The farce on the court didn't last long.
The referee, face dark as thunder, issued Sakuragi a warning, and the game resumed.
Shohoku ball.
Miyagi Ryota dribbled past half court.
After that chaotic episode, the atmosphere on the court had turned… strange.
Every Ryonan player was holding back anger—especially Fukuda Kicchou.
Their coach had been publicly humiliated. As his player, Fukuda felt a fury he had never experienced before.
"Pass it to me!"
Sakuragi Hanamichi called for the ball loudly from the low post.
His confidence had now inflated to an absurd level.
Miyagi glanced into the paint.
Uozumi was locked up tightly by Akagi, leaving only Sakuragi with a viable opening.
"Here!"
With a flick of his wrist, Miyagi sent a precise pass toward Sakuragi.
Smack!
Sakuragi caught it cleanly.
This time, he didn't shout or showboat like before.
Instead, he held the ball firmly with both hands, pivoted, and faced Fukuda head-on.
The distance between them was so close they could hear each other's heavy breathing.
"Hey, Fuku."
Sakuragi's voice suddenly dropped—less playful, more serious than usual.
"I'm going to get past you… just like before."
His eyes sharpened, locking onto Fukuda's gloomy gaze.
"I may be younger than you…"
"But on this court—being weak is the original sin."
The words landed with weight.
Gone was the earlier nonsense—replaced by a powerful confidence.
This was the ambition forged through Makino Juro's training… tempered by sweat and repetition.
Fukuda's pupils contracted sharply.
He felt it.
The redhead in front of him had changed.
No longer just a clown—he was a real opponent.
Fukuda slowly lowered his center of gravity, spreading his arms like a fully drawn bow.
"Then come."
"I'll show you what a senior's lesson feels like."
His voice was cold, each word heavy as iron.
A clash was imminent.
All eyes in the arena locked onto the two of them.
This was a duel of pride, talent—and trash talk.
Sakuragi gripped the ball tightly.
In his mind, Makino Juro's teachings replayed:
'Sakuragi, the essence of a feint isn't how standard the move looks.'
'It's deception.'
'You have to make your opponent believe you're going that way. Even if you look like an idiot—if it works, it's a god-tier move!'
"Heh heh heh…"
Sakuragi suddenly grinned, a sly glint in his eyes.
The next second—
He moved.
Without warning.
His upper body suddenly lurched violently to the right.
The motion was so exaggerated it looked like he was about to faceplant.
Even the ball wobbled awkwardly, like a beginner losing balance.
"?!"
Fukuda was startled.
His first thought: What is this guy doing?
But instinct took over—his defensive reflex shifted his weight to the left to cut off the lane.
"Now!"
At the exact moment Fukuda shifted—
Sakuragi's seemingly collapsing body froze mid-motion!
Like someone had hit pause.
Then...
Whoosh!
He jerked sharply to the left!
This time, the movement was even more exaggerated—stiff, unnatural.
Like a rusty robot suddenly powered on, limbs twitching out of sync.
This wasn't just unorthodox—it was outright ugly.
But...
It was fast!
Too sudden!
Utterly unpredictable!
Fukuda had never seen such a "frame-dropping" fake before.
He had barely shifted his weight back when the second move jolted him again.
"What… what kind of move is this?!"
His mind went into chaos.
His body couldn't keep up.
His feet tangled, and he stumbled—his defensive stance collapsing instantly.
"Heh!"
Sakuragi seized the opening.
"This is the ultimate technique created by this genius—"
"Left-right-left-right… Genius Mega Shake!"
His arrogant grin screamed triumph.
Fukuda swallowed hard.
Gulp.
The sound echoed clearly in the tense air between them.
He stared wide-eyed at the red-haired first-year.
Completely unreadable.
Cold sweat slid down his temples and dripped onto the floor.
"I didn't expect…"
"You'd actually have something like this…"
He stiffly held his defensive stance, his mental CPU nearing meltdown.
The Ryonan bench exploded.
"Idiot! Fuku! Are you doubting your life choices right now?!"
Teammates sprang to their feet, waving towels and yelling:
"Don't get fooled by that bargain-bin trick!"
"That's not even a fake!"
"That's just plain bad coordination, you idiot!"
"He can't get past you! Get up on him!"
But Fukuda had already fallen into a mental loop.
His teammates' voices reached his ears as nothing more than distorted noise.
On the sidelines, Coach Taoka clutched his forehead in agony, a splitting headache pounding his brain.
"Fukuda's defense…"
"As expected, it's still a massive liability!"
"To get stunned by such a bronze-tier fake—his defensive awareness is practically negative!"
Grinding his teeth, Taoka dug his fingers into his hair, resisting the urge to rip it out.
…
On the court.
Sakuragi looked at Fukuda, frozen like a statue, and nearly burst from laughter.
That smug expression was downright punchable.
"Heh heh heh…"
Holding the ball, he didn't drive immediately.
Instead, he struck what he thought was an incredibly cool pose.
Chin raised, looking down at Fukuda through his nose, he launched into his signature "Genius Lecture":
"Scared stiff by this genius, huh?"
"What makes a genius is…"
His tone deepened, like a philosopher about to drop wisdom:
"99% talent… and 1%—"
Before he could finish—
A shadow struck from behind, like an assassin emerging from his blind spot.
Ryonan's No. 6—Koshino Hiroaki.
He'd had enough.
While Sakuragi was busy delivering his "award speech," Koshino's eyes flashed with cold intent.
"Too much talking! Give me that!"
His hand shot out like a blade.
Smack!
A crisp sound rang out.
The ball was cleanly stripped from Sakuragi's hands.
"Nani?!"
Sakuragi's speech cut off mid-sentence.
Still pointing forward, he froze completely—like shattered stone.
The ball… where did the ball go?
"YOU IDIOT!!!"
A thunderous roar exploded.
Akagi Takenori's face twisted in fury, looking like a raging demon.
"The game isn't over! What are you posing for?!"
"Get back on defense! Move your ass!"
END OF CHAPTER
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