Kishimoto was shaking with rage.
He was just about to start cursing when his coach clamped a hand firmly over his mouth and forcibly dragged him away.
With the Toyotama players gone, the tension in the carriage didn't disappear.
If anything, it became even more intense.
"C-ranked…"
Mitsui Hisashi stared at the magazine on the table, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles cracked.
A fierce fighting spirit burned in his eyes.
"That's a nice little C."
"So, in everyone else's eyes, we're nothing more than a bunch of fat sheep waiting to be slaughtered."
Akagi Takenori sat back down.
He gazed at the scenery rushing past the window, his eyes even more resolute than before, as unshakable as stone.
"Then let them watch."
Akagi's voice was steady and powerful. Every word landed like a nail being hammered into the ground.
"Let them see for themselves how this so-called C-ranked team takes their precious A-ranked reputation…"
"And smashes it to pieces."
He adjusted his posture, found a comfortable position, and closed his eyes.
A playful curve appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"A bunch of idiots who only know how to look at statistics."
"Just wait until reality slaps them in the face."
The train roared down the tracks.
Carrying this group of overlooked "C-ranked" players, it charged toward a battlefield filled with the smoke of war.
Hiroshima Prefecture had arrived.
...
August in Hiroshima was brutally hot, like being trapped inside a steamer with no ventilation.
Cicadas screamed from the trees as though their lives depended on it. The asphalt sizzled beneath the blazing sun, and even the distant air seemed to twist and warp under the heat.
Hiroshima had Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki.
It had Itsukushima Shrine.
But that summer, the city belonged to only one species.
High school basketball players.
The automatic doors at the Hiroshima Station exit had barely opened when a wave of heat mixed with deodorant and teenage male hormones came rushing toward them.
Akagi Takenori led the group.
At 197 centimeters, his massive frame looked like a moving red-and-black iron tower, every step landing with a heavy thud against the floor.
Behind him, Rukawa Kaede carried his bag over one shoulder, his eyes as cold and sleepy as a cat that had just woken up.
Miyagi Ryota chewed gum with both hands in his pockets, his eyes sweeping across the crowd like radar, seemingly designed to detect every tall person who passed by.
Mitsui Hisashi pulled the brim of his cap lower, but it couldn't hide the restless fire in his eyes.
Sakuragi Hanamichi, sporting his unmistakable bright-red hair, looked around like an overactive child.
"Hahaha! Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki! This genius has arrived!"
Walking at the very back was Makino Juro.
He lazily shook a can of Hiroshima-exclusive citrus soda in his hand, his eyelids half-lowered as he maintained his usual languid expression.
This group of people looked like they had been assembled from completely different worlds.
But the fierce aura forged through their battles in the Kanagawa Prefectural Tournament was impossible to ignore.
It instantly dominated the entire area.
"That's Shohoku?"
"I heard they took down Shoyo and Ryonan…"
"Yeah right. They don't look like they have three heads and six arms. Except for that gorilla."
The whispers of passersby reached their ears.
Akagi didn't even bother looking at them.
He simply raised his head and glanced at the blinding sun.
"Let's go."
"To the battlefield."
...
Hiroshima Prefectural General Gymnasium
Under the enormous dome, the concentration of testosterone was off the charts.
Fifty-nine elite teams from across the country packed the venue to the brim.
The smell of floor wax mixed with the sweat of countless teenagers.
One breath was enough to make anyone's adrenaline spike.
"Take the oath!"
The announcement boomed throughout the stadium.
Standing at the very front was Sannoh Industrial.
They wore pure-white uniforms, each of them expressionless, looking like precision-engineered war machines fresh off an assembly line.
Just standing there seemed to lower the pressure around them by several degrees.
That was the absolute dominance accumulated through years of ruling the national scene.
One glance was enough to make people feel suffocated.
The opening ceremony ended.
The Shohoku players made their way toward the tournament bracket posted near the entrance.
Black lines on a white background formed an intricate web of team names, all ultimately pointing toward the golden word at the top:
CHAMPION.
