Kuroko's Basketball template: the king of slacking off, Shohoku's strongest sixth man.

Sendoh ripped the towel off his head.

His hair, which was already soaked with sweat, still stood up stubbornly.

The signature gentle smile was gone from that pale face; in its place was an almost transparent coldness.

He stood up, his legs still a little unsteady, but his back was as straight as a spear.

On the other side, Shinichi Maki also stood up.

The purple and gold jerseys shone brightly under the lights.

He was like a fully fueled heavy tank, radiating a suffocating sense of oppression.

On one side is the gambler Sendoh, who plans a decisive battle and attempts to take them down in one fell swoop.

On one side is Emperor Maki Shinichi, who sees through the trap and calmly chooses to be dragged into the quagmire.

There are no losers in this game.

Sendoh lost the "2+1" scenario, but he pulled Ryonan back from the brink of disaster.

Shinichi Maki gave up the opportunity to win directly.

But he steered the game into his area of ​​expertise.

A meat grinder that tests both physical strength and willpower.

The two walked to the center circle.

Their gazes collided in the air, as if sparks were about to fly.

No need for further explanation.

Sendoh took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the burning sensation in his lungs.

He knew that the next five minutes would be the longest five minutes of his life.

"It's not over yet, Maki."

Shinichi Maki looked at Sendoh, a cruel smile curving his lips.

"Your script is finished, Sendoh."

"Next, it's my turn."

At that moment, their eyes met in a tacit understanding.

"superior!"

……

Meanwhile, on a highway in Kanagawa.

The silver-gray supercar looked like a bolt of lightning tearing through the night.

The roar of the engine echoed through the empty street, startling the stray cats on the roadside, who puffed up their fur and scattered in panic.

"Slow down...slow down!"

"Lin Bei! Are you taking off?!"

In the passenger seat, Ayako gripped the handle tightly, her knuckles turning white.

The immense force of the push pressed him firmly against the seat, his face turning as white as paper.

"Shut up."

Lin Bei's hands were firmly gripping the steering wheel, his eyes as cold as ice.

I used up all my slacking points to exchange for professional racing-level driving skills.

The hands on the dial were already jumping wildly in the red zone.

But the accelerator under his foot seemed to be welded shut, showing no sign of letting go.

"If Old Man Anzai wakes up and finds us still dawdling on the road, that would be a real disaster."

Lin Bei's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable ruthlessness.

That chubby old man.

Coach Anzai, who always watched them fool around with a smile, but who could be a pillar of strength in crucial moments.

Absolutely nothing can happen.

"Hold on tight, I'm about to give you a drift."

Lin Bei suddenly turned the steering wheel, and the car entered the curve at an angle that defied the laws of physics.

The tire screeched violently against the ground, leaving a charred tire mark.

"Five minutes to the hospital."

Lin Bei glanced at the navigation.

His eyes sharpened, and the accelerator roared to life again.

……

Every second of overtime was stretched out indefinitely.

It's like a snapped string.

Sweat splattered on the floor, instantly shattering into eight pieces.

The air was thick and sticky, a mixture of hormones and the smell of despair.

The floor trembled, as if it too feared the excessive ambition of these teenagers.

The last row of the audience seats.

Kenji Fujima didn't sit down; his eyes, usually as calm as an icy lake, were now fixed intently on the swaying figure on the field.

"it's over."

Beside him, Hanagata Toru sighed softly, took off his glasses, and wiped them.

The voice conveyed both reluctance and helplessness.

On the field, Sendoh Akira was still running.

My lungs felt like I'd swallowed a handful of burning charcoal; every breath was a searing sensation.

His calf muscles were twitching wildly, but he saw himself as a nail, firmly anchored in Maki Shinichi's path.

But he was all alone.

They lost Jun Uozumi, the iron gatekeeper of the inside line.

The restricted area of ​​Ryonan is like a hermit crab with its shell peeled off—soft, yet deadly.

Maki Shinichi showed no pity whatsoever.

This emperor of Kanagawa was like a fully loaded heavy tank, each charge carrying an unreasonable brute force.

He knew very well that the Immortal Path was an unparalleled sword, but even the sharpest sword would dull when it struck granite.

"That's the difference."

Fujima's gaze was deep.

Watching Sendoh, as a guard, try his best to fill the gaps in the team's defense, he felt the same way about Sendoh's isolation and helplessness.

"Sendoh should have sensed it; without Uozumi, the team's potential is locked in."

"But he still wants to win, and wants to overturn the mountain of Hainan with a one-man show."

Inside the stadium, the huge electronic scoreboard displayed red numbers that were as glaring as blood.

90: 96.

A six-point deficit, in the final moments, was an insurmountable chasm, a source of despair.

The entire audience rose to their feet, their roar deafening.

The countdown sound was like a death knell, each sound piercing the hearts of the Ryonan team members.

"5!"

Shinichi Maki dribbles the ball, back to the basket, as steady as a rock.

"4!"

Sendoh lunged forward, it was a final desperate fight, his fingertips almost touching the texture of the basketball.

"3!"

Mu Shenyi turned around to protect the ball.

Those purple eyes were filled with an absolute dictatorship over victory.

"2!"

The basketball was tossed high into the air, traversing the dome as if mocking the struggles of mortals.

"1!"

"beep--!!!"

The final whistle blew sharply, the red light came on, and everything was settled.

90: 96.

Hainan University Affiliated High School wins!

"We won!!!"

Kiyota Nobunaga leaped onto Jin Soichiro's back like a wild monkey that had reverted to its ancestral form, roaring wildly.

The Hainan stadium erupted in cheers, with white jerseys creating a sea of ​​joy.

At the other end of the stadium, there was a deathly silence.

"Bang."

Yueye knelt on the ground, pounding his fists against the floor with a dull thud.

Tears mingled with sweat and fell onto the floor, staining it with a dark pattern.

Fukuda Kichijou tilted his head back, looking at the blinding spotlight.

That face, which was always etched with desire, was now blank, as if its soul had been ripped away.

Jun Uozumi sat on a bench, a huge towel covering his entire head.

No one could see his expression, but the violent shaking of his broad shoulders and the suppressed sobs coming from under the towel made everyone's heart ache.

Lost.

Even if it's the last bullet.

Even though Sendoh evolved into a monster, he still lost.

In the center of the stadium.

Their hands clasped together.

Shinichi Maki looked at his opponent, who was drenched in sweat.

The arrogance in his eyes had long since vanished, replaced by a gleam of "recognition".

"You are very strong, Sendoh."

Maki Shinichi's voice was deep and hoarse, as if he had just finished a battle.

Sendoh was panting heavily, and the broom head that had been standing upright had collapsed halfway.

But he still managed to twitch the corners of his mouth, revealing that signature, warm smile.

But there was a hint of bitterness in that smile.

"I still haven't been able to get over your mountain, Maki."

The two looked at each other and smiled.

That's the tacit understanding that belongs to the strong.

It's also a kind of romance for men.