The chaos in the hotel room finally came to an end.
The culprit was a fresh, steaming bump on Sakuragi Hanamichi's head.
With a dark expression, Akagi Takenori grabbed Sakuragi like a misbehaving kitten and tossed him back onto the sofa.
He let out a heavy breath, rubbing his throbbing temples before forcibly dragging his attention back to the television, which cast an eerie blue glow across the room.
The screen was frozen at the moment Sannoh High completed its fast break.
"Coach…"
Akagi cleared his throat. His voice sounded unusually dry in the deathly silent room.
"This videotape is from last year's semifinals, right?"
"Which means most of Sannoh's key players from that game have already graduated?"
His eyes remained fixed on the expressionless captain wearing jersey number 4.
"So the only veteran left from last year's team should be that point guard, Fukatsu Kazunari, right?"
Sitting beside him, Kogure Kiminobu adjusted his reflective glasses, a hint of relief flashing across his eyes.
He turned toward Miyagi Ryota and spoke gently.
"If Fukatsu is the only one left, then we should still be able to handle him."
"Miyagi, the entire team will help you shut that guy down."
Miyagi bit down hard on his thumbnail without saying a word, though the tension in his jaw eased slightly.
Against a point guard who operated like a precision machine, he was confident he could use his speed to break through the defense—as long as his teammates set proper screens for him.
However…
Coach Anzai, seated in a single armchair, did not nod in agreement.
He picked up his teacup, gently blew away the floating tea leaves, and took a leisurely sip.
His eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses, reflecting a glint that sent an inexplicable chill through everyone in the room.
"No."
Coach Anzai set down his teacup. His voice was not particularly loud, yet his words landed like a hammer crashing down on everyone's heads.
"Of the starters who played in that game last year… three are still on the team."
"Three?!"
It was as though the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room.
Akagi's eyes widened, his pupils contracting sharply.
Mitsui Hisashi felt a chill run down his spine. Cold sweat instantly soaked through his shirt.
Coach Anzai picked up the remote and resumed the footage before pausing it at precisely the right moment.
The screen zoomed in on a powerful center who had just completed a cross-court pass.
"Makino Juro already mentioned him earlier."
Coach Anzai pointed at the screen with a thick finger.
"The center who wore jersey number 14 last year. Kawata Masashi."
"He's a third-year student now."
Coach Anzai's tone grew exceptionally serious.
"He's tall, with terrifying muscular strength."
"But don't let his appearance fool you. His speed and technical ability are frighteningly good."
"He can overpower opponents in the paint through sheer strength, yet he can also handle the ball on the perimeter and drive past defenders like a guard."
"In short, he's a complete player with no obvious weaknesses."
Akagi's breathing immediately grew heavy, like the bellows of a furnace.
He stared at the tank-like figure on the screen, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white.
An all-around center?
Someone who could drive like a guard?
A shiver ran through him.
An indescribable electric current shot up his spine and prickled across his scalp.
It was fear—but it was also the bloodthirsty excitement of encountering a truly worthy opponent.
"Hey, hey, listen…"
Right in the middle of this suffocating atmosphere, Sakuragi Hanamichi strolled up to the television without the slightest awareness of the mood in the room.
He rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Kawata's face on the screen as shamelessly as a shopper picking through rotten vegetables at a market.
"Man, this guy looks like a complete mess!"
"His facial features are all squashed together!"
Sakuragi muttered to himself before abruptly turning toward Akagi.
He looked back and forth between the two of them twice, then suddenly slapped his thigh.
"I've figured it out!"
Pointing at the screen, Sakuragi announced his discovery with absolute confidence.
"This guy looks even more like a gorilla than the Gorilla himself!"
"That huge, round face! That thick neck!"
"Hmm… I've made up my mind! From now on, I'm calling him the East African Ape!"
"Pfft!"
Miyagi, who had been so tense his stomach hurt, couldn't hold it in. He nearly spat out his saliva.
The corners of Mitsui's mouth twitched uncontrollably. He desperately pinched his thigh to suppress his laughter, afraid that laughing at the wrong moment would provoke Akagi.
Juro couldn't help raising a thumb.
When it came to coming up with ridiculous nicknames, Sakuragi was in a league of his own.
"You absolute moron! What kind of nonsense are you spouting now?!"
Veins bulged across Akagi's forehead. The sense of an impending battle between fated rivals that had just begun to build was utterly shattered by the words East African Ape.
Without the slightest hesitation, he brought his hand down in a vicious karate chop on Sakuragi's head.
"Owwwooo!"
"But doesn't he look like one?! He IS an East African Ape!"
Clutching his head, Sakuragi crouched on the floor, looking deeply aggrieved.
"Enough clowning around."
Makino Juro straightened up and walked over to the television.
His long fingers pointed to the right side of the screen, where a young player had just completed a fast-break dunk.
"Besides Fukatsu and our so-called 'East African Ape,' there's this guy."
Juro glanced at Rukawa Kaede and Sakuragi, the corners of his mouth curling into a playful smile.
"He's the real ace of Sannoh."
"The ace?!"
Those two words seemed to flip a switch.
A moment earlier, Sakuragi had been clutching his head and howling in pain. Now he sprang to his feet like a coiled spring.
Even Rukawa, who had been sitting in the corner with complete indifference to everything happening around him, abruptly raised his head.
Their gazes, sharp as freshly drawn blades, locked onto the face of the young player on the screen.
Rukawa's breathing briefly caught in his throat.
As he watched the cold-eyed player move with lightning speed, the wild instinct buried deep within him began to roar.
"That's right."
Coach Anzai looked at the two troublemakers who seemed to have refusing to admit defeat permanently engraved on their foreheads.
In a calm voice, he dropped another bombshell.
"That frightening level of skill you just witnessed—the fluid movements, the way he tore through Kainan's defense…"
"Back then, he was only a first-year student."
Silence.
The room once again fell so quiet that even a pin dropping would have sounded deafening.
"A… a first-year?!"
Miyagi's jaw nearly hit the floor, his voice cracking in disbelief.
"You've got to be kidding me!"
"That freakish body control, those changes of direction at such incredible speed…"
"You're telling me he was only a first-year last year?!" Mitsui exclaimed, rubbing his eyes as though he couldn't believe what he had heard.
Just as everyone was reeling from the sheer horror of such extraordinary talent, Sakuragi Hanamichi suddenly threw his head back, planted his hands on his hips, and unleashed a thunderous burst of laughter.
"Wahahahahaha!"
"So what if he was a first-year?! I'M a first-year too!"
He swaggered around the room, looking at everyone with utter arrogance.
"Looks like this team called Sannoh can only rely on first-years to carry them!"
"Since we're both first-years, this genius will graciously teach him a lesson tomorrow and show him what a real genius looks like!"
Sakuragi pointed his thumb proudly at his own chest, his entire face practically radiating smugness.
"Heh."
A sharp, penetrating sneer came from the corner.
Rukawa slowly rose to his feet, not even bothering to look at Sakuragi.
He merely shook his head with an expressionless face and spread his hands in a gesture dripping with contempt.
"What are you laughing at?!" Sakuragi instantly blew his top.
"You two…"
Rukawa shrugged.
"There's a world of difference between you."
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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