Slam Dunk:Starting with perfect copy

The ball sailed through the air, a smooth arc that seemed to slow time itself. Swish! The net snapped, the score ticking up to 25:48.

For a moment, everything was silent—Machida Sansho's players stared, their mouths agape, their minds struggling to comprehend what had just happened. The precision, the calmness under pressure, and the sheer audacity of Kenichi Uesugi's three-pointer left them stunned.

On the Ryonan bench, the atmosphere shifted. Kenichi Uesugi and Sendoh exchanged knowing glances. The tension between the two teams was palpable.

Kitagawa Akihiko clenched his fists, a cold sweat trickling down his back. He had underestimated Ryonan, thinking that the absence of their main stars would give Machida Sansho the upper hand. But in an instant, the game had completely changed.

From the corner of his eye, Kitagawa saw Taoka Moichi, still seated calmly. His expression had shifted—gone was the indifferent smile, replaced by something more deliberate, more calculating. It was clear now: this wasn't just a training game for Ryonan. It was a message.

Machida Sansho quickly regained their composure, but the sting of Uesugi's three-pointer lingered. They couldn't shake the feeling that Ryonan, despite the score, was now playing on their terms. The confidence they had built in the first half was beginning to crumble.

Jiro Inoshita, still reeling from the previous play, glared at Uesugi. "You think you can turn this around with just a shot?" he muttered under his breath, trying to rally his teammates. But the tension was already growing.

"Don't let them get comfortable!" shouted Kasahara, the power forward, trying to steer the team back into the game. They had to act quickly to regain the momentum.

But Ryonan's response was swift. The next few minutes saw Uesugi and Sendoh working in perfect sync. They had clearly grown even stronger since the beginning of the game, their timing sharper, their passes crisper. On the other side, Machida Sansho's defense began to fray at the edges.

Fukuda, having struggled earlier, found his rhythm in the second half. He intercepted a pass meant for Kasahara, who was moving to the basket. Without hesitation, he passed to Koshino, who sprinted down the court, weaving between defenders. He pulled up for a quick jumper just inside the three-point line—swish! The scoreboard now read 27:48.

"Unbelievable," Kitagawa whispered, his voice tight. He had expected a challenge, but he hadn't expected this kind of resurgence from Ryonan. Despite the large deficit, they were playing with a precision that Machida Sansho had failed to replicate.

On the court, Ryonan's defense tightened. Yuzumi and Sendoh patrolled the paint, preventing any easy shots. Kenichi Uesugi, with his usual calm demeanor, was orchestrating the offense with remarkable poise. The rhythm of the game had completely shifted in Ryonan's favor.

And then, it happened again.

Kasahara, still rattled from his earlier failed shot, tried to push through Uesugi but was met with a quick flick of the wrist—Uesugi stole the ball cleanly. Within seconds, he passed it upcourt to Sendoh, who was already in motion. As the ball left Sendoh's hand, time seemed to slow, and the crowd held its breath. The ball swished through the net—another three-pointer, 30:48.

At this point, even Machida Sansho's captain, Jiro Inoshita, couldn't suppress a frown. The pressure was mounting, and the tide had undeniably turned. Ryonan, fueled by Taoka Moichi's calm yet calculated moves, had put Machida Sansho on the back foot.

Kitagawa Akihiko shot Taoka Moichi another glance, this time with a mixture of irritation and grudging respect. His initial confidence had been shaken. The true nature of Ryonan's strategy had become clear: they weren't just trying to win. They were building something bigger than a simple victory—they were showing him, and everyone watching, exactly why they were the true champions of Kanagawa.

The game continued, but Machida Sansho's previous swagger had all but disappeared. Every play was met with fierce resistance, every shot contested. And at every turn, it became clearer: Ryonan, under Taoka Moichi's leadership, was not a team to be underestimated.

From the bench, Kenichi Uesugi's smirk said it all. "Game on," he muttered. The challenge had only just begun, and Machida Sansho still had no idea what they were truly up against.