Chapter 229: Toyotama's Provocation
Makino Juro tipped his head back and took another gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.
His tone was so casual that he sounded as though he were discussing whether to have ramen or a rice bowl for dinner.
"What difference does it make whether we face them sooner or later?"
"Whoever they are, they'll all end up on their knees before Shohoku."
The statement was outrageously arrogant.
Yet coming from Makino Juro, it carried an almost matter-of-fact certainty, as though he were saying, Isn't that obvious?
Maki Shinichi's eyes narrowed as he took a long, hard look at Makino Juro.
This first-year freak seemed to have no emotional module called fear.
"That's right!"
Akagi Takenori stepped forward.
His massive shadow fell over everyone as he planted a finger firmly on the spot marked CHAMPION.
"If we want to conquer the nation, then regardless of who our opponents are, we'll crush them."
"Sannoh, Aiwa, whoever they are, they're nothing more than stepping stones!"
"See you in the semifinals, Maki."
Akagi's eyes burned with fighting spirit.
"Don't lose before you get the chance to face us."
The entire area erupted.
They were insane!
This C-ranked team was actually challenging the seeded Kainan team to a semifinal showdown?
Did they have any idea how many bosses stood between them and that point?
"Hahahaha!"
Maki froze for a moment before bursting into hearty laughter, the sound reverberating through his chest.
"Good! That's the spirit!"
"If you can take down Sannoh, I'd be more than happy to face you."
"But…"
His eyes suddenly sharpened, his overwhelming presence radiating outward.
"Before that, don't lose."
Just as the two Kanagawa teams were about to collide in a clash of fiery competitive spirit, with the imaginary hype music practically reaching its climax...
"Hey, hey, hey… You guys are actually taking this seriously?"
A horribly grating voice abruptly cut through the atmosphere like a rusty saw being dragged across metal.
The crowd was roughly pushed aside.
A group of players wearing blue-and-gold uniforms walked in.
At the front was a man with a slicked-back pompadour, his Hawaiian shirt hanging open at the collar and a revoltingly mocking grin plastered across his face.
Toyotama High's ace.
Kishimoto Minori.
There was a thick aura of street-gang brutality surrounding the group.
They didn't look like they had come to play basketball.
They looked more like gangsters who had shown up to collect protection money.
Kishimoto swaggered into the middle with both hands in his pockets, casting a sinister glance at Akagi.
"Did you get your head slammed in a door?"
"You want to play in the semifinals? Did you ask Toyotama first?"
He extended a finger and pointed it right up to Akagi's nose, stopping just short of touching it.
"Don't forget. We're your first-round opponents."
"A bunch of country bumpkins who haven't even stepped onto the floor of the National Tournament, and you think you're going to face Sannoh?"
"Even your dreams need to have limits."
The Toyotama players behind him snickered.
"Kishimoto, don't put it like that."
"They came all the way to Hiroshima. At least let them have a nice dream before they go home."
"Exactly."
Kishimoto shrugged, the mockery on his face becoming even more pronounced.
His eyes deliberately shifted toward Makino Juro, filled with venom.
He hadn't forgotten the humiliation of being thrown onto the train floor.
"Especially you."
Kishimoto lowered his voice, his tone turning cold.
"Kid, I'm going to cripple you with my own hands."
The atmosphere instantly froze.
The air was saturated with enough gunpowder that the slightest spark could set everything off.
Suddenly, Sakuragi Hanamichi's glaring red bald head poked out from behind the others.
His expression was full of disgust, as though he were trying to shoo away a buzzing green bottle fly.
"Why is it these guys again?"
"Can't they just disappear?"
Akagi Takenori didn't even raise an eyelid.
His enormous body stood there like a mountain.
He simply ignored Kishimoto and spoke in a voice as cold as iron striking steel.
"Don't bother with them. Let's go."
Complete disregard.
An absolute difference in dimensions.
That attitude of you're not even worthy of a glance was a thousand times more insulting than being cursed out to one's face.
The muscles in Kishimoto's face twitched violently.
His anger shot straight to his head.
