The videotape whirred with a faint electrical hum.
The image gradually came into focus.
Last year's National Tournament semifinals: Kainan High versus Sannoh High.
"So this was last year's Final Four matchup…"
Kogure Kiminobu adjusted his glasses, hardly daring to breathe.
"Keep your eyes on the screen."
Coach Anzai sat in an armchair, both hands resting atop his cane.
The score on the screen was shocking.
Ten minutes into the second half, Kainan was already trailing by a full ten points.
"That's… the middle-aged man from last year!"
Sakuragi Hanamichi sat cross-legged on the sofa, pointing at the muscular guard wearing No. 8 and shouting.
At the time, Maki Shinichi was only a second-year, yet his physique was already intimidating.
He lowered his center of gravity and dribbled rapidly between his legs.
"Old Man Maki's about to drive!"
Miyagi Ryota straightened his back, staring intently at Maki's footwork.
On the recording, Maki dropped his right shoulder.
The soles of his shoes screeched against the hardwood.
With an incredibly violent change of pace, he forced his way past his defender like a heavy tank crashing through a barricade.
"So fast!"
"Was the middle-aged man really this terrifying last year?!"
Sakuragi's eyes widened.
However, in the mere tenth of a second after Maki had beaten his defender and was preparing to attack the paint...
A dark figure suddenly came darting in from the side like a ghost!
It was Sannoh's captain, Fukatsu Kazunari!
It was as though he had predicted every single one of Maki's movements.
His positioning, his driving lane, even the exact point where the ball would hit the floor, all calculated down to the smallest detail.
"Smack!"
The crisp sound of the steal echoed through the silent room.
On the screen, Maki's pupils contracted.
A look of disbelief flashed across his face.
The strength and speed he had always been proud of had collided with an invisible net.
Fukatsu cleanly stripped the ball from his hands.
"What?!"
Akagi Takenori felt his scalp go numb, cold sweat breaking across his back.
Maki Shinichi's drive had actually been stopped that cleanly?
The stolen ball didn't even bounce a second time.
Fukatsu immediately flicked it backward.
The Sannoh player receiving the pass, Kawata Masashi, didn't even need to adjust his stance.
He simply raised the ball over his head with both hands, engaged his core, and launched it like a javelin.
A long-distance pass that flew across nearly half the court.
"Get back on defense!!"
The desperate shouts of Kainan's players rang out from the recording.
Sawakita Eiji soared high in the frontcourt and calmly caught the cannonball of a pass.
Kainan's No. 4 captain sprinted back with everything he had, planted himself in the paint, and spread his arms wide in an attempt to stop the fast break.
But Sawakita had no intention of slowing down.
He was like a violent gust of wind.
At the instant he made contact with Kainan's captain, he made the tiniest shift to the left, then right.
With a change of direction so fast it seemed to defy the laws of physics, he blew straight past the captain in an instant.
He leaped.
Glided.
Then gently flicked the ball off his fingertips.
The basketball traced an elegant arc through the air before dropping cleanly through the hoop.
The entire fast break—from the steal to the long pass to the layup—had taken less than five seconds.
It was seamless.
Fluid.
So fast that there wasn't even enough time for despair.
"Beep"
Coach Anzai pressed the pause button.
The image froze on Sawakita Eiji's expressionless face.
The room fell deathly silent.
The only sound was the low hum of the air-conditioning unit.
The Shōhoku players who had been making noise moments ago now seemed frozen in place.
Mitsui Hisashi pressed his lips together.
Cold sweat trickled down Miyagi Ryota's forehead.
Akagi Takenori's brows were drawn tightly together.
That suffocating speed of transition between offense and defense had completely overturned their understanding of high school basketball.
Even last year's Final Four team, Kainan, had looked this helpless in front of Sannoh?
"Wahahaha!"
An exaggerated burst of laughter suddenly shattered the oppressive silence.
