"Hey, Sakuragi."
Just as Sakuragi Hanamichi was still fuming over his earlier face-receiving-the-ball "highlight moment"—even on the verge of challenging Mitsui Hisashi to an off-court duel—
A lazy, slightly punchable voice drifted over.
Sendoh Akira jogged past, that signature skyward hairstyle bobbing lightly, a faint, unreadable smile hanging beneath it.
His gaze lingered for a second on Sakuragi's swollen, lightbulb-sized nose.
Then, casually, he dropped an emotional bomb:
"Gotta hand it to you… you always find a way to bring something new to the game."
It sounded like praise.
But to Sakuragi right now, it hit ten thousand times harder than Fukuda's earlier "looking at an idiot" expression.
Sakuragi froze on the spot, as if someone had cast a paralysis spell.
The next second—CPU overload!
His red hair practically stood on end, veins bulging across his forehead as he instantly switched into berserk mode.
"What did you say, you mop-head?!"
He spun around and roared at Sendoh's back, his voice so loud it rattled the railings on the second-floor stands.
"Cut the sarcasm!"
He pounded his chest—thump thump—eyes blazing with the fury of wounded pride.
The pride of a single-celled organism.
"Listen up and get this straight!"
"Shohoku—led by the genius Sakuragi Hanamichi—will never lose to the likes of you!"
"Today, I'm gonna beat you back to your original form!"
His roar echoed through the entire arena.
On Shohoku's bench.
The players, who had been awkwardly facepalming over Sakuragi's blunder, froze for a second.
Then immediately jumped up to cheer:
"That's the spirit, Sakuragi!"
"Yeah—wait, who said you're the leader?!"
"The captain's the gorilla, okay? You're just making up the numbers!"
Mitsui rolled his eyes so hard they nearly didn't come back.
Rukawa, as always, kept it simple. Coldly:
"Idiot."
Only Coach Anzai sat there, glasses glinting, letting out a meaningful:
"Ohohoho…"
Meanwhile, at the end of the bench, Makino Juro watched the "fighting rooster" on the court, his grin stretching uncontrollably.
"Idiot though he is…"
"But that mindset—thinking he can carry no matter the situation…"
"…most people could never replicate that."
The game continued.
Ryonan inbounded the ball.
Koshino Hiroaki brought it up, trying to stabilize the pace.
Their strategy was clear:
Strike while the iron is hot.
Exploit Sakuragi's mental shake and roll over Shohoku in one wave.
"Play it steady! Get the ball to Sendoh!"
Coach Taoka Shigeichi was practically shouting his voice hoarse on the sidelines.
But just as Koshino was about to pass—
A streak of red lightning tore through Ryonan's defense without warning.
"Too slow!"
"Your moves are full of openings!"
Ryota Miyagi!
Shohoku's "Lightning Flash" had been lurking like a seasoned ambusher.
The moment Koshino's attention shifted—he struck.
His center of gravity dropped to the extreme, fingertips snapping precisely onto the ball, so fast it left only afterimages.
Smack!
A crisp sound—the ball was gone.
"?!"
Koshino's face changed instantly.
He tried to recover, but Miyagi had already blown past like a gust of wind—no taillights left to follow.
"Nice one, Ryota!"
"That's it! Fast break!"
On the sidelines, Ayako waved her fan wildly, practically jumping in place.
Miyagi sprinted forward, dribbling at full speed, eyes sharp as blades.
And then—he saw it.
Up ahead, that red-haired figure was charging forward at a speed that defied biology—
Like a tank with failed brakes.
"Sakuragi! Run!"
Without hesitation, Miyagi flicked his wrist.
The basketball shot forward like a streak of orange light, cutting across half the court.
A bold long pass—betting everything on Sakuragi's physicality.
Ryonan's defense reacted quickly.
Fukuda Kicchou, relying on explosive speed, stuck tightly to Sakuragi.
"You're not getting past me!"
Though a man of few words, Fukuda's defensive pressure was undeniable.
Arms spread wide, he closed in like a net.
Under normal circumstances—
Sakuragi would probably trip over his own dribble or charge straight into a foul.
"That pass was too rushed. With Sakuragi's ball-handling, he'll lose it…"
Maki Shinichi shook his head slightly from the stands.
But in the next moment.
Something changed.
After catching the ball, Sakuragi's entire aura shifted.
Gone was the noisy recklessness.
In its place—an intense focus, like a beast locking onto its prey.
In his mind, flashes of the past few days of special training surfaced—
That lazy master, Makino Juro, sipping iced cola while giving him devilish guidance.
"Your physical stats are SSR-level."
"But your dribbling? Rusty robot tier."
"Listen carefully—dribbling isn't about slapping the ball with your hand."
"It's about feeling its rhythm with your body…"
"Deception through center of gravity. Explosive burst in an instant!"
"This move is called—Instant Transmission!"
Back to reality.
Facing Fukuda's tight pressure—
Sakuragi didn't panic like before.
Instead, he suddenly lowered his center of gravity.
The ball bounced rapidly between his legs.
Thump!
His shoulders feinted sharply to the left—so exaggerated it looked like he might fall over.
Fukuda's pupils shrank.
His body instinctively shifted right to cut him off.
He was baited!
Now!
A wild grin spread across Sakuragi's face.
His body, which had leaned left, snapped back with force.
The ball seemed glued to his hand—
Flowing with his motion as it switched instantly to his right.
Crossover!
Whoosh!
That speed. That explosiveness!
Sakuragi Hanamichi was like a sports car suddenly equipped with nitro boosters—
Executing a terrifying change of direction and acceleration in a tiny space.
Fukuda was left nailed to the ground.
All he saw was a blur—the red figure had already vanished.
"Nani?!"
The entire arena exploded.
Blowing past Fukuda, Sakuragi now faced open space.
He charged into the paint in long strides and leapt high toward the empty rim.
But instead of dunking—
He gently lifted the ball.
A layup.
The ball kissed the backboard and dropped cleanly through the net.
Swish!
2:2.
The arena fell into a brief, stunned silence—like someone had pressed mute.
Then...
A roar erupted that nearly tore the roof off.
"What the hell was THAT?!"
"That Sakuragi Hanamichi… he can actually dribble past people now?! And that was a crossover?!"
"And that speed—are you kidding me?!"
"It felt like he teleported! Fukuda didn't even react!"
At the press table, Aida Yayoi dropped her pen, mouth slightly open:
"This… this is the same Sakuragi who only relied on brute force?"
"This makes no sense!"
At the Kainan bench.
Kiyota Nobunaga stared wide-eyed, pointing at the court:
"No way!"
"How can that red-haired monkey pull off something that technical?!"
"Did he just turn on hacks?!"
Even the ever-composed Maki Shinichi showed a rare look of surprise, brows furrowed:
"That dribbling rhythm…"
"The improvement is massive. It's like he's a completely different person."
END OF CHAPTER
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The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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