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

The image of that broad, bear-like back instantly flashed into my mind.

Morishige Hiroshi.

That first-year monster in the passageway, who sent him flying with just a light bump.

Sakuragi subconsciously touched his shoulder, where the pain from that time still seemed to linger.

"Meihou Industrial..."

Sakuragi murmured to himself, a fierce fighting spirit burning in his eyes.

"That fat gorilla should be here too, right?"

"If only I could run into him, this genius would definitely avenge that collision!"

The carriage door opened.

Several passengers wearing floral shirts and carrying large and small bags walked in.

The loud, pungent Kansai dialect is like a built-in sound system.

Kiminobu Kogure sighed, stood up, and walked to the corridor to stretch his stiff legs.

Looking at the crowds on the platform outside the window, he felt a mix of emotions.

"Sannoh Industrial, Aiwa Academy..."

Kogure gripped the back of his chair, shook his head with a wry smile, and said:

"We've really fallen into a monster's den."

"Is this the national tournament?"

As the vice-captain, his pressure was no less than Akagi's.

This is Akagi's last chance, and also their last summer as third-year students.

If we stop here... the feeling of resentment is suffocating just to think about it.

"I really hope things go smoothly..."

Kogure muttered to himself.

Just then, a shadow suddenly loomed over him.

A figure, half a head taller than Kogure, appeared behind them at some point.

Floral shirt, slicked-back hair.

An oppressive feeling, reminiscent of cheap cologne, hit me.

Just as Kogure was about to turn around, a thick, strong arm naturally draped over his shoulder.

It was like meeting an old friend.

But the force of that hand was astonishing, as if it wanted to crush Kogure's shoulder blade.

"Hey, you glasses guy."

The man's voice carried a heavy Kansai accent, frivolous and arrogant, exuding a sense of superiority that was extremely unpleasant.

"You guys seemed to be having a great time chatting just now."

"What group of death? What Sannoh Industrial?"

The man lowered his head and brought his face close to Kogure's ear.

His breath was hot on Kogure's neck, his tone icy:

"What's wrong?"

"You C-rank team from the countryside of Kanagawa, aren't you really underestimating Toyotama?"

Kogure's entire body stiffened.

The air inside the carriage instantly froze.

Akagi Takenori suddenly stood up, his eyes piercing like knives as he glared at the uninvited guest.

The can of cola in Lin Bei's hand stopped spinning.

The low air pressure inside the carriage was almost freezing.

The hand resting on Kogure's shoulder had large, thick fingers that exuded an undisguised malice.

Takenori Akagi suddenly stood up.

Its massive 1.97-meter frame, like a moving wall, completely blocked the overhead lights in the corridor.

The oppressive aura emanating from the Shohoku captain was like Mount Tai crashing down upon him.

"Take your hand away."

Akagi's voice was deep and resonant, like muffled thunder rolling in his chest, making one's eardrums vibrate.

The man with slicked-back hair and an open collar on his floral shirt turned his head to the side.

A hint of disdain lingered in his eyes, and his gaze was as fierce as a wild dog's.

Instead of loosening his grip, he tightened it even more, causing Kogure to gasp in pain and furrow his brows.

"Oh? Isn't this Takenori Akagi?"

The man's lips curled into a mocking smile as he spoke in a thick, grating Kansai accent.

"What's up? Want to practice in the car?"

"Come on, as long as you're not afraid of being disqualified."

Akagi clenched his fists, the veins on his forearms bulging and twisting like fuses ready to explode at any moment.

Just as the powder keg was about to explode.

A flurry of footsteps came from behind.

"Hey! Kishimoto! Are you crazy?!"

A middle-aged man in sportswear rushed over, sweating profusely, and grabbed the man in the floral shirt's arm, dragging him backward.

"This is a public place! Do you want to ruin the game?!"

He is the coach of Toyotama High School.

Minori Kishimoto, Toyotama's ace power forward.

He was known as the "Osaka scoring machine".

At this moment, however, he acted like a complete thug, shaking off the coach's hand with a look of disgust.

"Ugh... What a disappointment."

Kishimoto released his grip on Kogure's hand and exaggeratedly wiped his palms on his trouser leg.

Kogure rubbed his purple shoulder, his face pale.

But he still straightened his glasses, his eyes stubborn, and didn't back down an inch.

Coach Kinpei quickly stepped forward and bowed repeatedly to Akagi and Kogure, bending his waist to a ninety-degree angle.

"I'm so sorry!"

"My team members were too impulsive. I hope no one got hurt?"

Akagi stared down at Kishimoto, his gaze as cold as if he were looking at a corpse.

That look instantly stung Kishimoto's pride.

He stiffened his neck, pointed at the Xiangbei team, and roared:

"Coach, what are you apologizing for?"

"It was these country bumpkins who started spouting nonsense!"

"They don't take Feng Yu seriously at all! I can't stand hearing that!"

Ryota Miyagi closed the magazine and slammed his foot on the chair.

If you're not tall enough, make up for it with presence.

He had his hands in his pockets, and his chin was held higher than Kishimoto's.

His eyes were filled with the arrogance of "I'm your father".

"ha??"

"You think too highly of yourself."

"I'm telling the absolute truth."

"You're not even within our sights, understand?"

"What did you say?!"

Kishimoto's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, his anger rising to the top of his head.

"idiot."

"It means we've never even given you a second glance."

"Do you understand now? Illiterate."

Miyagi rolled her eyes dramatically and looked at him with the kind of loving gaze one might give someone who's mentally challenged.

"You ignorant brat..."

Kishimoto was so angry that he laughed, his face twitching.

He grabbed his sports bag, pulled out a crumpled magazine, and slammed it onto the small table in front of Kogure.

"Snapped!"

The magazine was unfolded; it was the latest issue of "Basketball Weekly".

Kishimoto's large fingers jabbed at the glaring letter, his nails almost tearing through the paper.

"Open your dog eyes and see clearly!"

"This is a rating from professional basketball experts! The data doesn't lie!"

Everyone's eyes followed the finger.

In the analysis of the teams in the national competition on that page.

Under the entry for "Shohoku High School," there was a bold, black text that looked like a slap in the face:

Overall Rating: C

[Reason for evaluation: A typical single-core team]

Apart from center Takenori Akagi, who possesses near-national-level skills, the other positions have obvious weaknesses.

While newcomer Rukawa Kaede and substitute Lin Bei have shown promise, they lack experience in major tournaments.

[The county-level team's victory over Hainan was purely due to luck; we suggest praying they don't lose too badly.]

And on the side.

Under the entry for Toyotama High School, there is a bright red "A".

Not to mention Sannoh Industrial, which is rated "AA".

The carriage was deathly silent.

Mitsui Hisashi leaned closer and glanced at it, the veins on his forehead throbbing.

"You damned bastard..."

"What utter nonsense is this?"

"luck?"

"Did I make that three-pointer just by luck?!"