"The moment Maki Shinichi made his move, Fukatsu's center of gravity didn't shift at all."
"He didn't steal the ball through sheer reaction speed. He did it through pure calculation."
"He predicted Maki's stride, dribbling rhythm, and habitual movements in advance, then positioned his hand exactly where it needed to be."
"Ryota, when you're up against a point guard who operates like a precision machine, charging in recklessly with your lightning speed will only get you a worse result than Maki."
Miyagi swallowed hard and unconsciously clenched his fists. A chill crept down his spine.
Makino Juro continued, sliding his finger across the screen to point at Kawata Masashi, who had received the ball and immediately launched the long pass after the steal.
"Now, look at this big guy, Masashi Kawata."
"Don't let those tank-like muscles fool you."
"When Fukatsu flicked the ball to him, he didn't even turn his head."
"A center standing well over 190 centimeters can launch an accurate pass across almost the entire court in a single second."
"That kind of spatial awareness, combined with his terrifying core strength, puts him in a class of his own among the nation's centers."
Hearing this, Akagi Takenori swallowed with difficulty.
He had thought his intensive training in America had made him practically invincible. For the first time, however, he felt a genuine sense of apprehension.
The footage continued in slow motion until it reached the moment Sawakita Eiji caught the ball and launched his fast break.
"As for this No. 9, Eiji Sawakita…"
Makino Juro pressed the pause button, freezing the image.
"There's no need for me to say much."
"Look at how he changes direction without slowing down at high speed. Pay attention to the bend in his ankles and how low he keeps his center of gravity."
"His core strength and coordination are already beyond what you'd expect from a high school player."
"He probably wasn't even using fifty percent of his ability on that play."
Makino Juro tossed the remote onto the table and clapped his hands. He looked down at the grim-faced players.
"Their tactical execution is as precise as a computer. Their big men have the vision and skills of guards, while their perimeter has a razor-sharp weapon capable of tearing through any defense."
"This is the mighty Sannoh. It's basically a max-level veteran stomping through a beginner's village."
The atmosphere in the room froze completely.
Makino Juro's words were like a sharp surgical blade, ruthlessly cutting away Sannoh's mysterious aura and exposing their terrifying strength in all its brutal reality.
Coach Anzai held his cup of hot tea, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses. He gave a small nod with his broad chin.
"Juro has explained it very well."
"This was last year's semifinal. Kainan lost."
Coach Anzai's voice was gentle, yet every word carried considerable weight.
Akagi folded his arms across his chest, his towering frame rigid with tension. He lowered his head and spoke in a deep voice.
"Kainan was just as strong last year as they are now…"
"No. In terms of physical conditioning and teamwork, last year's team might have been even more frightening than the current one."
His words struck everyone like a heavy hammer to the heart.
The entire team fell into deathly silence.
Mitsui Hisashi stared at his knees, clenching his teeth.
Miyagi lowered his head, looking at his hands as they trembled from nervousness.
Rukawa Kaede's chest rose and fell rapidly, the flames in his eyes threatening to burst free.
"They beat Kainan by fifteen points…"
Mitsui's voice sounded hoarse.
"Just like that?"
Even Kainan had been defeated by fifteen points in such a seemingly effortless fashion?
And judging from the footage, Sannoh's players had barely looked like they were taking the game seriously.
Despair spread through the room like a rising tide, threatening to drown the entire team.
Then, right in the middle of this suffocating atmosphere, an utterly inappropriate voice suddenly rang out again.
"So what?"
Sakuragi Hanamichi impatiently dug a finger into his ear, flicked away a bit of earwax, and suspiciously surveyed the others, who looked as though someone had just announced their funeral.
"Hey, you guys. Why do you all look so miserable? Don't tell me you're scared?"
Sakuragi stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, wearing an expression of utter disdain.
"You watched some lousy old footage, and now you're all too scared to speak?"
"Gorilla, where'd all that swagger of yours go?"
"And you, Three-Eyes! Did watching that game scare all the power out of your three-point shot?"
"You little bastard, shut your mouth!"
