Mura-Mura's chest heaved violently, beads of sweat rolled down his face, hitting the floor and forming small dark stains. He straightened up, staring intently at Fujima, his voice filled with a desperate resolve: "Fujima, I was originally saving this move to deal with Hainan and A Mu. It seems I'll have to use it early."

As soon as he spoke, the court instantly fell silent.

The murmurs from the stands ceased abruptly, and everyone's gaze focused on Mura-Mura.

"A trump card to deal with Hainan and A Mu?" Someone couldn't help but whisper, their eyes full of curiosity, "Miura Dai's captain is hiding such a powerful killer move?"

"If he considers it a trump card, it can't be simple, right? He's been suppressed by Fujima for so long, maybe this move can turn the tide?"

"Look, he's moving!"

On the court, Mura-Mura took a deep breath and suddenly walked towards the free-throw line. His steps were slow, each one seemingly accumulating strength, his eyes holding an almost eerie certainty.

Fujima stood still, only the basketball on his fingertips stopped spinning, his gaze calmly fixed on his opponent.

After Mura-Mura reached the free-throw line, he didn't attack immediately; instead, he turned his back, facing the hoop.

"Back to the hoop? What's he going to do?" Someone in the stands exclaimed.

Gu Jin raised an eyebrow slightly; this posture was rare in 1v1. Could it be a special shooting method?

Just as everyone was wondering, Mura-Mura suddenly moved. He sharply jerked his shoulder back, his upper body quickly twisted, his right hand naturally lifted from his side, and his wrist flicked—the basketball arced from his fingertips, flying towards the hoop.

It was a hook shot! And a hook shot with his back to the free-throw line!

The ball's trajectory in the air wasn't perfect, even a little wobbly, but it accurately passed through the net, "swish"—a clean shot.

3:1!

Mura-Mura spun around after landing, an uncontrollable smugness on his face. He lifted his chin at Fujima: "How's that? This move is pretty good, right?"

Fujima looked at him, his face expressionless, his tone even carrying a hint of mild exasperation: "That's it? You said this move was for Hainan and A Mu?"

Mura-Mura's smile froze, as if he hadn't expected this reaction. He stiffened his neck and pressed: "How was it? The ball went in, didn't it!"

"Not bad..." Fujima gently patted the basketball, the calmness in his eyes almost turning into helplessness, "I was just somewhat anticipating how you'd attack, and I didn't expect you to use a hook shot from the free-throw line, which is why I let you get lucky with one shot."

He paused, then added: "If I had known your so-called trump card was this, you wouldn't have had a chance to shoot."

A burst of laughter erupted in the stands.

"A trump card? A hook shot from the free-throw line?" Someone laughed so hard they couldn't stand straight, "What kind of trump card is that!"

"Hahaha, actually, it *is* a 'trump card' in a way. To hook it in from that far, his arm strength is decent, but... isn't it too ordinary?"

"I thought it was some earth-shattering move. After all that, it's just this. Is Mura-Mura perhaps dazed from being beaten?"

Mura-Mura listened to the surrounding comments, his face turning crimson. The pride from his shot instantly vanished without a trace, leaving only the anger of being humiliated. He clenched his fists, his gaze at Fujima seemingly spitting fire: "Don't you look down on people! This move isn't that simple!"

Fujima ignored him, simply bending down to pick up the basketball from the ground and patting it twice.

The sunlight still slanted across the court, but at this moment, everyone could clearly see—Mura-Mura's trump card was truly unpresentable in front of Fujima.

Fujima looked at him, "If this is your only trump card, then the game should end."

"Don't talk big!" Mura-Mura's roar drowned out the laughter from the stands. He pointed at the hoop, his chest heaving violently, "I've practiced this move to 80% accuracy, you can't guard it at all!"

Fujima didn't reply, simply tossing the basketball into the air and catching it steadily.

As he dribbled forward, his footsteps were half a beat faster than before, and the rhythm of his fingertips was no longer a leisurely piano, but a rapid drumbeat.

Mura-Mura immediately tensed up, spreading his arms and lowering his center of gravity. This time he was smarter; he didn't rush to steal the ball, only wanting to defend Fujima's offense.

But Fujima didn't give him any chance to react.

Half a step inside the three-point line, he suddenly stopped short and jumped, his body leaning back slightly in the air.

Mura-Mura instinctively jumped to block, and Fujima, using the momentum and angle of his lean, completed the shot, brushing past Mura-Mura's palm.

4:1!

"This... this is a fadeaway jumper? A fadeaway jumper from such a distance?" Someone in the stands rubbed their eyes; the quick hand-switch in that instant was so fast it felt like an illusion.

