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

Yohei smiled.

It was the kind of gratified smile that comes from an old father.

"Yeah, Hanamichi has actually learned how to defend, even though that 'squatting on the toilet' pose is terribly ugly."

Yohei made a sarcastic remark, then changed the subject, his expression becoming somewhat strange.

"And that Lin Bei."

"I really don't understand. I haven't seen him practice much. Is this what they call being born with natural talent?"

In Yangping's memory, Linbei always looked like he hadn't woken up yet.

He either eats sunflower seeds, drinks cola, or he's just trying to fool Sakuragi.

Calling him a genius is an understatement; he's more like a lucky slacker.

"No."

"Yohira-kun, you've been fooled."

Haruko suddenly interrupted him.

"Huh?" Yohei was taken aback.

Haruko turned to look at the winding street outside the window, her voice soft yet firm.

"My dog ​​needs to go out for a walk every morning at five o'clock, so I've been getting up very early lately."

"Back then, there weren't even any motorcycles delivering newspapers on the streets."

"But I see him every day."

The image flashed through Haruko's mind.

That carefree boy at school, wearing a soaked gray hoodie and with heavy sandbags strapped to his legs, sprinted down a deserted, long slope again and again.

There was no audience, no applause, and no pretentious lines.

All that could be heard was heavy breathing and sweat splattering on the asphalt.

That look in his eyes—focused, cold, and filled with a hunger for victory—was like that of a lone wolf.

He's a completely different person from the carefree Lin Bei at school.

After he finished running, he would shoot hoops by himself on the park court until everyone was about to get up, then he would buy breakfast and go to school looking like he had just woken up.

Haruko turned her head and stared into Yohei's eyes.

"Lin Beijun isn't lazy; he's the most hardworking one."

Yohei's soda bottle froze in mid-air.

He was stunned.

The image of a salted fish eating sunflower seeds in my mind suddenly collapsed.

Instead, there was a solitary figure running before dawn.

"That guy..."

Yohei muttered to himself, a playful smile slowly curving his lips.

"Oh, I see... No wonder."

No wonder that idiot with such keen beastly instincts in Hanamichi.

Although he verbally disagreed, his body language betrayed him and heeded Lin Bei's words.

So it was because it smelled its own kind.

That feeling of being willing to risk one's life to become stronger.

"That's terrifying."

Yohei tilted his head back and downed the soda in one gulp.

"What's more terrifying than a genius is a genius who works hard."

"What's more terrifying than a hardworking genius is a master of disguise—the King of Curry!"

He stood up, dusted himself off, and picked up the basketball again.

This time, his eyes changed.

No more joking around.

Bend your knees, raise your hand, and flick your wrist.

"Looks like I can't fall too far behind, even though I don't play ball."

A flick of the wrist.

The basketball traced a line in the air that was not graceful, but rather absurd.

The entire room fell silent.

"Whoosh."

The basketball grazed the backboard and rolled awkwardly into the net.

It's in!

"Yay!!"

"Haruko, look! I scored!!"

Yohei clenched his fist and jumped up, like a child who had just received candy.

"That's amazing, Yohei-kun! That was incredible!" Haruko cheered and clapped along with him.

Laughter filled the empty stadium once again.

Even if there are only three people.

Even if it's just a lucky shot.

But that summer passion did not leave with the team.

It remains here, just like the heatwave of this summer.

It remains in the hearts of everyone who hoped that Shohoku would dominate the nation.

Yohei put the ball back on the rack, walked to the door, and squinted at the west side.

That's the direction of Hiroshima Prefecture.

"Everyone, keep it up!"

"Don't lose to those so-called prestigious universities."

"Especially you, Ikebana."

"If you dare come back crying, I'll turn you into a meme and send it all over the school."

Haruko stood beside him, her hands clasped in prayer, the wind blowing through her short hair.

"There won't be any problems."

"Because Shohoku is the strongest right now."

……

at the same time.

On a speeding Shinkansen train.

"Achoo—!!"

A deafening sneeze rang out, and saliva sprayed like rain onto the back of Miyagi Ryota's head in the front seat.

"Damn it! Hanamichi! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"

"Are you a human sprinkler truck?!"

Miyagi jumped up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, frantically rubbing her hair.

"Hehe, sorry, sorry."

Sakuragi rubbed his bright red nose, a strange confidence on his face:

"Strange, how could a genius like me, with a body as strong as an ox, catch a cold?"

"Could it be...?"

"It must be Haruko-san missing this genius! Ah, this is a sign of love!"

He instantly twisted into a pretzel shape, looking completely absorbed.

"idiot."

Rukawa Kaede, sitting next to me wearing an eye patch, coldly uttered two words.

"What did you say! You damn fox! Want to fight?!"

Just then, we arrived at Osaka Station.

The air conditioning in the carriage was on full blast, but it couldn't dispel the oppressive heat.

The energetic guys from Shohoku had been making a ruckus all the way, and now most of them were sprawled out in their seats, all crooked and sprawled.

Rukawa Kaede, wearing an eye patch, seemed to have already logged off from this world.

Ryota Miyagi is holding a copy of "Hiroshima Strategy: Beauty and Food".

Drooling was practically hanging in mid-air, about to "bless" the magazine.

Only Takenori Akagi and Kiminobu Kogure were still awake.

The two men huddled together, staring intently at the newly purchased national tournament special edition of "Basketball Weekly".

On the cover, Eiji Sawakita is holding a ball with one hand, and the murderous intent in his eyes can be seen through the paper.

"Japan's No. 1 High School Student"—this title carries a heavy weight.

"Hey, Akagi..."

"This...is this group number printed incorrectly?"

Kogure's fingers trembled as he pushed up his glasses, his fingertips tracing patterns on the match list, his voice slurred.

Akagi's face was as black as the bottom of a pot, and the "川" character between his eyebrows could trap a fly.

His eyes seemed to bulge out as he stared intently at the bottom left corner of the match schedule.

It reads: [Representative of Kanagawa Prefecture - Shohoku High School].

Next to Shohoku is a string of names that make you want to breathe oxygen just by looking at them.

"Are you kidding me?!"

"Thump!"

That shout made too much noise.

Sakuragi Hanamichi, who was sleeping soundly in the front row, was startled and his bald head slammed hard against the car window.

"It hurts, it hurts..."

Sakuragi covered his head, tears streaming down his face, his morning grumpiness exploding instantly.

He turned around and roared, "Gorilla! What's wrong with you?!"

"This genius just dreamt he was being interviewed on an awards stage! And all the reporters were beautiful women!"

Mitsui Hisashi was also woken up, rubbing his sleepy eyes, looking annoyed:

"It's so noisy..."

"Akagi, are you seeing a ghost?"

In the back row, Lin Bei twirled an unopened can of cola in his hand, a playful smile curving his lips.

Of course he knew what Akagi had seen.

That was despair.

It is also the ladder to godhood.

"See for yourselves."

Akagi took a deep breath and tossed the magazine into Mitsui's arms.

"Our group was dubbed the 'death group' by the media."

"Huh? A death squad?"