There were no cliché sparks flying.
No dramatic, edge-of-your-seat tension.
From across half the court, Sendoh Akira simply curled his lips into a faint smile.
That familiar expression—three parts helplessness, three parts acknowledgment, and the remaining four… something only someone like him could understand.
"Quit playing dead. Get up and have some fun."
"Heh."
Makino Juro let out a soft snort, twisting open his bottle and tilting his head back to take a long drink.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, a hint of sly amusement flickering in his eyes—so, you figured it out, huh?
Then, as if nothing had happened, he withdrew his gaze, even propping his legs up higher, settling into an even lazier posture.
That guy… is he issuing a challenge?
Juro muttered inwardly.
He adjusted himself into an even more "ergonomic" lounging position, continuing his grand mission of bench-side idling.
As long as the pay's good, I can nap right here.
At the same time, on Shohoku's bench.
Akagi Takenori dropped onto the bench like an iron tower collapsing.
A thick towel covered his head, his entire body radiating a heat that warned others to keep their distance.
"Haah… haah…"
Heavy breathing echoed beneath the towel, like an overworked engine forcefully cooling itself down.
"Oi, Gorilla! How was that?!"
"Wasn't my 'Super Invincible Cyclone Layup' just insanely cool?!"
Sakuragi Hanamichi's booming voice came with built-in amplification.
His oversized hand pounded bang bang against Akagi's shoulder—completely lacking any sense of restraint.
"Shut up, idiot."
Akagi didn't remove the towel. His voice came out muffled.
But unlike before, there was no irritation in it—only a steady calm that reassured everyone.
He was forcing himself to cool down.
That dunk just now had felt incredible. It had completely shattered the psychological shadow Fish住 had cast over him.
But he knew this wasn't a solo performance.
As captain—Shohoku's anchor—
If he let himself get carried away, this group of insanely talented but equally chaotic problem children would derail in seconds.
Too much force leads to breaking.
He had to stay grounded.
"Let the captain rest, Sakuragi."
"That play just now… was really impressive."
Kogure Kiminobu handed Sakuragi a bottle of water, pushing up his glasses as he smoothed things over.
"Wahaha! Of course it was!"
"Megane-kun, you've got good taste!"
"Unlike that stupid fox!"
Sakuragi instantly switched targets, planting his hands on his hips as he began bragging to Ayako about his "genius moment."
In the stands, the Kainan side.
Maki Shinichi crossed his arms, his gaze sharp as a hawk, locked onto Shohoku's towel-covered captain.
"Coach Taoka's timeout… perfectly timed."
Head Coach Takato Riki, who had been silent, suddenly spoke, tapping his folding fan lightly against his palm.
"If he'd waited even one more minute, Shohoku's momentum might've blown the roof off."
"Oh? You think so too, Coach?" Maki tilted his head slightly.
"That first-year, Makino Juro… even though he's not on the court now, what he did earlier already turned Ryonan's rhythm into a complete mess."
"And now…"
Takato narrowed his eyes, focusing on Akagi.
"With Makino Juro—the biggest 'anomaly'—off the court, Shohoku's core is Akagi."
"As long as Akagi stays steady, Shohoku becomes a solid fortress."
"So right now, Taoka's priority isn't scoring…"
"It's disruption."
"Break the momentum Akagi just rebuilt."
Kiyota Nobunaga scratched his head anxiously.
"But Coach, that red-haired monkey just scored too! Shouldn't we worry about him?"
Takato let out a disdainful chuckle, and snapped his folding fan open.
"That beginner? Just a lucky shot."
"In real tactical play… luck is the cheapest currency there is."
Ryonan bench.
A heavy pressure filled the air, almost suffocating.
Players gulped down air, sweat dripping onto the floor and splashing apart.
Uozumi Jun sat hunched forward, hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
Being dunked on by Akagi.
Toyed with by that amateur Sakuragi.
It was nothing short of a nuclear strike on his pride.
"Fukuda!"
Coach Taoka's voice exploded like thunder.
Fukuda Kicchou flinched violently, water spilling all over him as he jerked his head up.
His eyes—always carrying a mix of eagerness and insecurity—were now filled with panic.
Was he being subbed out?
Because he'd lost track of that redhead?
"Don't give me that kicked-puppy look!"
"I didn't say I was subbing you out!"
Taoka frowned, his tone sharp.
Fukuda let out a breath, but his heart still hung in his throat.
"Listen carefully, Fukuda."
Taoka crouched down, meeting his eyes.
His words came fast, heavy with pressure.
"Akagi Takenori's defense in the paint is top-tier—not just in Kanagawa, but nationwide."
"Admit it. Right now, you can't beat him head-on."
Fukuda bit his lip.
Unwilling—but unable to deny it.
"But!"
Taoka's tone shifted, his gaze turning razor-sharp.
"Basketball isn't a Roman colosseum one-on-one fight."
He suddenly turned toward Uozumi.
"Uozumi! Lift your head!"
Uozumi trembled slightly and slowly looked up.
His eyes still carried confusion and defeat—like a rooster that had lost a fight.
"How long are you going to sulk?"
"Because that redhead fluked a shot?"
"You're Ryonan's captain!"
"If you collapse, we might as well forfeit right now!"
Spit practically flew as Taoka barked at him.
"Coach, I…" Uozumi's voice was hoarse.
"Listen carefully."
Taoka cut him off, grabbing the tactics board.
The marker slashed across it with force, lines biting deep into the surface.
"Akagi's momentum is at its peak right now. Fighting him head-on is suicide."
"Uozumi—starting now, throw away that damn captain's pride of yours!"
"Throw it away?" Uozumi froze.
"That's right."
Taoka's eyes burned with a gambler's ruthlessness.
"I don't need you to outscore him. I don't need you to prove you're better."
"There's only one thing I want from you."
"Be a wall."
"Hold Akagi down!"
"Play support for Fukuda!"
Fukuda and Uozumi both widened their eyes, their expressions completely breaking.
The captain… supporting Fukuda?
"As long as Shohoku sticks to man-to-man, we exploit the timing gap."
Taoka stabbed the board with his marker.
"The whole team plays for Fukuda!"
"Uozumi handles the physical battle and containment. Sendoh supplies the firepower."
"Fukuda—you use your off-ball movement to tear their defense apart!"
"But…" Koshino Hiroaki couldn't help but interject.
"What about Makino Juro…?"
"That guy still hasn't stepped on the court!"
Taoka waved him off.
His gaze swept toward Shohoku's bench—toward that seemingly harmless, almost sleepy figure.
A flicker of wariness passed through his eyes… followed by pure, all-in resolve.
"As long as that lazy brat stays on the bench, Shohoku's perimeter defense is full of holes."
"Rukawa has to guard Sendoh. Mitsui's stamina is a huge weakness. Miyagi is too short."
"These are all our openings!"
"There's one minute left in the first half."
Taoka stood up and clapped his hands hard.
Snap!
The sharp sound snapped everyone back to focus.
"Hold the scoreline!"
"Do NOT let the gap reach double digits!"
"Got it?!"
END OF CHAPTER
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The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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