"Found it."
Miyagi Ryota tapped the lower-left corner with his finger.
"Kanagawa, Shohoku."
Immediately beside them was:
Osaka, Toyotama.
But that wasn't the part that hurt the most.
Everyone's eyes continued upward.
At the second-round position, four bold black characters seemed to crash down like a massive boulder.
Sannoh Industrial.
Then they looked farther to the right.
The potential opponent in the fourth round was...
Aiwa Academy.
"Gasp…"
The surrounding players from other teams sucked in a collective breath.
They looked at Shohoku as though they were staring at a group of walking corpses.
"Holy crap, that's some next-level bad luck."
"First round against Osaka's Toyotama, second round against the national powerhouse… Even if they somehow win with their ancestors blessing them from beyond the grave, they still have to face the Aichi Star afterward?"
"Confirmed. This is the legendary Death Half."
"Shohoku's luck is unbelievable. Did they leave the house without checking their horoscope? Straight into Hell from the opening round."
The murmuring spread like a swarm of flies.
Akagi stared fixedly at the four characters Sannoh Industrial, his fists tightening with repeated cracks.
Even though they had mentally prepared themselves for this possibility, seeing a schedule that practically screamed "suicide mission" was still enough to make their scalps tingle.
"And there's this."
Mitsui Hisashi suddenly pointed toward the number 60 on the far right of the bracket.
There was no school name there.
Only one line:
[Specially Invited Challenger Team (Mystery Guest)]
"What the hell is that?"
"Weren't there only fifty-nine teams in previous years?"
"Whatever kind of monster or demon they are…"
"We're beating them anyway."
Rukawa Kaede cut in coldly.
His gaze remained locked on the words Sannoh, the fighting spirit in his eyes sharp as a blade.
"Looks like your luck really is unbelievably terrible."
A deep, magnetic voice suddenly came from behind them.
There was an unmistakable air of effortless superiority in it, the kind of confidence that sounded almost like humblebragging.
The Shohoku players turned around.
A group of tall figures wearing purple jackets stood behind them.
At the front was a dark-skinned man with striking features.
The former king of Kanagawa.
Maki Shinichi.
Behind him stood the ponytailed "wild monkey," Kiyota Nobunaga, and the harmless-looking Jin Soichiro.
Kainan had been placed in the opposite half of the bracket.
The so-called Heaven Group.
"A-Maki."
Akagi turned around.
Their eyes collided in midair, sparks practically flying between them.
"Being grouped with Sannoh and Aiwa…"
"This really is Hell Mode."
"Akagi, don't get eliminated in the first round."
Maki Shinichi folded his arms, the corners of his mouth curling into a meaningful smile.
"Heh-heh! You're finished!"
"Your National Tournament trial period is about to expire!"
"Going home after the first round… How heartbreaking! How tragic!"
Kiyota Nobunaga had been holding himself back for far too long.
He jumped out, pointing at the Shohoku players and pulling faces.
"Wild Monkey! What did you say?!"
Sakuragi Hanamichi instantly exploded.
The veins on his forehead bulged.
"This genius is the man who's going to conquer the entire country!"
"Sannoh, Shannoh, Water King, whatever! I'm sending every last one of them flying!"
Kiyota nimbly hopped backward.
"Bleh-bleh-bleh! Talking big doesn't cost anything!"
"That's the undefeated legend, Sannoh Industrial!"
"Looks like we won't get the chance to face each other in the finals after all."
"After all, you guys won't even qualify to meet us."
Despite his mouthiness, there was no contempt in Kiyota's eyes.
After being thoroughly beaten down during the prefectural tournament, he knew exactly how tough this Shohoku team was.
And precisely because he knew that, he understood just how brutal this draw really was.
"Qualify?"
Juro, who had remained silent the entire time, suddenly let out a quiet laugh.
Hiss.
He popped open the tab on his soda with one hand.
Bubbles fizzed violently inside the can.
"Either way…"
"We'll have to beat them eventually."
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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