Night fell over the hotel, and in Taoka Moichi’s room, the light slanted across the open tactic board.

Ryonan’s main players sat around the bed and on chairs, their faces showing intense focus.

“Sit up straight, everyone.” Taoka Moichi tapped the tactic board, where several school names were circled in red pen. “At this point in the National Tournament, the strong teams have already emerged.

Meihou Industrial, Sannoh Industrial, Hainan, Aiwa, Daiei, and our Ryonan—these teams have the strongest momentum.”

He paused, his finger tapping on the words “Hainan”: “Hainan particularly needs to be mentioned.

Their victory against Hakata Shodai High School today was not luck.”

Gu Jin leaned against the wall, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing a mineral water bottle: “They are improving very fast. Hikoichi and I watched Hakata Shodai High School’s games; Hakata Shodai is very strong, but they lost to Hainan today.”

“Alarmingly fast,” Taoka Moichi said in a deep voice. “From the Prefectural Tournament when we played them, to now, it’s only been a little over a month. Maki Shinichi’s breakthroughs are more aggressive, and Jin Soichiro’s shooting range is even further. What does this indicate? It shows that no one stands still. If we dare to underestimate them, we will be the next to be eliminated.”

Sendoh twirled his pen, then suddenly smiled: “Is Coach afraid that if we win against Qingfeng, our egos will swell to the sky?”

“I’m afraid you’ll forget that the National Tournament is full of hidden dragons and crouching tigers!” Taoka glared at him, then changed the subject, “Our next opponent is Kinzan Commercial.”

He pulled several photos from a file bag, all close-ups of Kinzan Commercial players in action, and handed them out to everyone: “This team has no other special characteristic, just one word—tall.”

Fukuda took the photos, his eyes wide: “That center must be two meters one, right?”

“208 centimeters, named Keita Takahashi,” Taoka Moichi drew a large circle on the tactic board. “Their starting five have an average height of over 190 centimeters, with the shortest point guard being 185 centimeters.

Their inside game is a twin tower setup. Besides Takahashi, they also have a 198-centimeter power forward, Miyazaki Ken.”

Aida Hikoichi quickly flipped through his notebook, muttering to himself: “Wait, I have detailed information here.”

“Number 4, Keita Takahashi: Height 208 cm, Weight 120 kg, plays Center.

As the team’s interior pillar, he has a clear height advantage, strong defensive and rebounding abilities under the basket, and on offense, he excels at post-ups and put-backs.

Has a peculiar habit, details unknown!

Number 6, Miyazaki Ken: Height 198 cm, Weight 115 kg, plays Power Forward.

He has excellent physical conditioning, strong confrontational ability, can drive hard under the basket, and can also pull up for mid-range shots. He has a wide defensive range.

Number 9, Uesugi Yu: Height 185 cm, Weight 85 kg, is the team’s Point Guard.

Extremely fast, first-class breakthrough ability, wide passing vision, capable of effectively organizing the team’s offense and setting the team’s pace.

Number 10, Yamamoto Sho: Height 191 cm, Weight 90 kg, plays Small Forward.

Possesses good shooting ability and breakthrough skills, can score for the team on offense, and also has certain defensive capabilities.

Number 12, Shunsuke Nakamura: Height 190 cm, Weight 88 kg, plays Shooting Guard.

His three-point shooting ability is quite outstanding, making him an important scoring threat from the perimeter, and he also excels at using breakthroughs to create fouls.”

After Aida Hikoichi finished speaking, Ikegami looked at Sakuragi and began to analyze: “Their average height is taller than ours. On our side, Uozumi is 202 cm, Gu Jin and Sendoh are 190 cm, you are 189 cm, Fukuda is 188 cm—in terms of matchups, you’ll have a tougher time.”

“Ha?!” Sakuragi Hanamichi, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, suddenly puffed out his neck, his voice abruptly rising, “Ikegami, what do you mean by that? So I’m the only one who can’t handle that guy?”

He slammed his fist onto a nearby chair, “What’s wrong with 189 cm? This genius’s jumping ability and reaction time can leave those big lummoxes eight blocks behind! Last time I matched up against Takasago, wasn’t he stronger than me? And wasn’t I still exploding with rebounds against him?!”

Ikegami didn’t respond, only turning his head slightly. 198 cm, 115 kg.

He knew Sakuragi’s fiery temper too well; rather than argue, it was better to save that drive for tomorrow’s court.