He suddenly turned and fixed his eyes on Maki Shinichi beside him like a venomous snake.
"Hey, Maki."
Kishimoto kept both hands in his pockets, his chin raised at an infuriating angle.
His narrow, upturned eyes were filled with mockery.
"I heard you actually lost to these country bumpkins?"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk."
He shook his head dramatically, his tone dripping with sarcasm, like a grade-schooler who had just learned how to insult people.
"How pathetic."
"So the so-called King of Kanagawa isn't all that impressive after all."
"One of the nation's four strongest teams…"
Kishimoto raised a finger and drew a collapsing motion in the air.
Then he added his own sound effect:
"KABOOM—down it goes!"
Silence.
The entire corridor became so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.
The faces of the Kainan players instantly darkened.
Kiyota Nobunaga was so furious that his hair practically stood on end, his fists cracking as he clenched them.
Jin Soichiro's harmless smile disappeared as well, his gaze turning cold.
Being publicly humiliated like this was an insult to a king.
Maki Shinichi said nothing.
He simply stared at Kishimoto.
His dark, imposing face showed absolutely no emotional fluctuation.
No anger.
No embarrassment.
Only a strange sort of…
confusion.
The kind of confusion one might have when staring at an unidentified piece of trash on the side of the road.
The silence lasted a full five seconds.
Every second felt like another slap across Kishimoto's face.
Finally, Maki moved.
He frowned slightly, seemingly trying to rummage through the recycling bin of his memory.
Then he raised a hand and hesitantly pointed at Kishimoto.
His tone was so sincere that it was almost heartbreaking.
"Sorry, you're… who again?"
Critical hit.
True damage.
100% armor break.
The vicious grin on Kishimoto's face instantly froze.
Like a cheap mask that had cracked before it was even properly put on.
His face went from red to purple, then from purple to black, looking like someone had knocked over an entire paint palette.
"Pfft"
A wildly inappropriate burst of laughter broke the deadlock.
Sakuragi Hanamichi clutched his stomach, tears streaming from his eyes as he doubled over like a giant shrimp.
He frantically slapped Maki on the shoulder.
"WAHAHAHAHA! Old man! Great question! That was perfect!"
"Who the hell is this guy? This genius doesn't know him either! Is he just some random background character?"
The corner of Maki's mouth twitched.
Without saying a word, he calmly shook Sakuragi's hand off his shoulder.
Kiyota Nobunaga usually couldn't stand Sakuragi, but at this moment, the two were strangely united.
"Hahahaha!"
The Wild Monkey jumped out and pointed at Kishimoto while making a face.
"Quit acting like you're the king of the world!"
"You want to run your mouth against our captain Maki?"
"You're at least ten years too early!"
"You're such a nobody that nobody even remembers your name!"
Sakuragi Hanamichi was even more determined to make things worse.
He grabbed both ears, stuck out his tongue at Kishimoto, and stared intently at the conspicuous little ponytail at the back of his head.
"Bleh-bleh-bleh!"
"Ponytail! Ponytail~!"
"Only sissies wear their hair like that! Did you come here to play basketball or enter a beauty pageant?"
"You bastard!!"
Kishimoto finally exploded.
The last thread of his sanity snapped completely.
As Toyotama's ace, Osaka's scoring machine, when had he ever suffered this kind of humiliation?
First, he had been ignored.
Then, he had been mocked in front of everyone.
And now this red-haired monkey was insulting his hairstyle.
"You're asking to die!"
Kishimoto roared and took a step forward, his entire body erupting with hostility like a raging bull breaking loose.
The Toyotama players behind him also moved forward, surrounding the group one after another, their expressions hostile and their eyes vicious.
"Hey! You looking for a fight?!"
The atmosphere instantly escalated from a war of words into an all-out brawl, the tension thick enough to choke on.
However…
They had clearly picked the wrong opponents.
When it came to playing in the National Tournament, Shohoku might still be newcomers.
But when it came to fighting?
When it came to the pedigree of delinquent street fighters?
This bunch from Shohoku were practically the founding masters.
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
👉 /MrBehringer