Sakuragi Hanamichi pointed at the screen, laughing so hard he nearly doubled over.
He even reached over and slapped Rukawa Kaede on the thigh.
"They were down by more than ten points!"
"The middle-aged man got turned into a punching bag last year! Hahaha!"
"And he still dared call himself the best player in Kanagawa?!"
"Idiot."
Rukawa disgustedly slapped Sakuragi's hand away.
Yet his eyes remained fixed on Sawakita Eiji on the frozen screen, sharp as blades.
He could feel his blood boiling.
A shiver ran up his spine—the primal thrill of encountering truly exceptional prey.
That's a real monster.
Even stronger than Sendoh and Maki.
An absolute genius.
"Wahahahaha! What a joke!"
"The middle-aged man was completely helpless last year!"
Sakuragi laughed so hard tears were almost streaming from his eyes.
But after laughing for a full half minute, he suddenly stopped as if someone had grabbed him by the throat.
His laughter died in an instant.
The room became strangely quiet.
There was no Miyagi cracking jokes as usual.
No sarcastic remarks from Mitsui.
Even Rukawa, who normally loved expressing his contempt for Sakuragi with nothing more than a look, was now staring intently at the frozen television screen without even having time to roll his eyes.
The air conditioner on the wall continued to blow cold air with a steady whoosh.
Sakuragi finally sensed that something was wrong.
He blinked and suspiciously looked around the room.
The hotel room wasn't particularly spacious, yet the atmosphere had become unbearably heavy.
Everyone's breathing sounded unusually labored.
Even the sharp crack, crack of Akagi's knuckles could be heard as he clenched his fists.
Everyone, that is, except Makino Juro, who stood casually in the corner with his hands in his pockets.
"Hey…"
Sakuragi swallowed.
He shuffled over beside Miyagi and sat down.
Then he extended two thick fingers and grabbed Miyagi's cheeks without the slightest hesitation, pulling them apart.
"Ryota, did you eat something bad?"
"Your face is as white as a freshly plastered wall!"
Miyagi suddenly snapped back to reality, his cheeks aching.
He angrily slapped Sakuragi's hand away.
The ghostly blue glow of the television illuminated his face, making the cold sweat on his forehead impossible to miss.
"Don't touch me!"
"You…"
Miyagi gritted his teeth, completely speechless.
"You're such a hopeless amateur."
"Huh?! Who are you calling an amateur?!"
Sakuragi immediately exploded.
"Am I wrong?"
Miyagi irritably rubbed his face.
The finger pointing at the television was trembling.
"You watched that game and you still can't see how terrifying Sannoh is?"
"That was Kainan!"
"That was Maki Shinichi!"
Sitting on the other side, Mitsui Hisashi let out a long sigh.
He covered his face with both hands, his muffled voice slipping through his fingers.
"I should've known…"
"You really don't have the word fear in your vocabulary, do you?"
"Fear?"
"Why should I be afraid of these guys?"
Sakuragi raised his chin defiantly.
"When this genius takes the court, I'll give them a psychological trauma they'll never forget!"
"Idiot."
Rukawa coldly spat out the two words, his eyes still glued to Sawakita Eiji's face.
"You damn fox! Who are you calling an idiot?!"
Sakuragi rolled up his sleeves and charged toward him.
"Enough. Sit down first."
Makino Juro, who had been leaning against the wall, finally spoke.
He straightened up and casually walked over to the television.
Juro picked up the remote and pressed the rewind button.
The footage rapidly reversed with a crackling hiss before stopping at the moment Maki Shinichi was about to begin his drive.
"Since we have an attention-seeking idiot on the team who can't understand what he's watching…"
"I'll give you all a little post-game reading comprehension lesson, right in front of the coach."
Makino Juro pressed the slow-motion button.
The footage began playing frame by frame.
His slender finger pointed at the screen.
"Look carefully at No. 4."
"Sannoh's captain, Fukatsu Kazunari."
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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