Makino Juro shook his wrist, which had gone completely numb from the high-five, and cursed with a laugh.
"This guy's got some serious strength."
High in the stands, the four members of the Sakuragi Army were lined up neatly along the railing.
Mito Yohei watched Sakuragi sprinting all over the court and let out a long breath.
"Guys, my feelings right now are incredibly complicated."
Takamiya Nozomi had completely forgotten to chew his chips. He sniffed hard.
"I know exactly what you mean. It's like watching your idiot son finally make something of himself."
Ohkusu Yuji and Noma Chuichirou nodded in unison.
"Exactly…"
All four of them simultaneously pictured the gymnasium in Shizuoka.
An entire week of brutal closed-door training.
Tens of thousands of mind-numbingly repetitive shots.
Every day, Sakuragi trained until his legs cramped. His jersey could practically be wrung out for half a bucket of water, and the wooden floor was covered in the marks left by his sweat.
The four of them had taken turns acting as human passing machines, their arms becoming so sore they could barely hold chopsticks while eating noodles.
No one understood the value of that shot better than they did.
To hell with calling it dumb luck!
That was a miracle forged through blood and sweat!
In the stands, Haruko Akagi gripped the iron railing tightly, her eyes red.
"Sakuragi!"
Haruko shouted, her voice trembling with barely contained excitement and emotion.
"All your hard work paid off!"
Sakuragi Hanamichi suddenly came to a stop and looked up.
The girl in the stands was smiling at him, tears still glistening in the corners of her eyes.
The sight struck him straight in the heart.
Sakuragi's face instantly turned bright red all the way to his ears.
The DNA of an innocent teenage boy went into overdrive.
He took a deep breath, suddenly raised his right arm, and clenched his fist firmly toward the stands!
Mito Yohei smiled.
Takamiya Nozomi smiled too.
The four of them raised their fists at the same time, returning Sakuragi's gesture from afar.
It was a kind of romance and understanding that belonged exclusively to their gang of troublemakers.
"BEEEEEP!"
The shrill buzzer rang out.
The referee immediately blew his whistle and signaled for a timeout.
"Toyotama calls timeout!"
The scoreboard came into view.
The numbers were so glaring they made everyone's scalp tingle.
Shōhoku High 102 — Toyotama High 74!
With only five minutes remaining in the second half, Shōhoku held a massive 28-point lead.
They were grinding Toyotama straight into the floor!
The Toyotama coach stood on the sideline, his face dark enough to drip ink.
He gritted his teeth and called their final timeout of the game.
…
Inside the Hiroshima gymnasium.
The atmosphere was so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.
The glaring red numbers on the scoreboard mercilessly mocked Toyotama's arrogance.
102–74.
A full twenty-eight-point deficit had nailed every Toyotama player to the pillar of shame.
Yet Toyotama's bench was deathly silent.
Not a single person dared even take a deep breath.
There was no discussion of tactics.
No words of encouragement.
Only the heavy sound of their breathing, like an old bellows being dragged back and forth for dear life.
Kishimoto Minori braced both hands against his knees, sweat pouring off him as if someone had turned on a faucet.
His chest heaved violently, his lungs feeling as though he had swallowed a piece of red-hot charcoal.
"Huff… huff…"
Kishimoto raised his head, his eyes stinging from the sweat.
He didn't understand.
This was their national tournament debut!
How could they be getting crushed by a team that had barely been heard of before?
His stiff gaze slowly shifted toward the end of the bench.
Minami Tsuyoshi was slumped there, a towel covering half his face.
He looked like an empty shell with every last trace of his soul sucked out of him.
The Ace Killer who had once struck fear into opponents across the country now didn't even have the strength to raise his head.
Looking at his captain hiding like a coward, something inside Kishimoto finally snapped.
He stormed over and violently yanked the towel off Minami's head.
"Minami! What the hell are you spacing out for?!"
Minami slowly raised his head.
There was no light in his eyes.
They were so empty that it sent chills down Kishimoto's spine.
"Say something!"
Kishimoto grabbed Minami by the collar, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.
"We already took out one of Rukawa Kaede's eyes!"
"That redhead is just an amateur who does nothing but commit fouls!"
"So why the hell are we getting beaten like this?!"
Kishimoto's voice trembled uncontrollably, panic impossible to hide.
"Were we wrong from the very beginning?"
"Was Coach Kitano's run-and-gun system… fundamentally flawed?!"
The words struck the hearts of every Toyotama player like a sledgehammer.
The players around them lowered their heads in fear, none daring to meet Kishimoto's eyes.
To admit that the system was wrong was to trample the faith they had held for the past three years beneath their feet.
Minami remained silent.
He stared blankly at Kishimoto's twisted face, but his mind was frantically replaying the image of Rukawa shooting with his eyes closed.
That pure devotion to basketball.
The kind of devotion where he was willing to stake even his life on the game.
Minami had lost that a long time ago.
"Enough. Stop yelling, Kishimoto."
A figure forced his way between them.
Coach Kanehira frowned deeply as he reached out to pull the enraged Kishimoto away.
"This isn't the time to turn on each other."
Kanehira suppressed his anger and tried to keep his voice calm.
"You two are the pillars of this team."
"If even the two of you start tearing each other apart, how are we supposed to play the rest of the game?"
"The game isn't over yet. We still have five minutes…"
"Shut the hell up!"
A furious roar instantly cut Kanehira off.
Kishimoto whipped around, his eyes vicious, like a cornered wolf.
He violently shook Kanehira's hand away.
"You old bastard, nobody asked for your opinion!"
Kishimoto pointed toward the scoreboard hanging high above them, spittle flying from his mouth.
"We've already lost our damn pants!"
"You don't have any place to talk here!"
"What the hell do you know about run-and-gun basketball?"
"Do you understand the essence of Coach Kitano's system?!"
"Shut up! Go stand over there and be our damn mascot!"
The Toyotama players flinched in fear.
Yet not a single person spoke up to stop him.
In their eyes, Kanehira was nothing more than a placeholder.
A disposable figure filling the coaching position.
Coach Kitano was the only true god in their eyes.
Kanehira stood completely frozen.
He stared at the arrogant student standing before him, contempt written all over his face.
Two years.
For two years, Kanehira had endured everything just to keep his job and hold this group of reckless, arrogant kids together.
He had swallowed every insult.
Every time they ignored him.
Every time they mocked him.
Every time they treated him as if he were invisible.
He had gritted his teeth and swallowed it all.
But today…
Under the spotlight of the national tournament.
In the middle of this humiliating defeat that had nailed them to the pillar of shame.
As he looked at Kishimoto's unbearably arrogant face, the final thread inside Kanehira's mind snapped.
"SMACK!"
A loud slap instantly silenced the noise of the gymnasium.
Kishimoto's face was knocked sharply to the side, and he stumbled backward two steps.
He clutched his burning cheek, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.
"You…"
Every Toyotama player froze.
Iwata Mitsuaki's jaw nearly dropped to the floor.
The water bottle in Itakura Daijiro's hand slipped with a clatter, spilling water across the floor.
That harmless old man who normally wouldn't even dare speak up…
Had actually hit someone?!
Kanehira slowly lowered his hand.
His fist was still trembling uncontrollably.
Not from fear.
From two years of suppressed frustration finally exploding.
"You bunch of reckless little brats…"
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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