though Musashi's play had been downright dirty, Teikō had still managed to hold a 4-point lead in the first five minutes.

But that lead was gone now.

"Nice one!"

"Keep it up—softies like Teikō can't beat us!"

Musashi's morale soared.

Classic strategy: when the enemy advances, retreat; when they retreat, advance.

Now that Teikō's starting center had been knocked out of the game, it was the perfect time to seize the advantage.

Shirogane Kōzō called a timeout immediately, breaking the opponent's momentum.

"Good work. Keep up the aggression. The ref's letting things go today—you can turn up the intensity."

Musashi's coach clapped enthusiastically, affirming his players' efforts.

This seasoned old fox had told his team to test the referee's whistle right from the opening tip.

Once he realized today's official wasn't going to call much, he had them ramp up the physicality.

After all, referees at the national tournament weren't fixed.

Some had zero tolerance for dirty play, but others?

They had a… heavier taste.

Today's referee was clearly the latter.

To him, this level of physical contact was just "part of the game."

...

"Control the pace, Nijimura."

On the other side, Shirogane Kōzō didn't say much during the timeout.

He simply told Nijimura to control the flow of the game.

Which meant he wanted the offense to run through Nijimura from this point forward.

Shirogane absolutely recognized the talent of Tendou and the other first-years.

But what they lacked was experience.

Murasakibara had clearly gotten played by the seasoned bruisers on Musashi's side.

Tendou probably wouldn't fare much better.

"Tendou, Akashi, Aomine, Midorima, and you too, Murasakibara—watch closely."

He gave the first-years a firm reminder.

This was a golden opportunity to level up.

What's there to watch?

Tendou thought to himself. He'd seen way worse—crippling tackles, flying knees, cannon punches…

Compared to those, grabbing jerseys and stepping on toes was playground stuff.

...

"Timeout's over. Let's go!"

Tendou tossed his towel and stood up—

Then heard a familiar voice:

"Tendaai."

"Hmm?"

Only one person called him that—Murasakibara, the oversized kid.

"What's up?"

"You need to keep calm…"

Do you even hear yourself?

Tendou smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Just sit back and watch. I'll get payback for you."

"Hey, Tendou—don't do anything reckless!"

"Relax, captain. Things won't go the way you're imagining."

Tendou knew what Nijimura was worried about—

That he'd go out there and brawl. After all, Tendou had never been one to take a loss lying down.

He always settled scores on the spot.

...

The game resumed.

Teikō possession. The score: 8–8.

Nijimura took the inbound himself and brought it up.

He intended to show the younger players how to deal with a team like Musashi.

Use your brain. Use your eyes.

But Tendou had a much simpler—and more effective—method.

Before Nijimura even made a move, Tendou raised a hand, calling for the ball.

"What's he up to?" Nijimura wondered. After a moment's thought, he passed it over.

"Alright. Let's see what you've got."

Tendou caught the ball.

Musashi's players stepped up immediately with aggressive pressure.

"If I were you, I'd hand it off to Nijimura."

Before Tendou even made a move, his defender had already opened his mouth.

"Don't act like you can guard me."

"Go ahead. Try me."

The defender's expression was calm—no hint of what he was thinking.

Of course he knew who Tendou Kageyoshi was.

Musashi had to get past Teikō if they wanted to advance from group play.

They'd studied every player on the team.

Especially Tendou, who had put on highlight-reel performances in every match so far.

They had to admit—none of them could match Tendou's raw talent.

But that was because their team wasn't built on prodigies or stars.

They were ordinary.

Ordinary players.

Ordinary men.

And if they wanted to stand toe-to-toe with prodigies, they had to give up beauty and become beasts.

That's what their coach had drilled into them from day one.

"Know who you are. If you want to survive in the nationals, know what kind of player you are."

...

Tendou, of course, had no idea this guy had just mentally flashbacked through a whole sports anime.

And even if he had, he wouldn't care.

He lowered his center of gravity, quickened his dribble, steadied his breathing—

And then—

Whoosh!

He exploded out of nowhere, darting right past his man like a lightning bolt.

Tanaka Gorō marveled at his burst of speed, and reached out instantly to grab Tendou's jersey.

That was how they dealt with prodigies—

With fouls no one wanted to admit.

That was how they compensated for the gap in talent.

To them, prodigies weren't fair.

And the only way to make it fair—was to do whatever it took.

He was close.

His hand was just about to grab Tendou's jersey.

Perfect angle. Blind spot from the ref's line of sight.

"Got him!"

SMACK!

"Na—NANI?!"

Tanaka's pupils dilated.

Just as he was about to grab that jersey—

It felt like someone had just slashed his arm with a bamboo sword.

His hand trembled violently. But he saw… nothing.

Only Tendou Kageyoshi, gliding past him like a leopard.

And then—

SWISH!

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