Chapter 227: Wash Your Neck and Wait
If that blind reporter had been there, Mitsui would have made absolutely sure he got a taste of the iron fist of a former delinquent.
Rukawa Kaede had originally been resting with his eyes closed. Now, however, he opened them, his cold gaze sweeping over those words.
His lips moved slightly.
Two icy words escaped:
"Idiot."
Seeing the ugly expressions on the faces of the Shohoku players, Kishimoto felt an incredible sense of satisfaction, as though he'd just downed an ice-cold bottle of soda on the hottest day of summer.
He folded his arms across his chest, looking down his nose at them.
"See? This is reality."
"A C-ranked team that only got this far through luck actually thinks it can challenge Sannoh?"
"You're nothing but frogs at the bottom of a well holding a conference about the sky. Your horizons are pathetic."
As he said this, he deliberately turned toward Makino Juro, who had remained silent in the back row, and let out a mocking laugh.
"And you."
"The guy named Makino Juro."
"I heard you're pretty arrogant in Kanagawa."
"But at the National Tournament, someone like you isn't even worthy of tying my shoelaces."
Juro remained lazily slouched against the back of his seat.
The cola can in his hand swayed gently, the faint sound of liquid sloshing inside.
His eyelids lifted halfway as he casually glanced at Kishimoto.
His gaze was calm.
So calm that it was like a human being watching a green bottle fly buzzing around his head.
There was no anger.
Only complete, effortless disregard.
"Finished?"
"If you're finished, get lost. You're blocking my light."
Juro yawned, his voice as languid as someone who had just woken up.
"You…"
Kishimoto was completely enraged by that utter disregard, his face turning the color of pig liver.
He was just about to explode when the Toyotama coach shouted again from a distance.
"Kishimoto!"
"Stop causing trouble over there!"
Kishimoto gritted his teeth, his cheeks bulging.
Although he was furious, he didn't dare actually start a fight on the train.
Getting suspended before the tournament even began would be a terrible trade.
"Hmph."
"Consider yourselves lucky."
"Once we're on the court, I'll beat you back into your true form and show you what despair really looks like."
Kishimoto glared at everyone viciously before turning to leave.
He strode away with his head held high, like a rooster that had just won a fight.
Then, as he passed Sakuragi Hanamichi's seat...
Sakuragi, who appeared to be spacing out while picking his nose, suddenly extended one of his enormous feet from his seat.
The movement was natural.
Smooth.
The angle was perfect.
The timing was flawless.
His foot landed directly in the middle of the aisle, right in the path Kishimoto had to take.
Kishimoto was walking with his nose practically pointed at the ceiling.
How could he possibly notice what was beneath his feet?
Trip.
A dull impact rang out.
Kishimoto's right foot slammed into Sakuragi's ankle, and the enormous momentum sent his entire body tumbling forward.
"WAAAAH!"
His scream tore through the carriage.
Kishimoto Minori, Toyotama's star player, went flying forward.
And then...
BANG!
He hit the floor in a textbook face-first, five-point landing.
His entire body sprawled flat against the floor.
The carriage itself seemed to tremble from the impact.
Silence.
Everyone stared wide-eyed at Kishimoto, who lay sprawled on the floor, twitching.
Three seconds later...
"Pfft…"
Miyagi Ryota couldn't hold it in anymore.
He burst out laughing.
Mitsui Hisashi was even worse.
He clutched his stomach, his shoulders shaking violently as he struggled to contain himself. His face turned a deep purple, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes.
Even the usually expressionless Rukawa's lips twitched ever so slightly.
"Oh, whoops!"
Sakuragi Hanamichi finally seemed to realize what had happened.
He dramatically pulled his foot back and then looked innocently at Kishimoto on the floor.
His booming voice made the roof of the carriage seem to vibrate.
"Sorry! Sorry! I'm really sorry!"
"This genius's legs are just too damn long! There's nowhere to put them!"
"Hey, old man, you okay?"
"You're a grown man! Don't you look where you're walking?"
"Are you suffering from calcium deficiency or something?"
Kishimoto slowly raised his head.
