“You’re really asking for it!”

As the Rolls-Royce drove away from the street corner, Fujisawa Eri watched the ramen stall shrink in the rearview mirror, her fingertips tapping lightly on the leather seat.

Shimamura Yoko’s phrase, “No amount of money will do,” pricked her like a fine thorn, making her inexplicably annoyed—yet from this annoyance, an even more stubborn thought emerged.

“Check Gu Jin’s schedule for tomorrow,” she told her secretary in the front seat. “Also, I want a flawless plan.”

The secretary was momentarily stunned, then immediately responded, “Yes.”

The next day, the zero-score incident from the first round of the Public Welfare Cup basketball one-on-one tournament began to spread.

The front page of the Kanagawa Sports Daily featured a bold headline, “The 10:0 Battle for Dignity,” accompanied by a side-by-side photo of Gu Jin’s profile as he wiped sweat and a close-up of Kiyota’s clenched fist. Kawasaki’s and Taoka’s comments were excerpted and enlarged, and even Takato Riki’s remark about “leaving room” became a hot topic of discussion.

Outside the Kanagawa Prefecture basketball arena, a large number of reporters had gathered early in the morning.

As Gu Jin walked into the players’ tunnel, the flashing lights made him squint.

“Gu Jin, do you still stand by your statement that ‘a zero-score is the greatest respect’?”

“Facing Maki Shinichi’s declaration of war, do you really have the confidence to achieve another zero-score?”

“There are rumors that Ryokufu High School is trying to poach you with a high salary. What are your thoughts on this?”

Taoka Moichi stood in front of Gu Jin with his hands on his hips, his voice even louder than yesterday: “Move aside, everyone! The game is about to start, no interviews before the game!

If you want to write a report, wait until the next round—Gu Jin will show you what to write with his skill!”

The reporters were pushed back half a step by him but remained persistent.

Gu Jin walked straight through the crowd.

When the matchup list for the second round of the Public Welfare Cup was first announced, the discussions in the gymnasium never stopped—Gu Jin against Rukawa Kaede, this practically nailed the words “focus match” onto the schedule.

In the center of the court, a young man in a Shohoku red training uniform was bending down to tie his shoelaces.

His black hair fell across his forehead, revealing a stern profile, and his fingertips tied a neat knot in his shoelaces.

Hearing footsteps, he lifted his eyelids and glanced over, his eyes devoid of emotion, seemingly indifferent to everything.

Although Rukawa Kaede was a newcomer, he was indeed rated A, with a score of 83 points.

If it weren’t for Fuchu Junior High’s less-than-satisfactory performance in their last junior high league, Rukawa Kaede’s rating might have been even higher.

After all, he didn’t have as good an opportunity as Gu Jin to face a National Tournament quarter-finalist team before his rating.

However, after yesterday’s game, Rukawa Kaede’s popularity suddenly increased.

Coupled with the lingering afterglow of Kiyota’s zero-score, and Shohoku’s talented forward facing Gu Jin, he once again gained attention.

He had already become the most likely candidate for “revenge” in some people’s eyes.

On the court, Rukawa Kaede’s black pupils reflected Gu Jin opposite him.

He didn’t make threats like Kiyota, but his knuckles, gripping the basketball tightly, turned white—watching Gu Jin’s zero-score game against Kiyota yesterday, those unflashy yet deadly dribbles, those terrifyingly accurate shots, ignited the competitive spirit in his blood.

“Start,” the referee signaled.

Gu Jin took possession of the ball first.

He wasn’t in a hurry to break through, just slowly dribbled the ball, his gaze sweeping over Rukawa Kaede’s stance.

This simple action, to Rukawa Kaede, seemed like a silent provocation.

He lowered his center of gravity, his defensive posture as perfect as a textbook, his eyes locked firmly on Gu Jin’s wrist.

Suddenly, Gu Jin moved.

With an almost instantaneous change of direction and acceleration, the basketball seemed to come alive in his hands, gliding across the floor in a strange arc.

