On the court...
The game had entered garbage time.
Although Toyotama High was still launching desperate counterattacks...
Anyone with basketball knowledge could tell the outcome had already been decided.
"Give me the ball!!"
Kishimoto fought for position in the frontcourt, violently backing his defender down with his hips while waving for the pass, shouting so hard his voice was beginning to crack.
He had lost it.
Completely.
As Osaka's scoring king, being dominated like this was a humiliation he simply couldn't accept.
The pass finally arrived.
Kishimoto gave a quick jab step, then abandoned all finesse.
No elaborate fakes.
No clever footwork.
Fueled solely by explosive athleticism and boiling rage, he bulldozed straight into the paint.
"Get in there!!"
He roared as he forced up a shot directly over Atsushi Tsuchiya's defense.
It was an irrational decision.
The textbook definition of an emotional play.
Tsuchiya didn't even fully leave the ground.
He simply raised his long arms high into the air.
Like an airtight net.
Every possible shooting angle was sealed.
Not even a sliver of daylight remained.
At the same time, he maintained the perfect distance.
Close enough to smother the shot.
Far enough to avoid drawing a foul.
Bang!
The ball slammed into the front of the rim before bouncing high into the air.
Daiei Academy secured the rebound with ease.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!!"
After landing, Kishimoto stomped the floor furiously.
His face had turned the color of liver.
His mentality had completely collapsed.
"Kishimoto, calm down!"
A teammate hurried over to restrain him.
"Get lost!"
Kishimoto violently shook off his teammate's hand.
With bloodshot eyes, he glared at Atsushi Tsuchiya in the distance.
"Tsuchiya!!"
"Stop looking down on me, damn it!"
Faced with Kishimoto's powerless rage...
Tsuchiya merely glanced at him.
It wasn't contempt.
Nor was it mockery.
It was something even colder.
Complete indifference.
As though they weren't even playing on the same level.
In his eyes...
Kishimoto's anger was no different from a stray dog barking by the roadside.
Not even worth acknowledging.
"Get back on defense."
Tsuchiya turned toward his teammates and casually waved a hand.
His tone was as relaxed as if he were buying bottled water at a convenience store.
"The game's not over yet."
...
"They've won."
From the stands, Hikoichi closed his notebook.
"Game over."
"Toyotama's reckless, charge-forward style..."
"...ran into the one type of player that counters it perfectly."
"That Atsushi Tsuchiya completely dismantled Toyotama's defense by exploiting his height and court vision."
"And..."
Hikoichi swallowed as he watched Number Four jogging back on defense, looking as though he hadn't even broken a sweat.
"He still hasn't gone all out."
"He's controlled the entire game with nothing more than passing and tempo."
"He practically toyed with all of Toyotama."
"If he entered the same 'God of Slaughter Mode' that Sendoh-senpai sometimes does..."
Hikoichi shivered.
This trip to Osaka...
Even though Kishimoto had humiliated him.
Even though he'd discovered his old friend Aki had exaggerated everything.
It had been worth it.
More than worth it.
"Atsushi Tsuchiya..."
Hikoichi adjusted his glasses, their lenses flashing under the arena lights.
His gaze sharpened like a knife.
"He'll definitely become the greatest threat to the next generation of Ryonan."
"I have to bring all of this information back."
"Sendoh-senpai..."
"And Coach Taoka need to see it."
...
Beeeeep!
The final buzzer echoed throughout the arena.
The scoreboard froze.
68:79
Daiei Academy defeated Toyotama High by eleven points to become Osaka's champions.
At last...
The final pieces of the National Tournament puzzle had fallen into place.
Osaka Representatives:
Daiei Academy
Toyotama High
Aichi Representatives:
Meihou Technical
Aiwa Academy
Kanagawa Representatives:
Kainan University Affiliated High
Shohoku High
Sannoh Industries.
Fukuoka's Hakata Commercial.
Japan's fifty strongest high school teams...