The veins on Mitsui's forehead bulged, although his retort lacked its usual conviction.
Miyagi rolled his eyes and muttered weakly, "You don't even know all the rules yet, you hopeless amateur, and you're still so damn full of yourself…"
"You have absolutely no idea what that point difference means."
"Hey, shorty! What did you just say?!"
Sakuragi immediately flew into a rage.
He lunged forward and grabbed Miyagi by the collar.
The two glared at each other, their foreheads practically touching.
"This genius has a broader perspective! Get it, you little dwarf?!"
"How are we supposed to conquer the nation if we keep talking up the other team and undermining our own confidence?!"
Watching the two of them bicker and grapple just as they always did, everyone felt the suffocating tension begin to dissipate, almost miraculously.
Kogure Kiminobu quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
His palms were drenched in cold sweat.
But he knew the team couldn't afford to lose its confidence.
Kogure adjusted his glasses, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.
"Sakuragi has a point. Everyone, don't get discouraged just yet."
Kogure's voice was firm.
"Kainan really did lose last year, and Sannoh really is frighteningly strong."
"However…"
Everyone turned their attention to the gentle vice-captain.
Kogure looked around the room, his gaze passing over Akagi, Rukawa, Mitsui, and Miyagi.
Finally, his eyes settled on Makino Juro and Sakuragi, and a confident smile appeared on his face.
"However… our lineup this year is also much, much stronger than last year's!"
His words were like a bolt of lightning tearing through the gloom.
Akagi suddenly raised his head, the commanding fire returning to his eyes.
That's right!
Last year, Shohoku had relied on him alone to hold the team together.
But this year, Shohoku had both the sharpest spear and the strongest shield!
Five elite starters, plus Makino Juro, an unfathomable monster whose true abilities remained a mystery!
What was there to be afraid of?!
Sakuragi's eyes lit up. Looking as though he'd finally found someone who understood his genius, he strode over to Kogure.
He slapped Kogure heavily on the shoulder.
SMACK!
"Exactly! Four-Eyes!"
"You've got a good eye!"
Sakuragi proudly pointed at his own nose.
"That was exactly what I was trying to say!"
"With this genius on the team, Shohoku is destined to win the championship this year!"
The fiery atmosphere that had just begun to build was immediately half-destroyed by this idiot.
Sakuragi, however, was clearly not finished. His confidence had swollen to astronomical proportions.
He turned and strode straight toward Coach Anzai.
To everyone's horror, Sakuragi brazenly reached out his right hand and began repeatedly patting the coach's broad chin.
Pat! Pat! Pat!
His hands moved like a pair of motorized pistons, relentlessly bouncing the coach's chubby chin up and down. The soft flesh wobbled violently with every slap.
"Don't worry, Pops!"
"Forget Sannoh, King Sannoh, or whatever the hell they're called!"
Sakuragi laughed maniacally as he continued patting the coach, coming dangerously close to spraying him with spittle.
"Just leave everything to me this year!"
"I'll smash every last one of those guys calling themselves Sannoh!"
"Wahahahaha!"
Coach Anzai's head rocked back and forth like a bobblehead, and his glasses nearly flew off.
Yet he continued smiling cheerfully.
Akagi and Mitsui, however, had finally reached their limit.
"YOU OUT-OF-CONTROL MORON!!!"
With a furious roar, Akagi's iron fist, practically the size of a cooking pot, came crashing down onto Sakuragi's bald head.
THWACK!
"OWWW!"
Sakuragi shrieked and crouched down, clutching his head.
Before he could recover, Mitsui Hisashi lunged forward and wrapped an arm tightly around Sakuragi's neck, dragging him backward.
"You bastard! Show some respect for the coach! Do you want me to kill you?!"
Mitsui roared in a fit of exasperation.
"Gorilla! Three-Eyes! You're just jealous of this genius's talent!"
Sakuragi struggled and shouted at the top of his lungs.
Miyagi joined the fray as well, sneaking in a couple of kicks to Sakuragi's backside while he was distracted.
The entire hotel room descended into chaos, with everyone shouting, struggling, and running around like a bunch of lunatics.
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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