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

"What?!"

Akagi's eyes widened as he grabbed at empty air.

Gong Cheng landed, his face filled with disbelief.

"I saw it clearly."

Kishimoto landed, caught the ball with one hand, and had a playful look on his face.

"Your eyes are too obvious."

"Want to pass the ball? Maybe in your next life."

The entire audience was shocked.

He made two mistakes in a row, and his plan was seen through both times.

Shohoku's prized fast break seemed like a clumsy performance against Toyotama.

"Is this... the defense of an A-level team?"

On the bench, Kogure's face was pale.

"Their reaction speed and predictive ability are not even in the same league."

Coach Anzai's glasses flashed, revealing a serious expression.

A-level teams... are indeed not that simple.

On the court, Kishimoto tossed the ball to Itakura and wagged his index finger at Miyagi and Akagi.

"Too young."

"This is the Kanagawa champion? Don't make me laugh."

"Are you ready to be slaughtered?"

"Country bumpkins."

Miyagi stood still, his chest heaving violently.

Looking at the glaring "0:2" on the scoreboard.

An unprecedented feeling of suffocation enveloped my heart.

This is the national competition.

This is a top-tier A team.

If even the slightest flaw is revealed, it will be torn to shreds.

Coach Anzai tilted the tactics board in his hand slightly.

On that sheet of paper filled with data, Osaka Toyotama High School's record stood out starkly in red.

Apart from narrowly losing to Daiei Academy, which is known for its defense.

The rest of the matches were all massacres by large margins.

He averaged 130+ points per game, with a highest score of 143 points.

This isn't playing ball; it's slaughter.

This is a team that has "offense" ingrained in its bones and carries out the "mad dog spirit" to the very end.

"It's not just about speed."

The pale white lights of the stadium reflected in Coach Anzai's reading glasses.

On the field.

Just as Miyagi made a mistake and Kishimoto intercepted the ball.

Toyotama's counterattack surged like a flood bursting its banks, instantly engulfing half the field.

There was no unnecessary dribbling.

Kishimoto Minori caught the ball with one hand, her posture resembling a javelin throw, and delivered a long pass that spanned half the field!

Whoosh-!

The basketball tore through the air, emitting a piercing shriek.

In the attacking third, a dark blue figure was already in position.

Captain Fengyu, number 4, Nanlie.

Faced with Rukawa's rapid return to defense, he did not try to take credit, but instead flicked his wrist slightly.

Return!

The basketball seemed to have a navigation system installed, mysteriously flying back into the hands of Kishimoto Minori, who had just driven into the three-point line.

Shohoku's defensive formation collapsed instantly.

Akagi defends the paint relentlessly, while Sakuragi struggles to find his footing on the perimeter.

That huge vacuum area in the middle became Kishimoto's backyard.

Receive the ball, start, and go for a layup.

His movements were fluid and graceful, but his face exuded a nauseating arrogance.

Swish!

The basketball swished through the net, sending white waves crashing against it.

4: 0.

"pretty!!"

"Kishimoto! Kill them!"

"Run! Run these country bumpkins to death!"

Toyotama's support group instantly erupted, with a huge roar mixed with piercing whistles, as if it would blow the roof off the stadium.

This is the Osaka team.

Noisy, savage, and aggressive.

Kishimoto landed and tossed his flamboyant ponytail.

Instead of celebrating, he turned and went back to defense.

As I passed the center circle, Sakuragi Hanamichi was standing there, his red bald head particularly eye-catching under the lights.

Kishimoto licked his lips, his eyes turning sinister.

He deviated slightly from the running route.

It seemed casual, but it was actually premeditated.

Shoulders down, core engaged.

In that instant, he transformed himself into an out-of-control heavy truck, crashing violently into Sakuragi's shoulder.

"Get out of here, redhead."

The voice was soft, yet filled with malice.

Bang!

A dull thud of muscles colliding was so loud it made your teeth ache.

The sinister smile on Kishimoto's face froze before it could fully bloom.

The texture doesn't feel right.

He felt as if he had crashed not into a mortal body, but into a cold, hard granite.

The enormous reaction force rushed back up his shoulder, making half of his body numb.

In contrast, Sakuragi Hanamichi remained completely still.

Even out of conditioned reflex, the shoulder instinctively thrusts forward.

"Hmm!"

Caught off guard, Kishimoto Minori staggered back several steps, almost falling to the ground.

"Beep—!!"

The whistle was sharp and piercing.

The referee rushed over and pointed his finger at Sakuragi Hanamichi without any mercy.

"Shohoku's number 10! Blocking foul!"

Sakuragi's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he pointed at his own nose:

"ha?!"

"He bumped into this genius first! Referee, are you blind?!"

"Shut up!"

The referee, his face dark with anger, warned, "That's too much!"

Sakuragi was so angry that he yelled and was about to rush up and teach the referee a lesson when someone suddenly grabbed him by the back of the collar.

"Don't embarrass yourself."

Rukawa Kaede dragged him back expressionlessly.

"Let me go! You damned fox!"

"That guy tricked me! This biased refereeing is unplayable!"

Shohoku bench.

Lin Bei crossed his legs, watched the farce unfold, and shook his head helplessly.

He chewed his gum, blew a bubble, and spoke in a languid tone:

"Sakuragi is still too green."

"If you're going to crash, do it discreetly, learn from others."

"With this kind of straightforward, head-on confrontation, who else would the referee call a foul on if not you?"

"This is called the art of 'rational clashes,' you understand?"

next to.

The veins on Akagi Takenori's forehead throbbed.

He then swung his fist, which was as big as a clay pot.

Bang!

A loving, iron fist slammed hard onto Sakuragi's bald head.

"Fool!!"

Akagi's roar drowned out the boos from the crowd, sounding like thunder.

"Focus! Don't let their little tricks ruin your composure!"

Sakuragi covered his head, tears welling up in his eyes, and a large, steaming bump was visibly rising on his head.

"That wretched gorilla..."

"He was the one who started it..."

Sakuragi muttered aggrievedly, then turned and glared fiercely at Kishimoto, his eyes looking like he wanted to devour him.

Not far away.

Kishimoto rubbed his numb shoulder, his face so gloomy it could drip water.

"This monster..."

He looked at the red-haired monkey and was secretly alarmed.

He used a bit of what's called "hidden force" in that collision.

The red-haired monster not only didn't move, but actually forced him back?

What the hell is this body structure?

Made of reinforced concrete?

"He's really strong."

Kishimoto spat on the ground.

"But he's just a big, dumb guy with brute force."

……

The game continues.

Shohoku has possession of the ball.

Ryota Miyagi dribbled past half-court, his face looking ashen, as if he'd swallowed a fly.

Less than two minutes into the game, they committed two turnovers and fell behind by 4 points.

As a point guard, this is a disgrace, like offering your face to be slapped.

"Calm down... Phew... Calm down..."

Miyagi took a deep breath, trying to calm her wildly beating heart.

He lowered his center of gravity and observed the situation.

Fengyu showed no intention of retreating.

Full press!

Daijiro Itakura stuck to me like a piece of chewing gum that I couldn't shake off.

That smug face was full of provocation, and he was spewing trash talk:

"What? Who are you sending it to this time?"

"Or are you planning to send another one?"