Akagi didn't turn around.
His eyes were fixed on a billboard in the distance, yet his gaze seemed unfocused.
Silence.
Just when Kogure thought Akagi wasn't going to answer, Akagi suddenly spoke.
His voice was hoarse, with a faint tremor that was almost impossible to detect.
"Mitsui."
"What?"
Mitsui answered irritably.
"When you were in the middle school finals…"
"Were you nervous?"
Mitsui froze.
Nervous?
That word had always seemed incompatible with the arrogant Mitsui Hisashi.
But after thinking about it, he pursed his lips.
"A little, I guess."
"It was the finals, after all."
"But once I stepped onto the court, it was fine."
Akagi finally turned around.
Moonlight fell across his rugged, rock-like face, revealing a trace of pallor.
He raised both hands.
Those massive hands, steady as stone whether blocking shots or throwing down dunks.
They were trembling.
Not much.
But in the deathly silent room, the movement was impossible to ignore.
"This is the first time."
Akagi stared at his own hands with a complicated expression, as though they belonged to someone else.
"My whole body just keeps shaking."
"I can't make it stop, no matter how hard I try."
Kogure and Mitsui's eyes widened simultaneously.
Shock.
Disbelief.
In their eyes, Akagi Takenori was the very symbol of Shohoku, an immovable pillar that would never collapse.
No matter how disastrous things became, as long as Akagi was standing beneath the basket, the sky itself could fall without crushing them.
But now…
That pillar was trembling.
"Akagi…"
Kogure opened his mouth, his throat suddenly dry.
He knew Akagi too well.
Ever since their first year of high school, this man had dreamed of conquering the nation.
He had endured ridicule.
Endured loneliness.
Even when his ankle swelled up like a steamed bun, he still insisted on taking the court.
And now, that dream was finally within reach.
The enormous weight of expectation, mixed with the fear of failure, had become a burden heavy enough to crush the nerves of an eighteen-year-old boy.
"Hey, Akagi."
"You aren't actually scared, are you?"
"Scared of losing to Minami Tsuyoshi?"
Mitsui frowned.
For once, his voice was completely serious.
Akagi drew a deep breath and clenched his fists tightly until his knuckles turned white, trying to force the trembling to stop.
It didn't work.
His muscles seemed to have developed a will of their own, continuing to twitch ever so slightly.
"Maybe."
Akagi gave a self-deprecating smile.
"I've waited too long for this day."
"The closer it gets, the more afraid I am that it's all just a dream."
After saying that, Akagi suddenly straightened.
The dejected air around him vanished in an instant.
He had become that stern team captain once again.
Only deep within his eyes, the turbulent waves remained.
"Forget it. I'm going out for a run."
Akagi grabbed his jacket and strode out of the room.
The door closed behind him.
Mitsui stared at the shut door, his expression slightly awkward.
"Tch. Even he gets nervous?"
"That guy who's practically made of stone…"
Kogure sighed and took off his glasses, wiping them carefully.
"Because this is his entire youth."
Mitsui fell silent.
He picked up the crumpled magazine again and stared at the "C-Rank" evaluation.
The look in his eyes gradually turned fierce.
"If that's the case, then we absolutely can't lose tomorrow."
"If the captain's three-year dream gets destroyed in the very first game…"
Mitsui snorted.
"I'll never forgive myself."
...
Outside the Hotel
The night breeze carried a trace of lingering heat.
Akagi Takenori sprinted down the street.
His footsteps were heavy.
Every step seemed to vent the frustration building inside him.
He was fighting himself.
Fighting against that weak, trembling version of himself.
"Stop shaking, damn it!"
"You're Shohoku's captain!"
"You're the man who's going to conquer the nation!"
He roared inside his heart.
Sweat soaked through his T-shirt, and his breathing grew increasingly ragged.
Just as he rounded a corner and prepared to accelerate...
A dark figure suddenly shot out from the shadows.
Fast!
Akagi was caught completely off guard.
He slammed on the brakes, his massive body staggering slightly.
"Who?!"
The figure didn't stop.
He simply continued jogging at an even pace.
The streetlights stretched his shadow across the pavement.
The man looked back.
In his hand was a half-finished bottle of Pocari Sweat, and his face wore that trademark lazy expression.
It was Makino Juro.
He was wearing a black tank top, revealing a surprisingly muscular physique.
Sweat trickled down his neck and disappeared into his collarbone.
Clearly, he had already been running for quite some time.
Akagi froze.
"Juro? You… you're actually running?"
It was practically more unbelievable than the sun rising in the west.
The ultimate slacker, Makino Juro, a man who would rather lie down than sit, had actually gone out to train on his own in the middle of the night?
Makino Juro shrugged and tilted his head back for another drink.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
"Couldn't sleep. Came out for some fresh air."
His eyes flicked toward Akagi's still-trembling hands.
A playful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"The hotel air conditioning was too cold, so I figured I'd come out and sweat a little."
He paused.
"But what about you, Captain? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Akagi instinctively hid his hands behind his back and coughed awkwardly.
"D-Does it?"
Juro didn't call him out.
He simply turned around and continued jogging.
His voice floated casually through the night.
"Come with me."
Akagi hesitated for a moment before stepping forward.
Two figures, one tall and one powerfully built, ran side by side through the streets of Hiroshima late at night.
Only the sound of their footsteps and breathing echoed through the darkness.
After running for a while, Makino Juro suddenly spoke.
"Captain, do you know why Toyotama is rated A?"
Akagi frowned.
"Because they made the national quarterfinals last year."
"No."
Makino Juro shook a finger.
He looked toward the dark road ahead.
At that moment, his eyes became extraordinarily deep, carrying a chilling intensity.
"They treat winning as hunting."
"They treat the basketball court as a slaughterhouse."
"And us…"
Juro turned toward Akagi.
A predator's light flickered within his eyes.
"In everyone else's eyes, we're nothing more than fat sheep waiting to be slaughtered."
Akagi's heart jolted.
His pace slowed by half a step.
"Fat sheep…"
"That's right."
Makino Juro smiled.
It was an arrogant, almost brazen smile.
"If you think of yourself as prey, of course you'll tremble."
"Because when prey faces a hunter, fear is instinctive."
He suddenly accelerated.
In an instant, he pulled several meters ahead.
His voice carried back through the wind, clear and powerful, each word striking Akagi's heart like a hammer.
"But I'm not prey."
"Akagi, neither are you."
"Starting tomorrow, we're the wolves that have crashed into the sheep pen."
"The ones who should be trembling…"
"Are them."
Makino Juro's figure flickered beneath the streetlights.
That overwhelming confidence spread through Akagi like a virus.
Akagi stared at Juro's back.
It wasn't particularly broad, yet somehow it appeared extraordinarily tall.
He stopped.
Then he looked down at his hands.
The trembling…
Had stopped.
In its place was an explosive strength, his fists clenched tight.
"A wolf…"
Akagi drew a deep breath.
The suppressed fear inside his chest transformed instantly into blazing fighting spirit.
To hell with being nervous.
To hell with that C-Rank rating.
He raised his head.
His eyes were once again as firm as steel.
A fierce grin spread across his face.
"That's right."
"I'm a wolf."
"Juro! Wait for me!"
Akagi roared and broke into a full sprint.
His massive legs carried him forward like a heavily armed tank, pounding against the pavement as he chased after Makino Juro.
The two figures gradually disappeared into the depths of the night.
Leaving behind only two trails of firm, unwavering footprints.
Footprints leading toward tomorrow.
Toward the battlefield known as....
"Conquering the Nation."
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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