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

at this time.

The situation on the field has become a one-sided, overwhelming defeat.

"Bang!"

A dull thud of muscles colliding echoed in the penalty area.

Takenori Akagi's legs were firmly planted on the hardwood floor.

His forehead veins bulged, and he let out a beast-like roar.

He tried to use all his strength to push the opposing center forward out of the penalty area.

However, standing behind him was the Bulls' backup center.

The other person simply lowered their weight without any expression.

The thick arms gripped Akagi's waist like steel bars, and suddenly exerted force.

Akagi's pride in his strength was like paper against a pure NBA heavy center.

He lost his balance and was forcefully pushed out of the backboard protection zone.

The man easily received the high pass from the defender.

He barely jumped, just casually hit the backboard.

The basketball swished cleanly through the net.

Takenori Akagi was panting heavily.

Sweat dripped down his resolute face.

A profound sense of frustration overwhelmed him like a tidal wave.

In Kanagawa, and even when facing Kawada in the national tournament, he had never felt such a desperate gap in strength.

But this is Chicago, the highest level of basketball in the world.

Akagi stared at Langli's broad back, his fists clenched tightly.

After a moment, he took a deep breath, and the stubborn pride in his eyes gradually faded.

Instead, there is an extreme desire to become stronger.

Practice makes perfect.

He walked up to the other person.

To everyone's astonishment, the usually serious and proud captain of Shohoku High School bowed deeply.

"Please teach me!"

Akagi shouted loudly in broken English.

"Please teach me your power-generating technique in the paint just now!"

The other party was stunned.

Then, seeing the indomitable flame in Akagi's eyes, he smiled憨厚ly.

He patted Akagi on the shoulder.

He began to explain the secrets of low center of gravity using gestures and words.

The disparity in strength between the two sides is too great; there is no need to continue.

So everyone started special training.

The other end of the stadium.

Rukawa Kaede crouched down, his hands gripping the basketball tightly, his rapid breathing clearly audible in the quiet court.

Standing before him was the Grim Reaper, wearing the number 23 jersey.

Foxfire leaped wildly in Rukawa's pupils.

He stomped out with his right foot, making several highly deceptive Buddhist bows and front-facing changes of direction.

The sneakers screeched against the floor at high speed, making a piercing "squeak" sound.

This set of moves once left countless defenders completely bewildered during national competitions.

But Jordan just stared at him coldly, his center of gravity not even swaying.

Just as Rukawa thought he had created space and was about to shoot,

"Snapped!"

Jordan's large hand, like a viper's tongue, sliced ​​through Rukawa's hands with unparalleled precision.

The basketball slipped out of his hand.

Jordan didn't even bother with a fast break; he simply tossed the stolen basketball into the air.

Turning his head, his aggressive eyes stared at Rukawa Kaede.

"Your feints are too unnecessary."

Jordan's voice wasn't loud.

Yet every word was like a knife, piercing Rukawa's pride.

"True high-level games don't need those fancy tricks."

Jordan raised a long, slender index finger.

"To kill, one stab is all it takes."

"The most lethal, the most concise strike."

Rukawa Kaede's brain completely shut down, and he stood there frozen in place.

Seeing this, Sakuragi Hanamichi couldn't help but speak up and mock:

"Ha ha ha ha!"

"You damn fox, you've been taught a lesson you're as dumb as an idiot!"

"Your special move is completely useless here!"

Rukawa Kaede snapped out of his daze, gave Sakuragi a cold glance, and wiped the sweat from his chin.

"Shut up, you can't even touch the ball, what right do you have to talk?"

Rukawa Kaede, unusually, did not fly into a rage.

He was like a dried-up sponge, frantically absorbing the terrifying amount of information from Jordan's words, and once again adopted a defensive stance.

The two bickered.

But there was no hostility in their eyes, only the same stubbornness and unwillingness.

Not far away, on the arched roof, Ryota Miyagi was experiencing the darkest three minutes of his life.

His jersey was completely soaked with sweat, and his legs felt as heavy as lead.

He was guarded by Scottie Pippen, the Bulls' second-in-command with a terrifying wingspan.

"Death Coil"

Miyagi finally understood the true meaning of those four words.

Pippen's outrageously long arms, like a giant python, completely blocked all his passing routes and driving spaces.

No matter how Miyagi used his lightning-fast speed to change direction, Pippen always managed to block his path with his terrifying lateral movement and wingspan.

"Even if you're Batman's henchman, I will never back down!"

Miyagi gritted his teeth and desperately protected the basketball.

Even though breathing was difficult, the fighting spirit in his eyes burned even brighter.

On the sidelines, Mitsui Hisashi supported himself on his knees, gasping for breath, his chest heaving violently like a broken bellows.

His physical strength was depleted in just five minutes due to such high-intensity off-the-ball running.

"His power exertion habits are too wasteful."

Lin Bei walked up to Mitsui at some point and pointed out the problem with a sharp look in his eyes.

"Every time I move, I'm wasting my core strength."

Lin Bei turned to Klaus and said, "Go and call your chief strength and conditioning coach."

Less than two minutes later, a well-built white coach ran over.

Lin Bei tossed him a thick wad of US dollars and ordered in an uncompromising tone:

"One week."

"I want you to tailor-make a devilish physical training plan just for him and completely change his damn exertion habits."

"If you do it well, the money will double."

The physical trainer stared wide-eyed at the stack of US dollars and patted his chest, guaranteeing that he would complete the task.

He immediately dragged the half-dead Mitsui towards the weight room.

He must seize this windfall of wealth.

At this moment on the court, the one who was truly defeated and depressed was Sakuragi Hanamichi.

"Bang!"

The basketball slammed heavily onto the rim and bounced high into the air.

Sakuragi, in the heat of the game, had an unusually composed look in his eyes.

He accurately judged the landing point, and his leg muscles tensed up suddenly, soaring into the sky like a spring gathering power.

"This height is mine!" Sakuragi roared in his heart.

But at the same moment he jumped, the Bulls' backup power forward also jumped.

While he didn't jump as high as Sakuragi, his timing for jumping was extremely tricky.

In mid-air, the black player simply used his broad hips and back to seemingly unintentionally nudge Sakuragi's waist.

Sakuragi's proud ability to stay airborne was directly destroyed, and his body lost its balance in mid-air.

Immediately afterwards, the opponent used their terrifying wingspan, which far exceeded Sakuragi's, to steadily snatch the basketball into their arms.

Sakuragi landed heavily, staggering back three steps before barely managing to regain his footing.

He lowered his head, looking at his hands, which were covered in calluses from years of hard work, and his once steady eyes began to tremble violently.

An uncontrollable surge of irritability and self-doubt welled up from the depths of his heart.

What happened?

Why can't you win by jumping?

Why can't it stay in place?