Rukawa Kaede reacted quickly, moving sideways to block, but Gu Jin shook him off by half a step with a behind-the-back dribble without slowing down—in that half-step gap, Gu Jin had already jumped, his wrist flicking lightly, and the basketball traced a straight parabolic arc.

“Swish!” It went through the net without touching the rim.

1:0.

Rukawa Kaede’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

The rhythm of that change of direction was too tricky, as if deliberately timed to his moment of shifting his center of gravity.

As he bent down to pick up the ball, his fingertips pressed hard against the surface of the ball—this was just the beginning.

Gu Jin took possession of the ball again and initiated an attack.

Rukawa Kaede lowered his center of gravity, his gaze as sharp as an eagle, locking onto his dribbling trajectory.

But Gu Jin’s footwork was harder to predict than in the videos; after an accelerated breakthrough, he suddenly stopped short, then immediately followed with a crossover step change of direction, slipping past Rukawa Kaede like a loach.

Rukawa Kaede sharply turned to chase and defend, his long arm almost reaching the basketball, but Gu Jin deftly executed a high lob, and the basketball sailed over his fingertips into the hoop.

2:0.

As Gu Jin landed, the sensation of controlling the ball still lingered on his fingertips.

According to the rules, he got possession of the ball again, standing outside the three-point line, preparing for the next offense.

Low gasps could be heard from the sidelines.

Two consecutive shots, and Rukawa Kaede hadn’t gained any advantage.

Rukawa Kaede stood still, sweat dripping from his temples onto the floor.

He stared at the ball in Gu Jin’s hand, his eyes burning with fire.

Two points down?

It didn’t matter.

He was never one to be defeated by such a small difference.

“Again,” he said, his voice deeper than usual.

This time, Rukawa Kaede’s defense suddenly changed.

If before it was standard, now it was frenzied.

As Gu Jin dribbled, he could clearly feel Rukawa Kaede’s oppressive presence—almost pressing against his side, his breath on his neck, his arms like iron clamps constantly interfering, even his slight shoulder fakes were watched intently.

Gu Jin tried to change direction, and Rukawa Kaede moved in sync as if stuck to him;

He wanted to dribble behind his back, but as soon as his wrist touched the ball, Rukawa Kaede’s hand was already there;

Even a subtle shooting fake would cause Rukawa Kaede to jump instantly to block.

This guy… was he planning to lock him down with this suffocating defense?

Gu Jin, on the contrary, felt a surge of interest.

He sped up his dribbling rhythm, executing various skilled moves one after another. On the court, only the “thump-thump” of the basketball hitting the floor and the sound of their rapid footsteps remained.

Rukawa Kaede had only one thought in his mind: he couldn’t let him score again.

Every slide, every reach, every jump, was concentrated with his full attention.

The muscle soreness, the rapid breathing—he ignored it all. In his eyes, there was only Gu Jin and the basketball.

This offensive and defensive play lasted a full minute.

When Gu Jin finally found a gap and turned to prepare for a jump shot, Rukawa Kaede almost flew in from diagonally behind, his long arm covering like a lid, with the sound of cutting through the wind.

The basketball still went in, grazing the backboard.

3:0.

Rukawa Kaede stumbled upon landing but immediately steadied himself, looking at Gu Jin with unconcealed stubbornness in his eyes—I will never give up.

The referee signaled Gu Jin to continue with possession. Gu Jin bent down to pick up the basketball, his fingertips quickly rubbing its surface.

Rukawa Kaede’s block just now had indeed made him feel pressured.

Moreover, scoring in front of Rukawa Kaede had consumed a lot of his stamina.

Sure enough, Rukawa Kaede and Kiyota Nobunaga were both highly anticipated newcomers, but Rukawa Kaede was at least one level stronger than Kiyota Nobunaga at this stage.

Gu Jin looked at the increasingly fierce fire in Rukawa Kaede’s eyes, and a very faint curve finally appeared at the corner of his mouth.

He knew that this showdown had just begun.