On the court.
Makino Juro dribbled the ball up to the top of the arc.
Facing him were Itakura and Minami, who had come over to help defend. Both men's eyes were fierce enough to devour someone alive.
Makino Juro suddenly smiled.
It was the smile of a hunter watching prey fall into a trap, carrying a hint of amusement.
[Perfect Copy]
[Seijuro Akashi (PG) · Emperor Eye]
Although the template currently loaded was Ryota Kise's...
Kise's Perfect Copy allowed him to switch between skills freely on the court while reducing the stamina required to use them.
"Run-and-gun?"
Makino Juro murmured softly, his voice low enough that only the two men in front of him could hear.
"In the face of absolute control…"
"Can you even get your run-and-gun going?"
Before the words had even faded...
Juro gave his wrist an almost imperceptible flick.
No wind-up.
The basketball vanished from his hands.
It wasn't a drive.
It was a pass!
A surgical pass sliced straight through Toyotama's seemingly ferocious but actually loose defense, like a precision-guided missile.
Straight into the paint!
There.
Akagi Takenori had already established perfect position, immovable as a pillar anchoring the sea. No one could budge him.
"Beautiful pass!!"
Akagi roared as he caught the ball and turned.
No fancy moves.
Only overwhelming power.
BOOM!
Akagi leaped forcefully while carrying Toyotama's center on his back and slammed the ball through the hoop with one hand!
The basketball stanchion groaned in agony, as though it might collapse at any moment.
The referee's whistle blew.
The basket counted, and Akagi would shoot one more free throw!
"ROOOOOAR!!"
Akagi landed and pounded his chest, roaring with satisfaction as he released all the frustration bottled up inside him.
That single play completely unleashed the anger Shohoku had been forced to swallow while Toyotama dominated them.
Makino Juro stood beyond the three-point line and watched calmly.
Slowly, he lowered the finger he had raised.
The rhythm...
was gradually coming back.
…
At the free-throw line, the air seemed to freeze.
Akagi Takenori's chest heaved violently.
His lungs worked like bellows, forcing every bit of stale air from his body.
As he exhaled deeply, the wildly beating heart inside his chest was forcibly brought back to its proper rhythm.
The boos and curses from the Toyotama fans still buzzed around his ears like a swarm of flies, trying to burrow into his mind.
But at this moment, Akagi's world contained only one color.
Orange.
"Phew…"
Bend the knees.
Raise the ball.
Flick the wrist.
The movement carried a trace of stiffness, but it was muscle memory carved into his bones.
The instant the basketball left his rough fingertips, it traced an unremarkable yet rock-solid arc through the air.
The entire gym held its breath.
Swish!
The crisp sound of the net snapping echoed like heavenly music.
The scoreboard changed.
6–9.
"Nice!!"
On the Shohoku bench, Kuwata and Yasuda jumped up like springs, waving their towels with the enthusiasm of helicopter blades.
"He made it! The captain's settled down!"
It was only a free throw, but that single point was like a dose of reassurance forcibly shoved down the throat of every Shohoku player.
Only three points remained.
The seemingly insurmountable chasm that had separated them was already more than halfway filled.
Akagi landed and clenched his fist tightly, his knuckles turning white.
He didn't roar this time.
Instead, he abruptly turned around, his eyes blazing as they pierced through the crowd and locked onto Makino Juro at the top of the arc.
The boy wearing No. 16 looked completely relaxed.
Akagi raised his right arm and pointed at Juro with an index finger as straight as an iron spear.
It was silent acknowledgment.
The highest salute a captain could give to his ace.
Makino Juro curled the corner of his mouth.
He pulled his hand from his waist and gave Akagi a simple thumbs-up in return.
No unnecessary words.
Just another day at the office.
"Che."
Not far away, Mitsui Hisashi wiped the sweat from his forehead, amusement curling at the corner of his lips.
"As expected of Makino Juro. He walks onto the court and immediately gets this entire mess under control."
"That feeling of inexplicable reassurance…"
"It's seriously annoying."
His mouth said one thing, but the unprecedented ease in his eyes said another.
With someone controlling the game, there was only one thing he needed to do as a shooter.
Find the open spot.
Then put that damn ball through the hoop.
Nearby, Miyagi Ryota shrank his neck slightly.
Watching Makino Juro shine so brightly, jealousy bubbled up inside him.
"Seriously, who's supposed to be the point guard here…?"
"Damn it. This guy's stealing all the spotlight."
Miyagi muttered under his breath, but his feet never stopped moving.
He knew perfectly well that if Makino Juro hadn't taken over possession just now, he'd probably still be locked in a pointless grudge match with that bastard Itakura.
Rukawa Kaede walked past Makino Juro expressionlessly, giving him a cold sideways glance.
His lips moved slightly.
A complaint so quiet that only he could hear it escaped his mouth.
"I should've gotten that pass…"
It was a complaint, but the fire burning in Rukawa's eyes had only grown stronger.
Now that the rhythm was back...
his hunt could begin.
However, just as the Shohoku players were still basking in the joy of closing the gap, while even the spectators were still savoring Akagi's thunderous dunk...
a cold voice suddenly poured over them like a bucket of ice water.
"Get back!"
Makino Juro's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unmistakable force that cut through everything around him.
"Don't stand there celebrating like idiots. The game has only just begun."
Those words were practically a military order.
The Shohoku players, who had been high-fiving one second earlier, reacted before their brains even had time to process the command.
Turn.
Sprint.
No hesitation.
Akagi Takenori charged forward with huge strides like a heavy tank advancing at full speed, rumbling across half court and heading straight for the paint.
Rukawa Kaede and Mitsui Hisashi spread out on either wing and quickly took up their defensive positions.
Miyagi Ryota became a gust of wind, sticking tightly to Itakura, who was preparing to inbound the ball from the baseline.
The entire sequence flowed together seamlessly, so fast it was almost absurd.
Shohoku, which had been a complete mess moments ago, now looked like an ironclad army that obeyed every command without question.
Cheering one second.
Building a wall the next.
On the sideline, Toyotama coach Kanpei's hand, which had been raised to signal a fast break, froze in midair.
"What the hell?"
Kishimoto's eyes widened in disbelief.
On the court, Itakura Daijiro was holding the ball, wearing the same bewildered expression.
This wasn't how the script was supposed to go!
Weren't these Shohoku rookies supposed to get carried away after scoring?
The moment they relaxed, even for a second, Toyotama's run-and-gun army could tear their defense apart!
But now…
Looking at Miyagi standing ready before him, and Akagi guarding the basket like a gatekeeper from hell...
Itakura swallowed hard.
That transition defense…
Why was it even faster than before?
"Damn it."
Itakura Daijiro rushed into the frontcourt.
Only to discover that Miyagi had followed him like a shadow, leaving him absolutely no room to receive the ball.
"These guys…"
Kishimoto gritted his teeth, glaring darkly at Makino Juro as he directed his teammates into defensive positions.
"They're getting back faster too. It's that No. 16…"
"He's controlling the breathing of this entire team."
In the Hainan spectator section.
The atmosphere was subtle.
Kiyota Nobunaga gripped the railing and leaned forward impatiently.
"I see…"
"That guy Juro realized Toyotama's tactics are basically the same as his own, so he's switched to half-court basketball?"
Coach Takato Riki lightly tapped his folded fan against his palm, his gaze deep and thoughtful.
"Not entirely."
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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