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

The entire audience's CPUs seemed to have collectively burned out.

However, as the highest-level IH competition in the country.

The organizers' professionalism was on full display at this moment.

Although they never dreamed that a high school student could actually tear a metal basketball hoop off with his bare hands.

However, the highest-level contingency plans already include measures to deal with such outrageous situations.

The piercing whistle finally broke the silence.

A group of uniformed staff pushed cleaning carts and rushed into the site like worker ants.

The broom was swung, and the vacuum cleaner roared.

The broken glass shards scattered all over the floor were cleaned up in just over a minute.

Then came the heavy scraping sound of the rollers.

A brand-new, integrated hydraulic basketball hoop was pushed out and precisely locked into the mounting groove in the ground.

Locked, fixed.

The entire process took only a few minutes.

"Let's go back to the lounge."

Takenori Akagi took a deep breath and beckoned the Shohoku team to walk towards the players' tunnel.

Lin Bei walked at the back, swinging his wrist.

Sakuragi Hanamichi, on the other hand, was like a giant red shadow, sticking to him tightly.

The red-haired monkey's eyes were sparkling, and it was muttering to itself:

"Master... take me with you!"

"Please, please teach me this trick!"

"That spinning dunk was absolutely hot!"

Just as the entire Shohoku team retreated backstage, the game on the court continued with the whistle blowing.

However, after just experiencing that mind-blowing "hand-tearing basketball hoop show".

At this moment, the competition on the field seemed bland and uneventful to the audience.

The second half had just started less than three minutes ago.

Maki Shinichi, Kiyota Nobunaga and other key players were all withdrawn.

On the scoreboard, the scarlet numbers were extremely glaring: 60:24.

The huge point difference turned the rest of the game into a mere formality and a waste of time.

The audience in the stands could no longer sit still; their whispers gradually coalesced into a massive, buzzing sound.

Countless eyes kept glancing toward the players' tunnel.

"Let's finish this quickly..."

"I can't wait to see the next one!"

"Shohoku vs. Sannoh! This match is absolutely epic!"

"That monster who can dismantle rims with his bare hands faces off against an undefeated legend!"

"Just thinking about it gives me goosebumps!"

at the same time.

Inside another venue in Hiroshima.

"Beep—!"

The final whistle blew, the red light on the electronic scoreboard lit up, and the numbers were frozen.

Mingpeng Industrial 102:56 Changcheng High School.

A brutal and inhumane one-sided massacre.

Amidst the gasps of amazement from the entire audience.

Tsuneoki, the champion of Shizuoka Prefecture, who once went toe-to-toe with Shohoku in a practice match.

At this moment, everyone was as if they had lost their parents.

They slumped to the floor, their eyes glazed over, completely drained of the strength to even stand up and shake hands.

And in the center of the field.

A towering figure was pulling up the hem of his jersey and casually wiping the sweat from his face.

"A monster...a monster!"

"That's terrifying!"

"Where did that guy even come from?!"

The sports reporters present were collectively speechless for a moment.

Then, like sharks smelling blood, they swarmed forward with their long guns and cannons, surrounding the huge figure.

The flashbulbs were going off like crazy, and the microphone was practically shoved right in his face.

"Excuse me, may I do an interview?"

A male reporter wearing glasses was so excited that his voice was splitting.

Morishige Hiroshi stopped in his tracks, his thick lips parting slightly.

His eyes revealed a kind of naivety and languor that was not yet fully enlightened.

Slowly lowering his head, he looked down at those faces, which were so excited they were almost distorted.

"Are you really only sixteen?!"

"With your terrifying strength and physique, when exactly did you start playing basketball?"

Faced with a barrage of questions, Morishige Hiroshi put down the jersey he was wiping sweat from.

He scratched the back of his broad head, his tone flat and devoid of any inflection:

"It was the summer of my second year of junior high school, I think."

The air suddenly became quiet for a moment.

The reporters' eyes widened in disbelief, and their chins slammed into the ground in unison.

"Well... then I'll say that..."

The reporter who asked the question stammered and swallowed hard, feeling that his worldview had been greatly shaken.

Even his hand holding the microphone was trembling. "You've only been playing for a year?!"

Just then, a thin, bearded old man pushed his way through the crowd.

He looked smug.

But he deliberately put on a serious expression and spread his arms to block Morishige Hiroshi's way.

He was a coach at Mingpeng Industrial.

"Alright, alright! Fellow media friends!"

"Don't spoil this child too much; he still has a lot to learn!"

After saying that, he turned around and patted Morishige Hiroshi's thick arm.

He lowered his voice and said, "Let's go, Ah Kuan."

"Ah! Please wait a moment!"

An unwilling female reporter pushed her way forward, shouting her questions.

"Morishige Hiroshi!"

"What are your thoughts on Sannoh Industrial?"

Morishige Hiroshi, who was about to turn around, paused.

He slowly turned his head, his massive body casting a deep shadow under the flash of the camera.

He frowned slightly, and a genuine hint of doubt flashed in his eyes, which always seemed somewhat sleepy.

He tilted his head and asked a question in return.

"The Mountain King?"

"What 'Sannoh'?"

boom!

The surrounding reporters were stunned, as if struck by lightning.

"N-no...never heard of it?!" The female reporter's hand holding the recorder trembled violently.

They've never even heard of Sannoh Industrial, which dominated the national market for three consecutive years and was hailed as an invincible legend?!

It's not very harmful, but extremely insulting!

On the recording table not far away, several technical statisticians were looking at the data sheets in their hands, and gasps of astonishment rose and fell.

The data for this match was clearly recorded on that thin sheet of paper.

He played for 39 minutes.

Score: 50.

Rebounds: 22.

Blocks: 10.

A terrifying triple-double on the national stage, worthy of being recorded in history!

……

Let's turn our attention back to the Hiroshima Main Stadium.

Outside the slightly dimly lit backstage dressing room of Shohoku High School, there was a narrow corridor.

"Tap, tap, tap, tap..."

The sound of hurried, light footsteps echoed back and forth in the enclosed space.

Ryota Miyagi ran back and forth in the corridor with his head down and without saying a word.

Sprint from one end of the corridor to the other.

He turned sharply and sprinted back.

He was breathing heavily, and his signature curly hair was soaked with sweat.

They were stuck to his forehead in strands.

"Calm down... I need to calm down..."

Miyagi roared madly in his heart.

But that immense pressure, as if it were crushing my heart, followed me everywhere.

Whenever he closes his eyes, the image of the man in the videotape involuntarily appears in his mind.

He had a monk's hairstyle and eyes as deep and still as a pool.

Kazunari Fukatsu, captain of Sannoh Industrial and the nation's best point guard.

Standing at 1.80 meters tall, with flawless defense.

A mind as precise as a machine, and a calmness that can gradually erode the opponent's fighting spirit.

That was a mountain that suffocated him.

Suddenly, a gentle, calm voice, carrying a calming power, rang out from the corner of the corridor.

"If you keep running around like this..."

"There won't be any physical competitions."