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

The center and power forward, who were covering the play, jumped up at the same time like two towering iron towers.

The four long arms completely blocked out the sky.

Sendoh forcibly folded his body in mid-air.

The abdominal muscles groaned in pain, unable to bear the strain.

He executed an incredible layup just millimeters from the point where the two players were about to block his shot.

The body is almost parallel to the floor.

With a flick of his fingertips, he grazed the ball past the opposing center's armpit.

The basketball bounced twice on the rim.

It eventually fell into the net.

"Whoosh."

The electronic scoreboard flickered.

43: 78.

When Sendoh landed, his legs suddenly went weak.

He barely managed to stay upright by supporting himself on the floor with one hand.

Sweat dripped from his chin like a waterfall.

He was breathing heavily, his chest feeling like it was about to explode.

My physical strength is severely depleted.

This was the only goal he scored in the past ten minutes.

But the other person did not show any signs of anger or frustration.

Captain of the American college basketball team.

The black guard with dreadlocks strolled over, chewing gum as he did so.

He looked down at Sendoh, who was propped up on the ground.

Then, he slowly extended one index finger and shook it with extreme sarcasm.

"Is this what they call a Japanese high school star?"

He spoke in broken Japanese mixed with English, his tone full of undisguised contempt.

"Too weak."

"It's like playing ball with elementary school kids."

"I don't even feel a sweat, and you're already about to die?"

The black captain turned around and laughed heartily with his teammates, bumping chests together.

The ear-piercing laughter echoed through the empty underground stadium.

Sendoh slowly straightened up.

He roughly wiped the sweat from his chin with the back of his hand.

Those eyes remained cold and sharp, burning with an indomitable fighting spirit.

There is no intention to back down.

But he knew perfectly well what was going on in his mind.

My muscles are spasming, and my steps are becoming heavy.

The gap in absolute strength, static talent, and tactical awareness is enormous.

It's not something that can be compensated for by simply saying "I want to win" or by burning a little passion.

This is a dimensional gap.

Just as Sendoh was pondering how to organize the next defense...

"Bang--!"

A muffled yet violent explosion suddenly erupted from the entrance.

Everyone, including the American players who were laughing wildly, was stunned into place by the sudden loud noise.

The stadium's incredibly heavy metal door.

It was pushed open from the outside by an irresistible force of violence.

The door hinges emitted a harsh, screeching sound.

It was a dark, rainy night outside.

Accompanied by a deafening clap of thunder, a gust of wind carrying icy rain instantly rushed into the sweltering stadium.

The temperature seemed to plummet to freezing point at that moment.

The lights in the passageway flickered twice.

A series of extremely orderly and muffled footsteps came from the darkness.

A group of burly men in pure black suits filed in.

Everyone was wearing black sunglasses and had a blank expression.

His physique was even more robust than that of the Black players on the field.

Their movements were perfectly synchronized.

Upon entering the stadium, they quickly lined up in a goose-like formation on both sides of the passageway.

With hands behind your back and feet straddling.

A terrifying aura, as if it had been truly baptized in blood and fire, instantly enveloped the entire underground stadium.

The smiles on the faces of those previously arrogant American college players vanished completely.

They instinctively took a half step back.

Muscles tensed, sensing a deadly threat.

The icy rain, accompanied by a biting wind, poured wildly into the sweltering underground stadium.

The bodyguards in black uniformly made way for a man to slowly walk out.

Lin Nansheng.

He was wearing a well-tailored, deep black haute couture trench coat.

The leather shoes trotted on the wooden floor at a leisurely pace.

despair.

despair.

despair.

Every step she took resonated perfectly with everyone present.

The terrifying aura of someone who had long held a superior position and had the power of life and death made the stadium deathly silent.

No one dared to breathe loudly.

The American college championship team, who had just been laughing wildly, froze on their faces.

The black captain with the dreadlocks frowned, feeling deeply offended.

How could I be intimidated by a middle-aged Asian man on my own turf?

"Hey! Old man, who do you think you are?"

The black captain, relying on his height of over two meters and his muscular physique, strode closer.

He pointed down at Lin Nansheng, spouting street slang.

"This is our private time."

"Get out of here right now, you bunch of idiots in suits!"

Before he could finish speaking, his large, arrogant hand, shaped like a fan, reached directly towards Lin Nansheng's shoulder.

His hand was only halfway up in the air.

Swish!

The two towering black-clad bodyguards moved with incredible speed.

They didn't even lift their eyelids.

Two large-caliber, black pistols were pulled directly from the inside of the suit.

The cold gun barrel was pressed firmly against the black captain's temples.

Click.

The mechanical click of the safety lever snapping shut echoed like a death knell in the deathly silent arena.

The black captain's massive body froze instantly.

He remained in the outstretched position, not daring to move.

The arrogance from before vanished completely, leaving only a chilling fear.

Cold sweat streamed down his dark forehead and splashed onto the clean floor.

He could clearly feel the gun barrel pressed against his forehead carrying a murderous aura that had truly seen blood.

If he dares to move even a millimeter, these two bodyguards will absolutely smash his head into a pulp.

Lin Nansheng didn't even give the black captain a second glance.

He took out a cigar.

The bodyguard next to him deftly pulled out a windproof lighter and lit it.

The eerie blue flames flickered as Lin Nansheng took a deep breath and exhaled a thick cloud of bluish-gray smoke.

The smell of tobacco completely masked the stench of sweat in the stadium.

He walked past the black captain, who stood frozen like a statue, and went to the sidelines.

His gaze was sharp as a knife, coldly sweeping over the disheveled All-Star team.

Hanagata Toru slumped to the ground, Fukuda Kichicho with red-rimmed eyes, and Uozumi Jun kneeling on one knee.

Finally, the gaze fell on Kenji Fujima and Akira Sendoh.

"It looks terrible."

Lin Nansheng, with a cigar between his fingers, spoke in a deep voice, yet with an undeniable air of authority.

"Is this the basketball you're so proud of?"

"Strength, speed, physical attributes, tactical awareness—it's completely outdated and utterly useless."

There was no sarcasm in his tone, only coldness.

"When faced with absolute physical dominance, your so-called fancy techniques are as laughable as clown tricks."

"Your basketball is too naive."

"How can you expect my son to obediently return home and inherit the family business?"

These words struck like a heavy hammer into the hearts of the geniuses of Kanagawa.

Jun Uozumi was breathing heavily, and his large, bell-like eyes were bloodshot.

He suddenly stood up, his massive body, over two meters tall and weighing two hundred kilograms, radiating a beast-like rage.

As the captain of Ryonan High School and a heavyweight center from Kanagawa, he can accept being outmatched in skill.

But basketball where you give it your all is unacceptable.

He was belittled to nothing by a middle-aged man who doesn't even play basketball!

Uozumi roared hysterically, taking heavy steps as he prepared to rush forward to argue.

"What do you know, you old man!"