Right now!
Tetsuo took a deep breath, drawing the air down into his core before suddenly unfurling the giant flag in his hands.
WHOOSH!
A massive banner tore open a gap right in the middle of Toyotama's sea of blue.
Red background. Black lettering. Bold and unapologetic.
[The Man of Fire! Hisashi Mitsui!]
That glaring splash of red looked outrageously conspicuous against the ocean of blue, carrying an unmistakable hint of provocation.
"SHOHOKU!! CHARGE!!"
"MITSUI!! KICK THEIR ASSES!!"
Tetsuo waved the enormous flag overhead and screamed at the top of his lungs. His voice cracked as his roar kicked the hornet's nest.
"Bastards! Where the hell did these punks come from?!"
"They've got some nerve causing trouble on our turf!"
"Get them! Tear down that damn flag!"
The Toyotama students around them instantly exploded.
Empty plastic bottles and popcorn buckets came flying like a rainstorm.
"Holy shit! They're throwing everything they've got!"
"Tetsuo! Stop waving that thing! Someone's gonna get killed!"
The group ducked and scrambled for cover. Tetsuo charged ahead with the giant flag over his shoulder, looking every bit like a fleeing soldier.
Yet the banner remained raised high.
He refused to let it fall.
Toyotama High School Locker Room
Even through the thick soundproof doors, the vibration of the floor could still be felt.
The atmosphere was tense.
Coach Kanehira gripped a marker in his hand, his brows furrowed into a deep crease.
He forcefully circled the words SHOHOKU on the tactical board.
"Listen up."
Kanehira's voice was low, carrying a trace of anxiety.
"Don't believe that garbage C-rating those blind fools in the media gave them."
"What the hell do those reporters know about basketball?"
"Shohoku beat Kainan. That's a fact."
"There is definitely something dangerous hiding inside that team."
The only sound in the room was the ripping of tape.
The Toyotama players, however, reacted with indifference, even carrying an unmistakable air of arrogance.
"Coach, are you going through menopause or something?"
"You're being way too sensitive."
The man speaking had his hair tied into a ponytail. He chewed gum while adjusting his hairstyle in front of the mirror.
Minori Kishimoto.
A notorious hothead from Osaka.
"I haven't even watched the footage."
"But Shohoku beating Kainan? That's nothing but pure dumb luck."
"I heard online that Maki's old leg injury flared up, and he couldn't even stay on his feet properly during the game. That's why they lost, right?"
Kishimoto turned around and pointed at a photograph on the tactical board with his pinky.
It was Makino Juro.
In the picture, the young man was yawning, his expression as languid as a cat that had just woken up.
"So this is the super rookie everyone's been hyping up?"
"188 centimeters playing point guard? Ha!"
Kishimoto snorted and popped a pink bubble with his gum. His face was full of disdain.
"He looks intimidating enough, sure. But with that half-asleep dead-fish expression, what could he possibly be capable of?"
"Put a little pressure on him and he'll probably piss his pants."
In the corner of the room, sitting in the shadows, was a man with a bowl cut.
He was meticulously wiping down his elbow pad, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he were polishing a blade.
Minami Tsuyoshi.
Toyotama's captain.
The man known as the Ace Killer.
He slowly raised his head.
His gaze was sinister, like a venomous snake coiled in the darkness.
"Makino Juro..."
He quietly savored the name.
"According to the reports, he's a first-year reserve."
"Limited playing time, but extremely efficient."
Minami rose to his feet.
An icy pressure that made the skin prickle instantly filled the room.
"If he's a rookie, then this will be even easier."
"What are rookies most afraid of?"
Minami looked toward the coach.
A cruel curve appeared at the corner of his mouth, and there wasn't a trace of warmth in his eyes.
"Pain."
"Blood."
"Pressure."
He rolled his wrist.
His knuckles cracked loudly, the sound enough to make everyone's teeth ache.
"Leave Makino Juro to me."
"I'll personally show him just how hard the floor in Hiroshima can be."
Coach Kanehira opened his mouth.
But when he saw that familiar madness burning in Minami's eyes, he ultimately swallowed whatever warning he had been about to give.
"Just... don't let this backfire on us."
"And besides Makino Juro, keep an eye on Akagi and Rukawa."
"Akagi is supposedly the number-one center in Kanagawa..."
"Tch."
Kishimoto interrupted with a contemptuous snort.
"Number-one center? That's only because there are no tigers on the mountain."
"Make him run up and down the court, and that gorilla will be dead on his feet."
"Let's go! Time to show these country bumpkins what an A-ranked powerhouse looks like!"
The Toyotama players pushed open the door and filed out.
They were brimming with killing intent, like a pack of beasts about to be released from their cages.
Meanwhile, in the Shohoku Locker Room
The atmosphere here couldn't have been more different.
There was no murderous tension.
Only a strange sense of... relaxed laziness.
Takenori Akagi stood in front of the tactical board like an iron tower.
He struck the whiteboard firmly with his finger.
Thump. Thump.
"Listen carefully. We're not changing the game plan."
Akagi's gaze swept across everyone before finally settling on Makino Juro, who was sitting in the corner with his eyes closed.
"Juro."
"Hmm?"
Makino Juro answered lazily without even opening his eyes, as if he had already entered a state of meditation.
"You'll anchor the backcourt and conserve as much energy as possible."
"You don't need to go all-out in the first half."
Akagi's voice was steady and powerful, filled with absolute trust.
"Got it."
Makino Juro flashed an OK sign.
Then he shifted into an even more comfortable position, slumping there like a salted fish that had completely given up on life.
"If I can coast to an easy win, even better. Sakuragi kept me awake last night, so I could really use the extra sleep."
"Reject unnecessary internal struggle. Start with me."
A vein twitched on Akagi's forehead.
He forcibly ignored the lazy bastard's comment.
Then he turned to the others.
"I'll take the opening tip. I'll win it."
Akagi clenched his fist, a sharp glint flashing through his eyes.
"The instant we secure the ball, everyone runs!"
"Rukawa!"
Rukawa Kaede was tying his shoelaces. At the call of his name, he looked up.
His usually drowsy eyes were now as cold and sharp as blades.
"The moment you get the ball, run."
"Just like against Kainan. Use your speed to tear through their defense."
"Get us on the scoreboard first and disrupt their rhythm!"
"Okay."
Rukawa remained as laconic as ever.
Then a certain red-haired head suddenly pushed into view.
Sakuragi Hanamichi wore an expression of pure dissatisfaction, his face practically screaming I object!
"Gorilla, are you sure we can rely on this guy?"
Sakuragi pointed at Rukawa, his nose practically pointing toward the ceiling.
"This fox does nothing but sleep and act cool. What happens when they target him and he folds?"
"A mission as important as saving the world should obviously be entrusted to this genius!"
Rukawa stood up and gave him a cold glance.
"Big idiot."
"What did you say?!"
Sakuragi instantly exploded.
The veins on his forehead bulged as he rolled up his sleeves, ready to turn the locker room into a battlefield.
"Enough."
Rukawa turned his back on Sakuragi.
His voice wasn't loud, yet there was a chilling edge to it.
"Today..."
"I won't let anyone stand in my way."
"Whether it's Toyotama or anyone else."
That aura made Sakuragi freeze for a moment.
This fox...
He was serious today.
"Okay, okay."
Kogure quickly stepped in as the peacemaker, expertly smoothing things over.
"Sakuragi, don't get worked up either."
"You're one of our secret weapons."
"Make sure you show them what all that training has accomplished."
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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