The entire arena fell into dead silence.
Not quiet—
Suffocating.
It was as if thousands of people had their throats gripped at the same time, not daring to even breathe too loudly.
Maki Shinichi slowly stood back up.
His movements were stiff like rusted machinery. With every inch he straightened, the freezing pressure radiating from him grew heavier.
His originally calm, dark face had become black as the bottom of a scorched pot.
Inside those eyes remained only the madness of a gambler who had already lost everything.
Crossed over.
Forced to kneel.
Looked down upon.
This wasn't just losing possession of the ball anymore.
Makino Juro had ripped off the pride of the "King of Kanagawa" together with Kainan's decade-long glory, then thrown it to the floor and trampled over it.
"Maki! Calm down!!"
At the sideline, Coach Takato's folding fan had long since disappeared somewhere.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, he roared himself hoarse.
It was useless.
Kainan's entire mentality had exploded.
Jin Soichiro stared blankly at the scoreboard.
Kiyota Nobunaga stood there with his mouth open like a fish gasping for oxygen.
Takazago Kazuma's gaze drifted nervously, not even daring to look at his captain.
The god in their hearts—
The invincible Maki Shinichi.
Had just knelt before someone.
The sound of shattered faith was crisper than breaking bones.
"Give me… the ball."
Maki's voice sounded like he had swallowed a fistful of sand.
Rough.
Harsh.
No tactics.
No communication.
He didn't even glance at his teammates.
Walking to the baseline, he yanked the basketball straight out of Takazago's hands.
"Captain…"
Takazago had barely opened his mouth—
Before the murderous aura pouring off Maki scared him into silence.
The current Maki Shinichi was a beast cornered into a dead end.
The game resumed.
Maki dribbled forward.
He didn't look at the court.
Didn't search for an opening.
In his eyes, there was only that black-haired boy standing calmly near center court.
He had to reclaim this stage.
Using the most primal.
Most violent—
Method possible.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
His dribbling thundered like war drums.
Maki wasn't especially fast.
But every step shook the hardwood beneath him. His entire body resembled a runaway heavy tank.
Carrying enough momentum to crush everything in its path, he charged straight toward Shohoku's interior.
Miyagi Ryota gritted his teeth and stepped up to stop him.
"Move!!"
With a furious roar, Maki lowered his shoulder and slammed directly into him.
Pure domination through strength.
Miyagi felt like he had been rammed head-on by a raging bull.
Pain exploded in his chest as he stumbled backward, nearly collapsing onto the floor.
The referee didn't blow the whistle.
At the final moments of a championship match, this level of contact belonged to the "privilege of the strong."
First line of defense—broken through.
In Maki's eyes, there was only the basket.
And the figure who absolutely had to be crushed.
But he didn't go after Makino Juro.
Because Makino Juro stood there like a ghost, unmoving.
The ones rotating over for help defense were Rukawa Kaede and Sakuragi Hanamichi.
"You're not getting past."
Rukawa's icy face remained expressionless as he positioned himself at the free-throw line.
Sakuragi was underneath the basket, battling Takazago for position.
A cruel grin twisted across Maki's lips.
The main target wasn't coming?
Then he'd use these two as sacrifices first.
"HAAAAAH!!"
One step inside the free-throw line—
Maki exploded upward!
Without slowing down, every muscle in his body tightened like forged steel as he forcefully stretched himself in midair.
Both hands raised the basketball high overhead.
It was obvious...
He intended to smash home a devastating dunk right over Rukawa.
This was his trump card.
Using overwhelming strength and size to crush his opponent head-on.
With this one play, he would reclaim the face, morale, and dignity he had lost.
Sakuragi was tied down by Takazago and couldn't rotate in time.
Rukawa refused to give ground, leaping high with his long arm extending for the block.
BANG!!
The two collided violently in midair, the sound of muscle smashing against muscle enough to make teeth ache.
Maki's core strength was terrifying.
Even in the air, he forcefully shoved Rukawa aside, gripping the ball with both hands as he smashed it viciously toward the rim.
"DIE!!"
