Akagi Takenori stood frozen in place.
Sweat trickled down his cheeks.
So this was the summit of the basketball world?
This was the NBA?
The strength he had always taken pride in felt laughably insignificant before this prehistoric monster.
"Don't get discouraged, buddy."
Shaquille O'Neal walked over.
His massive hand, as large as a fan, patted Akagi on the head as though comforting a dejected kitten.
"For a high school kid, your physical tools are already pretty good."
"But if you want to dominate the paint, brute force alone isn't enough."
"Listen carefully. One pizza only buys you this much wisdom."
O'Neal raised three fingers, each one as thick as a carrot.
"First: your butt."
"A center's butt is more important than his hands."
"When you're fighting for position, use it to feel your opponent's center of gravity. The moment their balance shifts, spin immediately. That's your radar."
"Second: your elbows."
"I'm not telling you to hit people. I'm telling you to use them."
"When protecting the ball, keep your elbows up like blades. That space belongs to you. Anyone who reaches in should learn why it hurts."
"That's what I call 'legal damage.' Got it?"
"Third—and most important."
O'Neal pointed at his head.
Then at the rim.
Pure dominance radiated from him.
"Presence."
"Authority."
"When you stand under the basket, you're the emperor."
"Anyone who dares step into your territory is an assassin."
"And assassins die."
"If you hesitate, you lose."
"When you get the ball, either dunk it through the rim or pass it to the open man."
"Don't stand there dribbling around trying to find your rhythm like some scared rookie."
Just then, O'Neal's ears twitched.
He seemed to hear the furious roar of his nutritionist somewhere in the distance.
"Oh hell, that guy found me again! Time to run!"
The giant beast executed an absurdly agile change of direction and vanished into the corridor in an instant.
Only his voice remained, echoing through the empty gym.
"Keep working hard, Patrick Number Two!"
"The next time we meet, don't let me send you flying!"
The gym fell silent once more.
Akagi stood alone beneath the basket, staring at the rim that was still trembling slightly.
That suffocating sense of pressure lingered on his skin.
The gap was enormous.
So enormous it bordered on despair.
But...
Akagi clenched his fists.
His nails dug deeply into his palms.
A fierce, excited smile slowly spread across his face.
"So this is what the view from the top looks like..."
"Kainan..."
"Ryonan..."
"Sannoh..."
"If I've already faced a monster like that..."
"Then what are you guys?"
Akagi picked up the basketball lying nearby.
His eyes had never been more determined.
His horizons had expanded.
For the dream of conquering the nation.
For the sake of the problem children of Shohoku.
"One hundred more sets of post-footwork drills!"
"If it doesn't kill me, I'll train even harder!"
Akagi's roar echoed throughout the Orlando training facility.
Meanwhile, back in Japan.
Kanagawa Prefectural Gymnasium.
The round-robin stage of the prefectural tournament was in full swing.
But the atmosphere in Shohoku High's bench area was... strange.
It even carried a faint yakuza-like aura.
"Hey... who's that guy?"
"He looks terrifying..."
"When did Shohoku recruit some underworld boss?"
The spectators and players from Takezono High all stared fearfully at one particular figure in Shohoku's warm-up area.
The man wearing jersey number ten.
The man with the bright red shaved head.
Sakuragi Hanamichi was stretching with a ferocious expression.
Without his trademark hair softening his features, his sharp facial structure looked more intimidating than ever.
The hostility in his eyes practically overflowed.
And because he was still obsessing over entering the Zone, his gaze was so intense it looked like he wanted to glare a backboard into submission.
"Sakuragi's new look is way too intimidating."
"It's basically overflowing with murderous intent."
Mitsui Hisashi tightened his shoelaces.
Watching several Takezono players start trembling after receiving a single glare from Sakuragi, he couldn't help but complain.
"Hmph. Red braised egg."
Rukawa Kaede coldly muttered.
Though his eyes lingered on Sakuragi's bald head for a second.
He had to admit—
The braised egg actually looked better than before.
At least now he resembled a serious basketball player instead of a clown.
"Alright, everyone, gather up!"
Ayako slapped her paper fan against her palm and called the team together.
Although Akagi was absent.
Shohoku's momentum had not diminished in the slightest.
If anything, crushing Kainan in the previous game had made them even wilder.
"Today's opponent is Takezono."
"The outside world may not think highly of them, but we finish this quickly."
"Don't give them any opportunities!"
"YES!!"
The team roared in unison.
Their voices shook the air.
At the very end of the bench.
Makino Juro sat wrapped in a jacket and let out a massive yawn.
A few tears still hung at the corners of his eyes.
His entire body radiated a lazy Who am I? Where am I? kind of energy.
He glanced at Takezono's coach.
The poor middle-aged man was staring at Shohoku's all-star delinquent lineup with utter despair written across his face.
Makino Juro scratched his head.
Then looked toward Sakuragi, who was vigorously slapping his own bald head as if stacking buffs before a boss fight.
"Looks like I won't need to do much today."
"Open the gates."
"Release Sakuragi."
Kanagawa Prefectural Gymnasium.
The deafening noise of the crowd threatened to lift the roof.
Yet inside Shohoku's bench area, a bizarre religious ceremony was taking place.
Sakuragi Hanamichi stood there with his gleaming red bald head.
His expression was incredibly solemn.
Like a devoted worshipper paying respects to a sacred deity.
Sneaking around to avoid Coach Anzai's line of sight—
He carefully pulled a picture frame from the very bottom of his sports bag.
Then gently placed it in the center seat of the bench.
The absolute VIP position.
Inside the frame was Akagi Takenori.
His dark face looked as imposing as ever.
His eyes stared straight ahead as though attempting to kill every living creature that passed by.
Sakuragi straightened his collar.
Pressed his palms together.
Then bowed ninety degrees toward the photograph.
"Mister Gorilla, rest easy over there..."
"Even though you always beat this genius on the head with your Iron Fist."
"I, Sakuragi Hanamichi, am a man who repays evil with kindness."
"I'll carry your dream for you."
"So don't worry."
"Enjoy your bananas in the Western World... America."
"Shohoku's paint belongs to this genius now."
"Amen."
Smack!
Thud!
Two dull impacts rang out.
The unmistakable sound of flesh meeting shoe soles.
Miyagi Ryota and Mitsui Hisashi moved with the coordination of men who had rehearsed this moment a hundred times.
One kick each.
They sent Sakuragi face-first into the floor.
"Ow ow ow!"
"You're trying to murder a genius!"
"I'm performing a pregame prayer!"
"This is the highest form of respect for our former captain!"
"Do you people have no manners?!"
Sakuragi sprang back up while clutching his backside.
His eyes were blazing.
"Respect my ass!"
"He only went to America to treat his ankle injury!"
"He'll be back in a few days!"
"Why are you acting like this is a memorial service?!"
Miyagi roared.
Veins bulged on his forehead as he pointed furiously at the framed photograph.
Spittle flew everywhere.
"And why are you even worshipping him?!"
"Are you trying to curse him to death so you can steal the captaincy?"
"That's incredibly bad luck!"
"Put that thing away right now!"
Mitsui's mouth twitched violently as well.
He snatched the frame and hid it behind his back.
"Tch. Ignorant mortals."
Sakuragi curled his lip.
His face carried the profound expression of someone convinced he alone had seen the truth.
"Gorilla's physical body isn't here."
"But his spirit must remain courtside."
"That's what a spiritual totem is."
"Do you people understand?"
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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