“Alright,” Uozumi said in a deep voice, “Ikegami is just stating the facts, Sakuragi, don’t get all riled up. Tomorrow, use your footwork more in matchups, and avoid clashing head-on with him. Your advantage is agility.”

Sakuragi immediately glared at Uozumi: “Boss Monkey, are you looking down on me too?!”

Sendoh laughed, playing peacemaker: “Sakuragi’s explosiveness is a secret weapon against tall players.

But, well—” he blinked, “tomorrow, remember not to jump around recklessly, be careful of getting called for a foul.”

Sakuragi then let out a triumphant snort, giving Ikegami a fierce glare: “Just you wait! Tomorrow, I’ll let that Miyazaki Ken know what a genius is capable of!”

“They’re not without weaknesses either,” Gu Jin suddenly spoke, pointing at a moving shot of Keita Takahashi in the photo. “With such a tall stature, his movement speed must be slow. Their defensive range probably only extends to the free-throw line.”

Taoka Moichi nodded: “That’s right. So, next game, we need to play fast—and there needs to be a personnel adjustment.”

He pushed the tactic board to the center, tapping his finger next to the words “Starting Lineup”: “Uekusa, you’ll replace Sakuragi in the starting lineup.”

As soon as he said this, Sakuragi Hanamichi jumped up as if he’d been electrocuted: “What?! Coach, what did you say? Why replace me? Is that guy faster than me? Does he rebound as fiercely as me?!”

Taoka Moichi didn’t look at him, continuing to Uekusa: “You’ll play point guard, Sendoh will play shooting guard. Uekusa, you need to coordinate with Sendoh and Gu Jin’s fast breaks. Our counterattack speed needs to go up another gear.” Then, turning to Gu Jin, “You’ll play power forward tomorrow.”

Gu Jin raised an eyebrow: “Guard Miyazaki Ken?”

“Yes,” Taoka drew an arrow on the tactic board, pointing from Gu Jin’s position to the 198-centimeter power forward icon. “He’s tall and strong, but your footwork is more agile than his, and you won’t be at a disadvantage in terms of strength. When switching, stick to him tightly, don’t let him receive the ball comfortably under the basket.”

“Why?!” Sakuragi’s voice was loud enough to lift the roof. “That 198-centimeter lummox should be handled by me, the genius Sakuragi Hanamichi! Why is Gu Jin stealing my position? Coach, are you playing favorites?!”

Taoka suddenly turned and glared at him: “Sit down!”

Sakuragi was subdued by that look, sullenly sitting back in his chair, still muttering: “This genius is the rebound king… why won’t they let me start…”

“This is a tactical arrangement.” Taoka’s voice was as heavy as a stone. “With Uekusa in, Sendoh can participate in fast breaks, and the overall flow will be smoother.

Gu Jin will guard Sato Ken; his mobility is better than yours. Save your drive; when it’s your turn to play, you’ll naturally be sent in—and if you mess up then, see how I deal with you.”

Sakuragi clenched his fists, his cheeks puffed out, but he didn’t retort again—he knew that once Taoka used that tone, there was no room for discussion.

Gu Jin tapped his knee with his fingertips, then suddenly spoke: “I have no problem.”

“If he pulls out for a mid-range shot, I’ll help with the defense,” Sendoh chimed in, smiling.

Uekusa nervously clenched his fingers, then quickly released them, looking up and saying: “Don’t worry, Coach, I’ll keep up with the pace.”

Taoka nodded in satisfaction, pointing back to the tactic board: “So remember—fast breaks must be like lightning, and switching defenses must be like a chain. Gu Jin, stick to Miyazaki Ken; Sendoh, control the pace; Fukuda, you need to cut on both sides; Uozumi, guard the paint.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone: “Don’t be intimidated by their height. Basketball isn’t about who’s taller; it’s about who knows how to win.”

Gu Jin glanced at Sakuragi, who was sulking at the wall, the back of his head radiating defiance.

As he withdrew his gaze, it met Sendoh’s, and a layer of amusement appeared in both their eyes—a new lineup, a new strategy; this battle was likely to be even more interesting.

The neon lights outside still flickered, but the air in the room was tenser than before.

Sakuragi’s breathing still carried a huffy rhythm, but everyone understood that the coach’s arrangement held deeper calculations.

Tomorrow’s court would not just be a tough battle, but a gamble on speed and adaptability.