"What!?"
Aota's eyes widened in disbelief. The news he had just received was so shocking that he literally fell off his chair.
"What a guy… Sakuragi Hanamichi… Even my top three judo warriors can't do anything against him!?"
But instead of being frustrated, Aota clenched his fists in excitement.
"This makes me want him even more… I have to get him into the Judo Club!"
Kogure, standing off to the side, gave a tired shrug.
"I'm telling you… just give up already. Sakuragi isn't the kind of person who's easily convinced."
"Heh, it doesn't matter!" Aota leaped up from the ground with a crazy gleam in his eyes. "I'm not giving up that easily! I anticipated this situation, so I came up with a Plan B in advance!"
"Plan B?" Kogure echoed, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes!" Aota dusted off his uniform and straightened his collar with an air of confidence. "There's a first-year student—an international student named Oliver. He's quite famous already."
"Sakuragi Hanamichi seems to really respect him. What if he were to persuade Sakuragi? Don't you think Sakuragi would listen?"
Kogure's face turned serious. "What are you planning? Oliver isn't someone you can just manipulate. His love for basketball isn't just talk—it runs deep!"
Akagi, who had been listening quietly, stepped forward, visibly agitated. "Unlike Sakuragi, who's still a rookie, Oliver is a true talent. If we lose him, the basketball team will suffer a serious blow!"
Aota smirked, completely unfazed. "Whether Oliver actually wants Sakuragi to join or not doesn't matter. I don't need him to be sincere—I just need him to say the words."
A chilling grin formed on Aota's face.
"I've already sent two Judo Club members to go find him. Whether he wants to or not, he'll have to help me."
"Aota Tatsuhiko!!!" Akagi roared, grabbing Aota by the collar in anger.
"Do you dare lay a hand on Oliver? Do you think I'll let this slide!?"
Aota's expression turned cold. He yanked Akagi's hand off him with force.
"Akagi, let's not pretend anymore. You, the captain of the basketball team, are seriously going to pick a fight with me, the captain of the Judo Club?"
A tense silence filled the room.
"I'm dead serious this time," Aota said grimly. "Sakuragi Hanamichi is a once-in-a-century judo prodigy. I'm willing to fight you—yes, even you—for the chance to recruit him."
"You bastard…" Akagi growled, his fists trembling with rage.
Aota sneered and turned his back to them, waving his hand as he walked away.
"Well, you guys can just sit tight and watch. When Sakuragi helps us win the national judo championship, I'll be generous and give you some credit."
With that, he exited the classroom along with several Judo Club members—all of them carrying gear bags and smirking arrogantly.
"Damn it… what an unlucky encounter!" Akagi spat. "Kogure! Sprinkle salt, quick!"
(Note: In Japan, salt is sprinkled to ward off evil spirits.)
As if he'd just seen something unholy, Akagi turned to the door and repeatedly said "Pooh, pooh, pooh" in the direction Aota had left.
He frowned, then stormed out of the classroom.
"Kogure! You too!" he shouted without looking back. "We have to get to Oliver before that idiot does anything stupid!"
"Roger!!" Kogure replied and took off.
"I'll alert the rest of the team—we might need backup. You find Oliver first!"
"Got it!"
The two nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. This wasn't just a minor inconvenience—it was a crisis that could impact the entire future of the Shohoku basketball team.
---
Meanwhile...
Oliver stepped out of the gymnasium, casually walking along the path back to the classroom.
"System, change skills."
Ding! Please select the skill you wish to equip.
"Oh? Finally decided to work properly again after that Lezi show?" Oliver rolled his eyes.
He unequipped Shining Star and re-equipped Quick Recovery.
His current active skills were now: Sonic Dash, Accurate Shooter, Quick Recovery, and Bull Charge.
"Shining Star… what a bizarre skill. Who came up with this nonsense? Feels like a gag skill designed just to annoy people," Oliver muttered to himself, still thinking about the absurdity of it.
But his thoughts were abruptly interrupted when two large figures blocked his path.
"Excuse me, could you move aside?" Oliver said politely and tried to step around them, but the two men shifted sideways, blocking him again.
Oliver looked up.
The two men had buzz cuts and wore Shohoku uniforms—upperclassmen, no doubt. Their hands were in their pockets, and their expressions radiated arrogance and aggression.
"You're Oliver, right?" one of them said, his tone smug. "Took us a while to find you. We checked your classroom, but you weren't there. So here you are, just strolling around."
Oliver sighed internally. Here we go again...
He had experienced these kinds of encounters way too many times—ever since junior high, it felt like trouble just followed him around. And after doing a mental tally of recent events, he could only come to one conclusion:
It must be because of Sakuragi Hanamichi again.
"I've always kept to myself," he muttered. "But somehow, ever since I started hanging around that guy, my life's been full of chaos."
"You're pretty famous, you know," one of the thugs continued. "You've done a lot to stand out. That Sakuragi Hanamichi really listens to you."
His accent had a hint of gangster tone to it—just missing the stereotypical tongue-roll.
Oliver rolled his eyes. So it's definitely about Sakuragi… as expected.
"All right, I get it," he said flatly. "So what exactly do you want? I'm a busy man."
The larger of the two chuckled darkly. "No need to be tense. We just want to ask for a little favor. Come with us."
As he spoke, he placed a heavy hand on Oliver's shoulder, gripping it with clear intent.
"I hope you don't make things difficult for us."
Oliver stared at the hand, then at the man's face.
"Don't you two have anything better to do?"
Then, without hesitation, he smacked the hand off his shoulder.
"There are a lot of people who want to talk to me. Get a number, file a request form, and I'll get back to you in 48 hours after review."
His tone was sharp and mocking.
Oliver didn't respond well to threats. If someone spoke kindly, he'd listen. But if they tried to intimidate him?
He'd just push back twice as hard.
"You little brat… don't be so full of yourself!!" one of the thugs growled and grabbed Oliver by the collar.
"Now we're getting physical?" Oliver said sarcastically. "Well, even if you want to file an assault request, you still need to submit an 18,000-word application. No punctuation allowed, and not a single word can be missing."
The guy's face contorted in fury.
Talking back was one thing—but Oliver's calm sarcasm was infuriating.
In truth, Oliver had once been a legend in online debates in his past life. He held a level 13 badge and had trained for years in the harshest corners of the internet. Compared to those online flame wars, this kind of provocation was child's play.
"You bastard!!" the man roared, raising a clenched fist and aiming a punch directly at Oliver's face.
---
To be continued…
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