After Maki Shinichi dropped to his knees in front of Juro once again—
"BEEEEEP!"
"Kainan requests a timeout!"
The shrill whistle sliced through the thick, suffocating air of the court like a scalpel.
Coach Takato Riki practically launched himself out of the coaching zone.
His trademark folding fan had long since vanished somewhere unknown.
The tactical board in his hands creaked violently under his grip, as though it might shatter at any second.
The calm, calculating mask he always wore had completely fallen apart.
Cold sweat streamed down his pale face, smearing the black markings on the board into muddy streaks.
"We can't keep going like this… absolutely not!"
Takato's voice trembled—not from excitement, but fear.
A fear born from the deepest part of his soul.
As the king of Kanagawa, he had never looked this shaken before.
But staring at the black-clad boy on the court, a monster that looked as though he had crawled straight out of hell.
Watching their proud "Emperor Maki" get toyed with like a child—
Takato's mental defenses were collapsing.
The Kainan players shuffled back toward the bench like defeated roosters.
Maki Shinichi sat with a towel draped over his head, chest heaving violently like a broken bellows.
Kiyota Nobunaga's eyes were unfocused, clearly still trapped in the shadow of what had just happened.
Jin Soichiro mechanically wiped away sweat, confusion filling his gaze.
"Lift your heads up!"
Takato smashed the tactical board with a loud bang, finally snapping everyone back to reality.
"Conventional tactics won't work against that monster!"
"We gamble now!"
"We bet everything on Kainan's sixteen consecutive championships!"
Like a madman, he drew out an extreme formation on the board. The marker tip snapped from pressing too hard.
"Four-zone, one-man mark!"
"But that's not enough!"
Bloodshot veins filled Takato's eyes, madness radiating from them.
"Maki—you stick to Makino Juro like glue!"
"Don't think about steals! Don't think about blocks! Just don't let him accelerate!"
"Everyone else—collapse inside the free-throw line!"
"Abandon the perimeter. Protect the paint at all costs!"
"Coach… what if they start shooting threes?" Jin Soichiro asked dryly.
"Then we bet he misses!"
"I'd rather gamble on his shooting touch than let him tear through our defense like chopping vegetables while we kneel before him in humiliation!"
"Use bodies! Fill the paint!"
"Turn the inside into a swamp! Don't let him drive in!" Takato roared, spit flying everywhere.
It was a desperate gamble.
A gamble on probability.
A gamble on human limits.
Takato refused to believe it.
How could a first-year maintain such absurd shooting accuracy under this level of pressure?
As long as they stopped that first explosive step, Kainan still had a chance to survive.
…
Meanwhile, in Shohoku's bench area.
Compared to Kainan's funeral-like atmosphere, this side looked more like internal bullying.
"I'm going back in!"
A deep roar exploded through the bench.
Akagi Takenori shoved aside Ayako, who had been icing his ankle, and forced himself upright with both hands on his knees.
"I'm Shohoku's captain!"
"How can I sit here and watch during the moment we defeat Kainan?!"
His right ankle was swollen like a steamed bun wrapped in thick bandages.
Every tiny movement sent cold sweat pouring down his face.
But the fire in his eyes looked ready to burst out.
"Gorilla…"
Even Sakuragi Hanamichi stopped running his mouth for once. Looking at Akagi's trembling leg, genuine worry flashed across his face.
Coach Anzai adjusted his glasses and had just opened his mouth—
When a voice colder than ice froze the entire air around them.
"Sit down."
Akagi froze.
The entire bench fell silent.
Makino Juro sat at the center seat of the bench, a white towel draped over his shoulders, lazily swirling half a bottle of mineral water in his hand.
He hadn't even looked up, merely staring at the rippling water inside the bottle.
Although he had temporarily deactivated the Akashi Template.
The aura of absolute domination surrounding him still made the temperature drop.