Had all assembled.
Only...
One month remained
...until the National Tournament ignited the summer.
...
The camera pulled higher into the sky.
Crossing bustling Osaka...
Traveling hundreds of kilometers...
It arrived in Tokyo's Minato Ward.
A towering commercial skyscraper pierced the clouds.
Its glass curtain walls reflected a cold, luxurious brilliance beneath the sun.
It radiated only one thing.
Money.
At the top floor...
An office so enormous it could easily fit half a basketball court.
Handwoven carpets covered the floor.
Several abstract paintings—impossible to understand yet obviously worth a fortune—hung on the walls.
Standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows...
A middle-aged man in a custom-tailored suit stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
He silently overlooked the traffic below, where people resembled tiny ants.
Even from behind...
The aura of someone accustomed to standing at the pinnacle of power pressed heavily upon the room.
Just his silhouette made people instinctively lower their voices.
"President Juro."
Behind him, a tall secretary in a fitted business suit stepped forward respectfully with a folder in hand.
"The advertising sponsorship for the Inter-High has been secured."
Her voice was crisp and efficient.
"The tournament committee has unanimously approved the special sponsorship clause we proposed after discussing it with the board."
"They've agreed to add a Special Invitational Challenge Team outside the official tournament schedule."
The man by the window didn't turn around.
He merely swirled the amber whiskey in his glass.
Ice cubes gently clinked against the crystal.
"Excellent."
His voice was low and magnetic.
It carried unquestionable authority.
"Since that brat enjoys basketball so much..."
"And since he finds bullying the local competition entertaining..."
The man slowly turned around.
His face had been remarkably well maintained.
One could still glimpse the handsome man he must have been in his youth.
But most striking...
Were his eyes.
Long.
Sharp.
Cold.
Almost identical to someone else's eyes—
Usually lazy.
Yet frighteningly piercing whenever he became serious.
He walked to his desk and picked up a cigar.
The secretary immediately stepped forward to light it.
Smoke slowly curled through the office.
A playful smile appeared on the man's lips.
The smile of a hunter who had just discovered particularly interesting prey.
"Let's make things a little more exciting."
"Find every student who appeared in those recordings."
"Then..."
"Send them away for special training under the banner of the Special Invitational Challenge Team."
"Give them one chance..."
"...to fight for the championship."
The man chuckled softly before exhaling a thick ring of smoke.
"If he refuses to inherit the family business..."
"Then he'd better possess the resolve to match."
"So..."
"You want to become a professional basketball player?"
"Fine."
"I'll allow it."
"But if you lose..."
His eyes instantly turned icy.
His fingers tapped lightly against the desk.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
"Then you'll obediently come back..."
"...and inherit the family business like you're supposed to."
"Or..."
"You can go manage one of our mines in Africa."
"It'll be good for building character."
...
Kanagawa.
Shohoku High Basketball Gym.
"AH-CHOO!!"
Makino Juro suddenly let out an earth-shaking sneeze while secretly taking a break and drinking water on the sidelines.
He nearly threw his thermos across the court.
"What's wrong, Juro?"
Kuwata looked over with concern while practicing his dribbling.
"Did you catch a cold?"
Makino Juro rubbed his reddened nose, looking thoroughly confused.
"No."
"I just suddenly have this strange feeling..."
"...like someone's plotting against me."
"Or trying to set me up."
He shook his head, forcing the strange premonition out of his mind.
"Hey, Sakuragi!"
"Your hips!"
"Get lower!"
"Are you trying to use your butt to sense air currents?!"
Makino Juro shouted toward the court.
"I KNOW!"
"You're so annoying, Master!"
With his freshly shaved bald head gleaming beneath the lights, Sakuragi Hanamichi shouted back while maintaining his horse stance.
Golden sunlight poured through the gymnasium windows, covering the hardwood floor in a warm glow.
The countdown...
To that blazing summer...
Had officially begun.
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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