"Hmm?"
A mocking snort came from Miyagi Ryota.
Chewing his gum, he leisurely stepped forward.
Both hands slipped into his pockets, his chin tilted slightly upward.
There was a ruthless glint in his eyes, the kind forged through years of street fights.
"What? You wanna throw down?"
Mitsui Hisashi pulled his cap lower, the corner of his mouth curling into a cruel smile.
He rolled his wrist, his knuckles cracking sharply.
The aura of a former gang leader instantly came roaring back.
"Perfect. My hands are itching anyway."
"I don't mind warming up before the game and teaching you guys a little lesson in how the world works."
Even Rukawa Kaede stepped forward, his expression cold.
He said nothing.
But those perpetually deadpan eyes contained only two words:
Bring it.
Add Akagi Takenori's towering, iron-tower physique and Sakuragi Hanamichi's unmistakably dangerous face, and Shohoku's entire image instantly transformed from a basketball team into a yakuza organization.
"Uh…"
The Toyotama players stopped in their tracks.
The murderous aura rushing toward them was enough to make them hesitate.
Are these guys really here to play basketball?
Why do they look like they just got released from prison?
Just as the two sides were about to come to blows—
"That's enough!"
A furious roar exploded like thunder.
Akagi Takenori glared, the veins in his temples throbbing.
"Stop wasting your breath!"
"We're here to play basketball. Save your strength for the court!"
At the same time, another voice came from the rear of the Toyotama group.
Calm.
Cold.
Yet carrying an unquestionable authority.
"That's right. Forget it, Kishimoto."
The voice wasn't loud, but it was like a bucket of ice water dumped over Kishimoto's head, instantly extinguishing the flames of his rage.
The man who had been puffed up like a fighting rooster actually stopped in his tracks.
His face was still full of unwillingness, but he obediently backed away.
Everyone turned toward the voice.
From the very back of the Toyotama group stepped out a man wearing jersey number 4.
Narrow eyes.
A sinister gaze.
Almost no expression on his face.
Yet there was something about him that made people feel as though a venomous snake had locked onto them.
His eyes swept calmly over the Shohoku players.
Maki Shinichi's eyes narrowed.
He shifted sideways, quietly moving a little closer to Makino Juro before lowering his voice.
"Juro, that guy…"
"He's Toyotama's captain, Minami Tsuyoshi."
"Be very careful around him."
Makino Juro raised an eyebrow.
The soda can in his hand spun once around his fingers.
He lifted his eyes and happened to meet Minami's gaze.
Their eyes collided across the distance.
There were no sparks.
Only a silent exchange of probing looks.
Juro smiled.
There wasn't the slightest trace of fear in his eyes.
If anything, there was a hint of provocation.
Minami withdrew his gaze without acknowledging the challenge.
He looked toward Akagi Takenori and spoke in a tone as flat as someone reciting a textbook.
"Tomorrow, we'll find out who's stronger."
"Akagi, we're basketball players. Win or lose, we should play without regrets."
The words sounded noble enough, even carrying a certain lofty spirit of sportsmanship.
But to those present who knew what lay beneath the surface, they sent a chill down their spines.
Without regrets?
Did that mean that in order to win, they were prepared to do whatever it took?
Akagi stared deeply at him before replying in a low voice.
"Of course. We'll defeat you fair and square."
"Hmph."
Minami said nothing more.
He turned and waved his hand.
"Let's go."
The confrontation seemed to be coming to an end.
However, just as the Toyotama players passed by Shohoku, the buzz-cut player wearing jersey number 6 suddenly quickened his pace.
It was Itakura Daijiro, Toyotama's starting point guard, with a face practically designed to irritate people.
He walked straight toward Miyagi Ryota without making the slightest attempt to avoid him.
Just as the two were about to pass each other...
Itakura suddenly shifted sideways and slammed his shoulder hard into Miyagi.
BAM!
