The 31:22 score was like a thorn, piercing the hearts of the Hainan Team players.

But Takato Riki merely fanned himself, his voice cutting through the noise to reach the court: “Steady the rhythm, stick to the original plan.”

Maki Shinichi nodded, his gaze growing calmer as he dribbled the ball forward.

He didn’t rush to attack, instead deliberately slowing his pace, his eyes scanning for openings in Ryokufu’s defense.

Miyamasu and Jin Soichiro were like two precise chess pieces, constantly cutting and running off the three-point line, while Kiyota used his agile footwork to tie up James’s attention.

And to ensure the two shooters weren’t completely shut down, one player on the court was crucial—Maki Shinichi.

If he couldn’t break through Sato Tatsuya’s defense and create a real threat in Ryokufu’s paint, then Miyamasu and A Shen being double-teamed and their shooting space completely sealed off would likely be imminent.

On the court, Maki Shinichi’s gaze suddenly sharpened like a blade. The moment sweat dripped down his jawline, he abruptly lowered his center of gravity and charged towards Sato Tatsuya.

“Sato, take this!”

Before his words finished, his body had already shot out like an arrow from a bowstring, his arm muscles bulging, with a do-or-die momentum, determined to tear open this seemingly impregnable barrier.

An opportunity appeared in an instant—Ryokufu, in an unconscious move to defend against Maki Shinichi, tightened its defense on the wings.

Maki Shinichi flicked his wrist, and the basketball sailed over James’s fingertips, landing steadily in Jin Soichiro’s hands.

A Shen’s body was already turned towards the hoop as he received the ball; with almost no adjustment, he rose and shot.

“Swish!”

The basketball went through the net, 31:25.

“Great shot! A Shen!” The shouts from the Hainan Team bench made people’s eardrums tremble.

Takato Riki’s tightly pursed lips finally relaxed a little. He glanced at the Ryokufu coaching bench, his eyes holding a hint of challenge.

On Ryokufu’s offensive possession, Sato Tatsuya didn’t hesitate at all.

It was as if he had anticipated that the Hainan Team would rush to defend the perimeter. Instead, he first fed an inside pass to Na Takamitsu. After Kosha Kazuma got into position, Na Takamitsu suddenly made a wide-range cross-court pass, and the basketball flew to the right 45-degree angle—Mitsui Hisashi was already waiting there. He caught the ball, jumped, and shot, his movements so fast that people couldn’t react.

“Swish!”

Another swish from a three-pointer. 34:25.

As Mitsui landed, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, his gaze briefly meeting Jin Soichiro’s in the air. There was no hostility in that look, but a hidden, invisible rivalry.

“My goodness…” Aida Hikoichi nearly dropped the pen in his hand. “How long has it been? That’s already four three-pointers! A Shen and Mitsui senior are competing with each other!”

The spectators in the stands also erupted, a wave of discussions rising and falling.

“That shooter from Hainan Team is too steady, isn’t he? Every shot goes in!”

“That number 14 from Ryokufu isn’t bad either! Look at his release speed, it’s impossible to defend!”

“In terms of accuracy, I think Jin Soichiro is superior. Every ball is like it’s been drawn in!”

“But Mitsui Hisashi’s shooting is more intimidating! That fierce determination to shoot even when facing defense is too scary! Jin Soichiro definitely can’t do that.”

Taoka Moichi sat in the Ryonan bench area, unconsciously rubbing his chin, his gaze flickering between A Shen and Mitsui.

“A Shen’s shooting is like a precision instrument; every movement is so standard that you can’t find fault, this stability is cultivated over years and months; but Mitsui…”

He paused, his tone becoming more complex, “This kid’s shooting has a wild edge to it, like a hunter hidden in the dark. You’ll never guess when he’ll shoot or from what angle.”

Takato Riki appeared calm on the sidelines, but the knuckles gripping his tactical board were slightly white.

He, of course, knew how formidable Mitsui Hisashi was—that shooter who had won the MVP in middle school, once he found his touch, was like a beast unleashed from its shackles.

But he trusted A Shen more, trusted that almost instinctive precision honed day after day. “One more, A Shen.”

He murmured to himself, as if encouraging his disciple, and also as if cheering himself on.

Gu Jin leaned against the stands, his fingertips lightly tapping the railing.

He knew the stories of these two shooters better than anyone—one, through obsessive effort, had trained himself into a flawless artillery cannon;

the other, once lost, had found his purest love for basketball again.

At this moment, they were like two stars burning at opposite ends of the court, radiating different lights in the same way.

The game progressed with a back-and-forth three-point duel.

Hainan Team attacked. Miyamasu, using Kiyota’s screen, ran into open space, received the ball, and scored, 34:28;

Ryokufu’s possession. Sato Tatsuya drove and dished, Mitsui caught the ball in the corner and shot, swishing it, 37:28.

A Shen hit another pull-up three-pointer, 37:31;

Mitsui immediately countered with a running fadeaway shot, 40:31.

Each tremor of the net was accompanied by gasps from the audience;

Each jump of the scoreboard kept the score difference firmly at 9 points.

When the halftime whistle blew, the electronic screen clearly displayed 43:34.

Ryokufu led by 9 points.

The discussions on the sidelines reached their peak; almost everyone was talking about these three shooters—Miyamasu’s accuracy brought a surprise element of a “dark horse,” but ultimately fell slightly short;

while the duel between Jin Soichiro and Mitsui Hisashi became the most dazzling highlight of the half.

“Who exactly is the stronger shooter?” Aida Hikoichi murmured to himself, his pen hovering over his notebook for a long time, ultimately unable to write a single word.

Taoka Moichi let out a long sigh and looked at Gu Jin: “Now, the second half is going to be interesting.”

Gu Jin looked up at the court. A Shen was bending down to tie his shoelaces, his profile appearing exceptionally calm in the light;

while Mitsui Hisashi leaned against the backboard, tilting his head back to drink water, his Adam’s apple moving, an unquenchable fire burning in his eyes.

He suddenly smiled.

This answer, perhaps, would only be revealed at the moment the final whistle blew.