Mura-Mura received the ball, intending to use the same trick again, but Fujima gave him no opportunity, instantly circling behind him to steal the ball.

In the stands, Maki Shinichi's eyes were grave; it seemed Fujima's improvement was significant.

On the court.

Mura-Mura hadn't even stabilized himself when Fujima had already retreated with the ball beyond the three-point line.

This time he didn't even dribble, just slightly bent his knees and, a second before Mura-Mura rushed at him, jumped for a pull-up shot.

The basketball flew with a spin, drawing a straight line in the air, accurately falling into the hoop.

5:1!

"Three-pointer! It's a three-pointer!"

As Fujima landed, his gaze swept over Mura-Mura's stiff face, his tone flat: "Your 80% accurate trump card needs to be able to be shot first."

Mura-Mura, like a provoked beast, violently grabbed the basketball and rushed to the free-throw line, turning his back again.

He took a deep breath, repeating the shoulder-shrug, turn, and hook shot from before—but this time, Fujima was prepared.

The moment he turned, Fujima had already quickly lunged in front of him. He didn't even go for the ball.

He simply covered Mura-Mura's eyes. Mura-Mura tensed up and shot hastily.

Mura-Mura's hook shot went off course; the basketball didn't even touch the rim, flying straight out of bounds.

"Air ball! And out of bounds!" Someone in the stands deliberately drew out their voice, shouting, followed by even louder laughter.

"Hahaha, what kind of trump card is this, it's clearly a pass! Too bad, this is 1v1, there's no Miura Dai center under the basket to catch it!"

"Exactly, he was just bragging about 80% accuracy, is this part of that 20%?"

The taunts pricked Mura-Mura like needles; his face alternated between red and white, his hands tightly gripping the hem of his jersey, his knuckles turning white.

The referee signaled an out-of-bounds ball, and possession returned to Fujima.

Fujima walked to the sideline, bent down to pick up the basketball, and gently tapped the surface with his fingertips.

He looked up at Mura-Mura, who had his head down, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if he no longer had the courage to look up at him.

Fujima said nothing, simply tossed the ball into the air, caught it steadily again, and prepared to inbound.

The sunlight fell on his face, his composure and calmness forming a stark contrast with the exasperated Mura-Mura on the sidelines.

Gu Jin in the stands shook his head; this duel had no suspense from the start. Mura-Mura's so-called "trump card" merely accelerated his own defeat.

The next few minutes became Fujima's personal show.

He no longer held back any strength; his footwork during change-of-direction dribbles was so fast it blurred, his pull-up jumper arcs were always precise, and in one fast break, he even directly dunked with one hand over the jumping, blocking Mura-Mura.

Fujima could dunk? Gu Jin was stunned!

It seems Shoyo really limited Fujima's development too much.

A 178-centimeter dunk is extremely visually impactful!!!

Next, the whoosh of the basketball passing through the hoop intertwined with Mura-Mura's gasps after repeated errors.

The numbers on the scoreboard kept ticking: 6:1, 7:1, 8:1... Mura-Mura was still stubbornly trying his "trump card," but either Fujima directly blocked him, or the basketball bounced off the rim.

That so-called "80% accuracy" couldn't even achieve a 10% success rate in the face of an absolute disparity in skill.

When Fujima hit another jumper from beyond the three-point line, setting the score at 10:1, the referee blew the final whistle.

"Game over! Fujima Kenji wins!"

Mura-Mura stood frozen, his jersey soaked with sweat, his hands hanging at his sides, his eyes staring blankly at the floor.

His once-proud "trump card" now seemed like a joke.

Gu Jin in the stands let out a soft sigh, a hint of helpless emotion in his eyes.

The people of Miura Dai were truly mysteriously overconfident.

Despite a vast difference in strength, they always felt they could make a comeback with one or two "trump cards."

The most terrifying thing is that they constantly benchmark themselves only against the Hainan Team, which is truly absurd!

Just like that free-throw line hook shot, let alone dealing with Hainan's A Mu, it probably couldn't even fool an ordinary starting point guard, yet Mura-Mura truly regarded it as capital to compete against top players.

He turned his head to the center of the court, where Fujima was bending down to tie his shoelaces, his movements still calm, as if the 10:1 victory just now was merely a shooting practice session in the afternoon.

Gu Jin suddenly felt that perhaps everyone had truly underestimated Fujima Kenji.

This player, always overshadowed by the "strongest support" label, the sharpness hidden behind his passes, was far more potent than imagined.

He is very difficult to deal with!!!