His furious roar exploded above the basket.
At that moment.
Time seemed to freeze.
Everyone felt the same thing.
This ball was definitely going in.
Even the gods couldn't stop it.
However...
Inside Makino Juro's field of vision, the world had already descended into another dimension.
The noise faded.
Colors peeled away.
The world became nothing but black, white, and gray lines of data.
Maki Shinichi's seemingly unstoppable attack was broken apart into countless slow-motion frames in Makino Juro's eyes.
The degree of muscle contraction.
The trajectory of flying sweat.
The blind spots in the angle of force applied through his fingers…
Everywhere—
Flaws.
"Too crude."
Makino Juro sneered inwardly.
Anger lowered intelligence.
Maki's movements were too large, too reckless, leaking openings everywhere like a sieve.
One second before Maki jumped, Makino Juro had already seen the ending.
He didn't even need to exert himself.
At the exact instant Maki raised the ball to its highest point.
When his old force had ended and new force had yet to be born.
A black-and-red afterimage sliced in like a phantom before soaring upward.
No footsteps.
No wind.
Even his breathing was perfectly concealed.
When the Grim Reaper swung his scythe to harvest souls—
He never announced himself first.
Makino Juro's expression remained emotionless.
Not a single ripple appeared in those red-gold pupils.
He raised his hand.
The movement was casual, effortless—
Like brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve.
PAH!
A crisp sound pierced through the heavy thunder of colliding bodies.
That slender, pale hand sliced precisely into the lower side of the basketball like a surgical blade.
It was Maki's absolute blind spot of force.
Just as Maki prepared to vent all his rage through the dunk—
The ball suddenly became weightless in his hands.
The basketball that should have been smashed into the hoop instead flew out bizarrely.
"What?!"
Maki's pupils shrank violently.
His hands grabbed nothing but air as momentum carried him awkwardly into the backboard before he crashed heavily to the floor.
The basketball bounced off the glass and dropped back down.
The crowd erupted.
"WHAT THE HELL?! He stripped it?!"
"He ripped apart Maki's killer dunk in midair?!"
"What kind of monster reaction speed is that?!"
The basketball bounced twice on the hardwood before obediently rolling to Makino Juro's feet.
At that moment, Maki had just regained his footing and turned around, his face filled with utter disbelief.
Rukawa landed while breathing heavily, his complicated gaze fixed on that lone back.
Makino Juro didn't launch a fast break.
The frontcourt was completely open. If he wanted to score, it would've been effortless.
But he deliberately chose not to.
Bending down, he picked up the basketball with one hand.
Then slightly tilted his head.
Those red-gold eyes looked down coldly at the iron-faced Maki Shinichi.
A smile filled with endless mockery curled across his lips.
"I told you already."
His voice wasn't loud.
Yet it echoed through the entire arena as if amplified.
"All your struggles…"
"…are meaningless."
"On this court—"
"I am the rule."
Arrogant.
So arrogant it crossed every limit.
Stepping on the ball, one hand in his pocket, humiliating the King of Kanagawa directly to his face.
This posture practically carved the word "domineering" straight into his DNA.
The Kainan players trembled with rage, their lungs about to explode.
"Bastard! Don't get so full of yourself!!"
A furious scream shattered the stalemate.
Unable to endure seeing his captain humiliated like this, Kiyota Nobunaga finally snapped.
Taking advantage of Makino Juro speaking, the wild monkey lunged from the side, attempting to steal the ball through a sneak attack.
"Give me the ball!!"
His speed was fast.
Desperate.
Ferocious.
However...
Just as his hand was about to touch the ball—
Makino Juro turned his head.
Those red-gold eyes locked onto Kiyota without the slightest trace of emotion.
BUZZ!
Kiyota Nobunaga felt as if a giant hammer had smashed directly into his brain.
What kind of gaze was that?
Cold.
Violent.
Supreme.
Like a dragon staring down at an insignificant ant too ignorant to fear death.
A terror born from pure biological instinct shot from the base of his spine straight to the top of his skull.
It felt—
Like absolute bloodline suppression.
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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