Miyagi was short, but his lower body was rock-solid.
His body merely swayed.
He didn't fall.
His sports bag, however, nearly slipped from his hand.
"Oh, whoops."
Itakura stopped and looked down at Miyagi, who barely reached his chest.
He wore an unbearably smug fake smile.
"Sorry, sorry. My bad."
"I just didn't see you."
He gestured over Miyagi's head with his hand.
"You're so short, you're completely in my blind spot."
It was blatant humiliation.
And mocking Miyagi's height?
That was one of the biggest taboos imaginable.
Sakuragi Hanamichi immediately started forward.
"You bastard! What did you say?!"
But someone was faster.
Miyagi Ryota slowly raised his head.
The face that normally wore a carefree, mischievous grin was now cold as ice.
He didn't lose his temper.
He didn't even curse.
He simply dusted off the spot on his shoulder where Itakura had bumped him.
As though something filthy had gotten on him.
"Hey."
Miyagi's voice was quiet, but it clearly reached Itakura's ears.
"If your eyesight is that bad, you should quit basketball and get your presbyopia treated."
"And…"
Miyagi lifted his eyes.
His gaze was as sharp as a blade, while the corner of his mouth curled into an utterly contemptuous smile.
"Buy your train ticket first."
Itakura froze.
He turned back with a confused look.
"Huh? A ticket? What are you talking about?"
Miyagi kept his hands in his pockets and leaned forward slightly.
The pressure in his presence was overwhelming.
Each word struck with surgical precision.
"Obviously, a train ticket back to Osaka."
"Buy it in advance. After we beat you tomorrow, you'll be heading home, won't you?"
"And if you wait too long to buy one, it'll be exhausting having to walk all the way home crying."
Itakura's face instantly stiffened.
The fake smile froze on his face, making him look utterly ridiculous.
"You…"
He wanted to argue back.
But Miyagi had already turned away, giving him nothing but a cool, carefree back.
He tossed one final remark over his shoulder.
"Don't forget to buy a limited express ticket."
"You'll get to crawl home faster."
"Pfft"
Makino Juro couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing.
He raised his soda can high and gave a mock toast toward Miyagi's departing back.
"Ryota…"
"That was fucking cool."
...
Night descended over Hiroshima like ink too thick to dissolve.
The city's bustling nightlife refused to surrender to the darkness, with neon lights flashing wildly throughout the streets.
A luxurious hotel.
A high-floor suite.
Steam billowed from the bathroom like a sauna.
Miyagi Ryota sat curled up in a spacious bathtub.
The water was scalding hot, turning his skin bright red like a boiled shrimp.
Yet he didn't even furrow his brow.
He raised his hand and pressed his fingertips firmly against his left shoulder.
That was where Itakura Daijiro had slammed into him earlier that day.
There wasn't a bruise.
Not even a red mark.
But the disgusting feeling of being looked down upon by that giant seemed like a rusty nail driven deep into his flesh.
"Blind spot, huh…"
Miyagi scooped up a handful of hot water and violently splashed it across his face.
That bastard Itakura.
That idiot who uses his height as a weapon.
Miyagi suddenly opened his eyes.
Water streamed down his defiant face.
Within the swirling steam, there was no anger in his eyes.
Only a bone-chilling coldness, sharp as a carving knife.
"Tomorrow."
With a splash, he rose from the bath.
Water droplets clung to his lean, defined muscles.
He looked at the figure reflected in the mirror.
A man standing only 168 centimeters tall.
Miyagi tugged at the corner of his mouth, revealing a row of white teeth.
"I'll run those precious legs of yours into the ground."
"Since you can't see me…"
"Then I'll make sure you spend the entire game staring at my back and eating my dust until the final buzzer."
He grabbed a towel and roughly scrubbed his hair.
Then, facing his reflection, he made a finger-gun gesture.
"Keep your neck nice and clean and wait for me, idiot."
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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