[KNB] Chapter : 20

First Quarter Break.

As Han returned to the bench, a teammate quickly made space for him without hesitation.
His first-quarter performance had been devastating—a perfect balance of offense and defense, carrying the team like a true MVP.

Even Yamanaka Yuta, who had also been crushed by Han during scrimmage, felt a little better seeing Ayumi Yoshizawa suffer the same fate.

"This is how it is, man. As long as someone has it worse than you, suddenly life doesn't seem so bad."

Happiness… sometimes it's just a matter of comparison.

“Nice work out there. Keep it up.”
“Oh!” Han responded, accepting the towel from Nijimura and wiping the sweat from his face.

To be honest, the basketball level in this world was… insanely high.

In his past life, none of the junior high players he’d faced had even come close to the monsters here.

Then again, he was still technically a junior high student. Beating up "kids" like this was… kinda overkill.

“Is the competition just weak, or is Teikō just that strong?”

‘Obviously it’s Teikō—don’t you know how stacked this team is?’
‘11 points and 5 steals in one quarter… that’s just broken.’
‘Let him cook! Damn!’
‘2D geniuses are wild. Meanwhile, my poor Kuroko just watches from the sidelines…’

With nothing better to do, Han opened the barrage comments and, unsurprisingly, found his fans losing their minds again.

Handsome. Brilliant. Flashy.
Everything a protagonist should be.

But this level wasn’t enough. Not yet.

That one-on-one match with Aomine Daiki had made it painfully clear:
Even though he was stronger right now, it wouldn’t last.

“Once Aomine hits his stride in second year, his growth will skyrocket.”
That explosive style, that overwhelming presence—that was the kind of "value" people remembered.

Right now, Han was a genius.
But to win, he’d have to become a monster.

“Let’s hope the system unlocks new abilities soon…” he thought, eyes narrowing.

Second Quarter Begins.

Han remained benched.

Coach Shirogane was notoriously strict about playing time. These were still teenagers, and their bodies couldn’t handle full-court pressure for the entire game.

His ideal rotation? 25 minutes per player.
Unless it was a make-or-break situation, he never deviated.

Fortunately, this year’s Teikō bench was deep—scarily deep.

For the second quarter, Shirogane swapped out the entire lineup.
Five in. Five out.

Out went Han, Atsushi, and Nijimura.
In came Akashi, Aomine, Midorima, Hara, and a new center.

It was a bold move—almost insulting.

Kawasaki’s coach was fuming.
Their players took it as mockery.

“Do they think this is a warm-up match?”

Fueled by anger, Ayumi Yoshizawa swore to force Han back onto the court.
But despite scoring more easily without Teikō’s twin defensive pillars, Kawasaki still couldn’t tip the balance.

Their stars finally got buckets—sure.
But defensively? They were being shredded.

Aomine Daiki drove into the paint like a freight train.
Midorima drilled impossible threes from near half-court.
And Akashi Seijūrō, that unassuming, refined-looking playmaker—
He dissected their defense with surgical precision.

Every pass landed exactly where they least wanted it to.

Kawasaki managed 21 points in the quarter…
But Teikō?
They dropped 30.

Halftime score: Teikō 58 – Kawasaki 31.

A 27-point beatdown.
In just two quarters.

And Teikō hadn’t even played their full-strength lineup together yet.

Kawasaki’s players trudged to the bench, faces pale with frustration.

They weren’t just losing—they were being dismantled.
And the worst part?

It didn’t matter who Teikō subbed in.
Every player was elite.

“I win!” Aomine declared as he came off the court, practically glowing.
“Han! I scored more than you!”

Han raised a brow, drying his sweat with the towel.

“Wow. Four more points than me. So impressive.”

His tone dripped with sarcasm—the deadliest shade of mockery.

Aomine’s smile twitched.

“I—Hey! You didn’t even play the second quarter!”

“Exactly. You played a whole quarter. And only scored four more than I did. Not much to brag about, is it?”

That stung.

Aomine had gone full offense mode in Q2—inside shots, long jumpers, flashy moves—hitting 66% from the field.

But Han’s Q1 shooting percentage?
85%.
Most of his points came off clean, vicious fast-break finishes.

“Scoring is what matters, right? That’s what you said, isn’t it?” Aomine shot back.

“Mm. Sure. If it makes you sleep better.” Han smirked.

“Basketball is the only thing I refuse to lose to you in,” Aomine muttered under his breath.

He could accept being less handsome, less clever, maybe even less popular.
But not less talented.
Not in basketball.

“Keep talking. After the game… let’s settle this one-on-one.”

“Gladly,” Han replied, eyes glinting.

"Alright! If you lose, you’re washing my stinky socks for a week!"

“...Fine! But if you lose, you're washing mine!”

Aomine Daiki threw down the challenge, though his voice trembled with a noticeable lack of confidence. Still, pride wouldn't let him back down.

From the sidelines, Coach Shirogane narrowed his eyes at the two cocky first-years. These kids were already joking and placing bets before the game had even finished.

"Too arrogant. Too relaxed."

“You think this is over already?”

He barked: "Han! Aomine! Ten laps. Now."

"Huh?"

"Right now?"

Both boys froze, still catching their breath from their earlier performance.

"You know the match isn’t over yet, don’t you?"

The coach’s voice was sharp enough to slice through steel.

"Then why are you slacking off and yapping like old uncles at a tea stall? If you don’t finish the laps before the end of the game—make it twenty laps instead. Now move. Run!"

"Tch—damn it!"

"Ugh, why do we always get the demon coach?"

Muttering under their breath, Han and Aomine began to jog.

Aomine groaned inwardly. He had gone all out in the second quarter and, as a true basketball fanatic, had never even considered pacing himself. The adrenaline had worn off, and his legs now felt like jelly.

In contrast, Han had been benched for the entire second quarter. He was still fresh—and he made sure Aomine knew it.

“C’mon, turtle. Keep jogging at that pace and you’ll be sucking in my dust by lap two.”

He picked up his speed, pulling ahead with a smug grin.

That did it.

Aomine’s pride snapped back into focus like a rubber band. Gritting his teeth, he surged forward.

“You think I’ll let you get ahead of me?!”

From the sidelines, Momoi Satsuki let out a long, exasperated sigh and covered her face with both hands.

“Idiots. Complete, utter idiots.”

Beside her, Riko folded her arms and watched the two with a deadpan look.

“One’s teasing a teenager like it’s his job, the other’s actually falling for it.”

She sighed.

“No shame. Zero emotional maturity.”