His nose was swollen like a light bulb, with two streams of blood cheerfully flowing down from his nostrils.
That face, which had been so arrogant only moments ago, was now twisted into the visage of a demon freshly crawled out of Hell.
Humiliation.
Rage.
Killing intent.
All three exploded inside his chest.
"You… bastard…"
Kishimoto suddenly scrambled to his feet.
His eyes were bloodshot, resembling those of a beast that had completely lost control.
"You little punk!"
"You did that on purpose!"
With a furious roar, he charged straight at Sakuragi.
His right hand tore through the air as he viciously reached for Sakuragi's unmistakable red hair.
It was a move he'd developed through countless street fights in Osaka.
"Kishimoto! Stop!"
Coach Kanpei was scared out of his wits.
But it was too late.
The claw-like hand was only a few centimeters from Sakuragi's head.
Sakuragi remained seated.
His eyes instantly turned cold.
It was the instinctive reaction of the former delinquent leader of Wakou Middle School.
He was just about to give this idiot a headbutt he'd never forget...
When a hand suddenly appeared.
Long.
Fair.
Knuckles sharply defined.
It gently, yet irresistibly, seized Kishimoto's wrist.
It was Makino Juro.
"Hey."
Makino Juro's voice remained lazy, but there was a chill in it that made one's scalp tingle.
Kishimoto froze.
He instinctively tried to yank his hand free.
But that seemingly effortless grip was as immovable as an iron vise.
The next moment...
Juro's wrist gave a slight twist.
There was no brute force involved.
Instead, it was an extremely strange application of leverage.
Four ounces deflecting a thousand pounds.
Kishimoto suddenly felt an irresistible rotational force travel from his wrist throughout his entire body.
His center of gravity collapsed instantly.
His entire body was lifted off balance and spun through the air.
The world turned upside down.
The ceiling of the carriage spun rapidly before his eyes, and then—
BANG!
Another tremendous crash.
This one was even heavier than the first.
Kishimoto slammed onto the floor again, this time landing squarely on his back.
The impact left him seeing stars and completely breathless, every bit of air squeezed from his lungs.
The entire carriage fell silent.
Even the coach, who had rushed over, slammed on the brakes and stopped dead in his tracks.
His mouth hung open.
He looked as though he'd just seen a ghost.
That seemingly lazy teenager had just thrown the huge Kishimoto with one hand…
That easily?
Like he was throwing out a bag of garbage?
Makino Juro released his grip and casually dusted off his palm, as though he'd merely brushed away some dirt.
He picked up his cola again, tilted his head back, and took a drink.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
"Watch where you're walking next time."
"The floor's pretty expensive."
"Don't go smashing your face into it."
The carriage was terrifyingly quiet.
The only sound was Juro swallowing his cola, strangely loud in the silence.
Kishimoto lay on the floor, gasping heavily, unable to get back up for quite some time.
That fall hadn't broken any bones.
But it had completely shattered his pride.
"Kishimoto!"
Coach Kanpei finally snapped out of his daze.
He rushed over and helped Kishimoto to his feet, casting a wary glance at Makino Juro.
They had been the ones who started this trouble.
Now that they had been thoroughly outclassed, continuing the confrontation would only make them look even more pathetic.
"Let's go!"
The coach barked quietly and forcibly dragged the still-dazed Kishimoto away.
Kishimoto stumbled along behind him.
As they passed Sakuragi, he glared viciously at both Sakuragi and Makino Juro.
The hatred in his eyes was so intense it practically dripped.
Sakuragi Hanamichi sat there like an emperor on his throne.
He rubbed his bald head and grinned at Kishimoto's retreating back.
His smile was both savage and brilliant.
"Hey, Ponytail."
Kishimoto stopped.
He turned around and glared furiously.
"What?!"
Sakuragi pointed at his own head, the gesture filled with blatant provocation.
"I remember what you tried to do just now."
"When we meet on the court, this genius is going to shove your head straight into the basket and use it as a basketball."
He grinned.
"Wash your neck and wait for me."
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
👉 /MrBehringer