The sky gradually darkened.
In a secluded alley in Hiroshima, the red lanterns hanging outside an izakaya swayed gently in the summer breeze.
The aroma of sizzling skewers and the mellow scent of sake drifted through the air.
Two gray-haired old men sat side by side at the counter.
"Haah…"
Coach Kitano downed his cup of sake in one gulp.
The fiery liquor slid down his throat, and he let out a satisfied breath.
He turned his head and looked at Coach Anzai beside him, who was calmly holding a cup of tea as steady as a mountain.
Kitano shook his head with a smile.
"Anzai, I honestly never thought you'd still be coaching."
"I heard you disappeared after resigning from your university coaching job. Who would've thought you'd end up coaching high school kids?"
Kitano popped an edamame into his mouth, his face filled with nostalgia.
Coach Anzai held his teacup, the dim yellow light reflecting off his glasses.
He merely smiled without answering.
"Your kids played really well today."
Kitano's gaze drifted into the distance.
"If I were still coaching Toyotama, and our kids could have a real battle on the court… now that would've been something to see."
He sighed.
"What a shame."
Coach Anzai took another sip of tea, a complicated emotion flashing through his deep-set eyes.
After a few more drinks, the two men settled their bill and left the restaurant.
The streets were nearly empty.
Every now and then, a taxi sped past, stirring up a wave of hot summer air.
The two old-school basketball men walked side by side, their steps slow and measured.
"Kitano."
Coach Anzai suddenly stopped.
"What is it?"
"Do you think… we should show the kids the footage of Sannoh tonight?"
Anzai's voice sounded somewhat heavy in the night breeze.
Kitano froze for a moment before breaking into laughter, his face crinkling with wrinkles.
"What? Afraid they'll get discouraged after seeing it?"
"I mean, that bunch from Sannoh could probably traumatize someone just by looking at their physiques."
"It's not that I'm afraid they'll be discouraged."
Coach Anzai continued walking with his hands behind his back.
"I was just asking."
"It's normal to worry."
Kitano slowly caught up.
"On one side, you've got the undisputed kings. On the other, you've got rookies making their first appearance at the National Tournament."
"The gap in ability is obvious."
"If watching the footage scares them so badly they can't sleep, there'd be nothing shameful about that."
Kitano paused.
Looking at Anzai's broad back, the corners of his mouth lifted into a knowing smile.
"But…"
"Judging from how those boys played today, they don't exactly look like fragile glass hearts."
Coach Anzai stopped.
The cicadas in the trees by the roadside shrieked relentlessly through the summer night.
He turned around.
That kind, grandfatherly face, reminiscent of a certain fast-food mascot, broke into his trademark smile.
"Oh ho ho ho ho…"
"I see."
Coach Anzai nodded.
"Thanks."
...
Half an hour later, inside Shohoku's hotel room.
The entire team had gathered.
The people who had been making a racket only moments ago were now sitting around the television, the atmosphere noticeably tense.
The door opened, and Coach Anzai's massive body squeezed inside.
In his hand was a black videotape.
Four large characters were written across its white label:
Sannoh High.
"Everyone, settle down."
Coach Anzai inserted the tape into the VCR and picked up the remote.
"After we watch this, we'll work out our strategy for tomorrow."
The screen flickered twice before footage from last year's game between Sannoh and Kainan appeared.
Akagi instinctively clenched his fists, his breathing growing heavier.
Rukawa Kaede stared fixedly at the screen, his eyes sharp enough to cut through steel.
The oppressive atmosphere seemed ready to swallow the entire room.
Then...
A red-haired, bald-headed idiot suddenly jumped to his feet and began pointing at the screen.
Sakuragi's face was glowing with excitement as he threw an arm around Miyagi's neck.
"So all we have to do tomorrow is knock these guys flat, and we'll officially be an AAA-rank team!"
"Right, Pops?!"
His interruption instantly shattered the heavy atmosphere in the room.
Makino Juro leaned against the corner, rubbing his temples helplessly.
He nearly burst out laughing.
That red-haired monkey really is the perfect cure for every kind of over-the-top intimidation.
Coach Anzai pushed up his reflective glasses, his broad chin trembling slightly.
That reassuring laughter rang through the room once more.
"Oh ho ho ho ho…"
Looking at this group of completely undeterred "problem children,"
Coach Anzai gave a firm nod.
"Of course."
...
The revolving doors of a luxury hotel in the city center swung open, sending a wave of cold air rushing outside.
Domoto Goro walked at the front.
Behind him came the Sannoh High players, all dressed in identical white tracksuits with close-cropped hair.
They moved without a sound, yet carried an almost suffocating sense of pressure.
Outside the hotel lobby,
several sports reporters who had yet to leave were squatting by the roadside, smoking cigarettes.
When they saw the group emerge, a veteran reporter's hand trembled.
Ash fell onto his trouser leg, but he didn't even notice.
He hurriedly grabbed his camera and approached them.
His voice was filled with disbelief.
"Coach Domoto? It's this late at night. Where are you all going?"
"To practice?"
"Yes."
Domoto Goro stopped.
His deep gaze showed through his gold-rimmed glasses.
"Tomorrow's game allows no room for error. We're going to get some exercise and keep their muscles active."
The reporter swallowed and glanced at his watch.
It was already late at night.
Against a Shohoku team that had been rated C-class, the undisputed kings of high school basketball were still holding a late-night practice?
"Th-That's a little too cautious, isn't it?"
The reporter gave an awkward laugh.
"To be honest, with Sannoh's strength, even if you played tomorrow with your eyes closed, there's no way Shohoku could win."
"The lion uses all its strength even when hunting a rabbit."
Domoto calmly cut him off.
"In my dictionary, there is no such thing as an absolutely weak opponent."
"For tomorrow's game, I called in a few former students from the school. They're going to have a little practice session with the boys."
"Former students?"
The reporter froze.
"Sannoh alumni?"
Just then, several black taxis slowly pulled up at the intersection.
The doors opened.
Several absurdly tall figures climbed out one after another.
Under the dim streetlights, their shadows stretched across the pavement, each one radiating an intimidating presence.
The reporter followed the light with his eyes.
His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.
The half-smoked cigarette fell from his mouth with a soft clack.
"Th-Those are…"
The close-cropped giant at the front had shoulders so broad they looked like a moving wall.
Behind him came several young men, each one heavily muscled, their footsteps steady and composed.
Every movement they made carried the sharp, seasoned aura of men who had spent years battling at the highest level.
The reporter's breathing became completely ragged.
His heart pounded violently.
His voice trembled as it rose into a higher pitch.
"Coach Domoto… They're not ordinary alumni, are they?"
"If I'm not mistaken, those men…"
"They're all superstars of the college basketball world!"
Each of these monsters could dominate the college basketball scene on his own.
And yet Domoto Goro had summoned every single one of them to the streets of Hiroshima with just one phone call!
Domoto Goro looked at the reporter's twisted expression of shock and burst out laughing.
"You've got a good eye."
Domoto turned toward the group of college stars approaching them.
His voice sounded especially cold in the night breeze.
"They're the Shohoku I've imagined for tomorrow's game."
A gust of wind swept through the street.
The reporter's scalp went numb.
To deal with an obscure C-class team,
Sannoh had actually assembled an entire all-star lineup as their imaginary opponents?
That almost pathological obsession with victory…
It sent chills down his spine.
...
At the same time, inside another hotel.
The lights in Shohoku's room remained off.
Only the ghostly blue glow of the television flickered across everyone's faces.
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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