Fukuda had one personality trait in common with Sakuragi—
He refused to accept anyone.
No matter how strong Sendoh was, Fukuda would never feel discouraged. He would only keep challenging.
So after Nango scored, he immediately raised his hand, asking for the ball.
At the same time, Barkley—standing in the paint—also grew interested. Wanting to entertain the crowd, he extended his arm and called for the pass as well.
So the question became simple:
Fukuda or Barkley?
One was defended by Nango.
The other was guarded by a skinny passerby pinned helplessly behind him.
All it took was a proper lob for a dunk.
The answer was obvious.
Without hesitation, the ball handler tossed a high pass toward the basket.
"Damn—" Fukuda cursed, but stopped midway.
Because Nango had already moved.
Like an arrow released from a bow, he instantly abandoned Fukuda and dashed toward the passing lane.
He had been waiting for this moment.
The pass floated slowly—
And Nango leaped, intercepting it cleanly in mid-air.
Barkley frowned.
Kid… trying to steal my spotlight? The audience came to see me.
Sir Barkley decided to teach this bold youngster a lesson.
Nango dribbled out past the three-point line and turned back in.
Fukuda, who had recovered, lunged at him from behind.
Just before the collision, Nango planted his left foot and briefly halted.
Fukuda instinctively stopped.
Exactly what Nango wanted.
He accelerated again, slipped past, and drove toward the paint.
Barkley crouched low, eyes locked on him, wary of another jumper.
Seeing Barkley finally get serious, Nango's lips curved upward.
Aida Yayoi instantly raised her camera.
This is it.
Nango pushed to top speed, then suddenly changed direction toward the middle, as if avoiding Barkley entirely.
Barkley adjusted position, sneering inwardly.
Running faster won't help you. I'll send that shot flying.
They met on the left side of the rim.
Barkley had already read the footwork and prepared to block.
He could practically picture the highlight—
a massive rejection pinning Nango to the floor.
Then—
Nango stepped forward, toes angled inward, abruptly stopping.
The ball slid from his waist to above his head, transferred to his right hand as his body rotated to face the opposite side of the basket.
Barkley's eyes sharpened.
Not good.
Before he could react—
Nango took off off his right foot.
"Click!"
Under the basket, Barkley froze in surprise as Nango slipped past and released a low underhand layup.
The ball rolled gently into the hoop.
Swish.
Aida Yayoi captured the moment perfectly.
Nango exhaled.
He had deliberately used a quick scoop finish—anything higher might've been blocked.
Barkley muttered, puzzled:
"…Euro step?"
The move had already begun spreading through the NBA, so he recognized it immediately.
Getting scored on didn't enrage him—but it did sting.
More importantly—
It woke him up.
"Beautiful move!"
"I thought that was getting blocked!"
"No wonder he's the National Tournament MVP!"
The crowd erupted. Nango's name spread quickly, and expectations rose again.
This time, Barkley didn't wait in the paint.
He ran outside and demanded the ball.
The random defender glanced helplessly at Nango.
Please guard him.
Nango smiled and switched.
There wouldn't be another steal opportunity.
Now—
It was a head-on clash.
Compared to ordinary players, Nango was strong.
Compared to Barkley?
A child.
Barkley — 198 cm, 218 cm wingspan, about 125 kg offseason weight.
Nango — 193 cm, 199 cm wingspan, 90 kg.
Lightweight versus heavyweight.
And this was Barkley at the peak of his career—season MVP.
Even out of shape, the gap was absurd.
Barkley lowered his center of gravity, gripping the ball in his right hand.
Nango spread his arms, stance steady, ready to move.
Barkley approved slightly.
But approval meant nothing.
He suddenly accelerated.
Left arm nudged Nango aside—
Then powered straight into the lane.
Not fast.
But every step carried terrifying force.
Like a tiger descending the mountain—unstoppable.
Before reaching the restricted area, he gathered and jumped.
The massive body rose.
Both hands cocked the ball behind his head—
BANG!!!
The rim shook violently.
"Holy—what a dunk!"
"That's an NBA superstar!"
"And Jordan beat THIS guy?! How strong is Jordan?!"
Barkley raised his arms and soaked in the cheers.
Fortunately, he didn't understand Japanese.
On the other side, Nango—completely overpowered—wasn't discouraged at all.
Instead, a thought appeared.
Why chase recordings of the Wolf King or the Heavenly King?
Wasn't the perfect model standing right in front of him?
Even if he couldn't get their game footage—
He could definitely get Barkley's.