"Juro, I…" Akagi gritted his teeth. "I can still play! The paint needs me—"
"Can't understand human language?"
Makino Juro slowly raised his head.
There was no warmth in his eyes.
Only cold logic and indifference.
"You can barely stand right now. Going out there would just make you a traffic cone."
His voice wasn't loud, but every word stabbed straight into the heart.
"Slow movement. Defensive liability. Offensive burden."
"I respect your willpower, but on the scales of victory, willpower isn't worth a damn."
"You brat…"
Akagi's fists clenched so tightly they crackled. Veins bulged across his forehead.
Being lectured in public by a first-year made his pride burn with humiliation.
"Not satisfied?"
Makino Juro stood up and casually tossed the towel onto the chair before walking over.
Even though Akagi was slightly taller, the pressure between them was completely one-sided.
Makino Juro extended one finger and lightly tapped Akagi's chest.
"Then swallow that frustration and watch carefully."
"Watch how I grind these so-called kings into the dirt."
"If you really want to conquer the nation, then understand this—true victory doesn't need some self-sacrificing sob story."
After saying that, Makino Juro turned around and waved dismissively without even looking back.
"Sit still and stop getting in the way."
"Heal your foot."
"You'll have plenty of chances at the national tournament."
Akagi stood frozen in place, chest rising and falling violently.
Watching that arrogant back figure, the anger in his eyes gradually faded.
Replacing it was a complicated mix of shock and bitterness.
And…
A reluctant sense of conviction.
"Gorilla…" Sakuragi cautiously shuffled closer.
Akagi took a deep breath and heavily sat back down.
"Ayako. More ice."
"Freeze this damn foot numb if you have to."
…
"BEEEEEP!"
"Play resumes!"
Both teams returned to the court.
Kainan now looked like a pack of starving wolves cornered at the edge of a cliff, green light practically glowing in their eyes.
The moment the ball was inbounded, Miyagi Ryota immediately sensed something was wrong.
"Huh? Turtle formation?"
Dribbling across half-court, Miyagi frowned deeply.
Aside from Maki Shinichi tightly marking Makino Juro, the other four Kainan players had all shrunk inside the free-throw line!
The paint was packed shoulder-to-shoulder.
Forget people—even a mosquito wouldn't be able to fly through.
"What kind of hellish tactic is this?"
"They're abandoning the perimeter?"
From the stands, Hanagata Toru couldn't help blurting it out.
"No," Fujima Kenji said solemnly. "He's gambling."
"Betting that Shohoku can't shoot them to death. Betting Makino Juro can't break through."
This was the most shameless defensive scheme possible against Makino Juro.
Sure, you can break one defender.
Or two.
But can you break through an entire wall of flesh?
The moment he drove in, it would turn into pure hand-to-hand combat.
Miyagi hesitated.
There wasn't even a sliver of space inside to pass the ball.
At that moment...
Makino Juro slowly walked near the center circle.
That's right.
Near midcourt.
Still two meters away from the three-point line.
He extended a hand toward Miyagi.
"The ball."
Miyagi froze for a second.
But his body reacted faster than his brain, instinctively whipping the pass over.
Maki Shinichi immediately lowered his center of gravity, eyes locked tightly onto Makino Juro's waist like he was facing a mortal enemy.
However...
After catching the ball, Makino Juro didn't lower his stance.
Didn't make a move.
Didn't even fake.
He simply stood there.
Looking at the airtight defensive fortress ahead of him, a mocking smile slowly curled onto his lips.
"So this is your answer?"
"To stop me from driving, you huddle together like frightened quails?"
Makino Juro shook his head.
Golden-red light flowed through his eyes, carrying the pity of a king gazing down upon insects.
"How ugly."
"Who told you I was going to drive?"
Before the words even finished—
Under the horrified gaze of everyone present...
Makino Juro jumped directly into the air!
Only a few steps away from the center-court logo!
An ultra-long-range shot!
Ignoring everything!
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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