Words became law.
An irresistible will descended upon the court.
"Thud!"
"Thud!"
Two dull impacts echoed out.
Under the gaze of thousands of spectators—
Jin Soichiro and Kiyota Nobunaga's knees gave out at the same time, and both of them dropped to their knees in front of Makino Juro!
Not a slip.
Not a stumble.
A full, genuine kneel.
"Hiss!"
The collective gasp of the entire arena surged together like a storm.
"T-This has to be sorcery, right?!"
"They… they kneeled?!"
"My god! Is this Makino Juro's true strength?!"
"What is this, an emperor's procession? Anyone blocking the way dies?!"
Makino Juro didn't even spare the two kneeling players a glance as he strode past them.
Like an emperor walking through subjects already forced into submission.
Under the basket stood the final two lines of defense—
Takasago Kazuma.
Muto Tadashi.
Fear filled both of their eyes, but the pride of being Kainan players stopped them from retreating.
"AAAAAHHHH!!"
The two jumped at the same time, four arms weaving together into a giant net that blotted out the sky.
No blind spots.
Juro rose straight into them.
His body curled in midair.
"You're asking to die!"
Takasago roared as his huge hand came crashing down.
But just before his palm touched the ball—
Juro unfolded in the air.
Using his spine as the axis, his entire body spun at terrifying speed like a top.
A 360-degree midair rotation!
He slipped past the block.
Evaded the interference.
His black hair whipped wildly through the air.
Time itself seemed to freeze.
Makino Juro's figure danced through the gap with an elegance akin to a waltz of death.
Past them!
The basket was right in front of him.
Makino Juro extended his arm smoothly and flicked his wrist with effortless softness.
The basketball floated upward obediently.
Off the glass.
Into the net.
"Swish."
A light sound—
Yet it shattered the hearts of every Kainan player like a warhammer.
He landed.
Makino Juro stood with his back to the basket.
Behind him were the kneeling Jin and Kiyota.
Beside him were the staggering Takasago and Muto.
And in the distance...
Maki Shinichi lay sprawled on the floor, eyes hollow.
One man.
Overturning an entire team alone.
32:29.
Juro slowly turned around.
The crimson-gold lightning in his eyes faded, returning to an abyss-like black.
But the aura of a tyrant remained undiminished.
His gaze swept across the court.
No one dared meet his eyes.
Finally, his stare settled on Maki Shinichi.
Makino Juro walked over and bent down slightly.
The oppressive pressure alone nearly stopped Maki's breathing.
"See it clearly now?"
His voice was cold, devoid of even the slightest trace of pity.
"This is the scenery beyond that door."
He straightened up and turned away, leaving behind only an untouchable silhouette.
And floating through the air came his final declaration:
"Engrave it into your soul."
"Your defeat…"
"Was destined from the very beginning."
"BEEEEEP!!"
The referee's whistle sounded hesitantly.
The basket counted.
Yet the arena remained deathly silent.
Three whole seconds passed.
Then—
"BOOOOM!!!"
The gymnasium exploded like a volcanic eruption.
Everyone had gone insane.
Completely insane.
"What the hell was THAT?!"
"He broke two defenders' ankles, slipped past two more in the air, and stole the ball from Maki mid-drive!"
"How is he a high schooler?! That's an alien!"
"Makino Juro… he's too brutal!"
"Kainan… is finished."
At the press table, Aida Yayoi's pen slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.
Trembling, she adjusted her glasses and stared at the young man's back as she muttered:
"The sky over Kanagawa… is really about to change."
…
At center court.
Those two kneeling figures had become the cruelest possible mockery of Kainan's legendary reputation as the "undefeated kings."
Jin Soichiro, Kanagawa's ace sharpshooter, was supporting himself against the floor with trembling arms, his pupils unfocused.
Cold sweat streamed down his pale face, dripping onto the hardwood and forming dark stains one drop at a time.
And Kiyota Nobunaga...
The loudmouthed wild monkey who usually bounced around screaming "this great me"—
Now had his head lowered completely.
His whole body shook like a vibrating sieve.
Fear.
What high school basketball game?
This was an execution ground.
A public execution carried out by Shohoku's Number 16—
The "Tyrant."
Makino Juro did not retreat on defense immediately.
He stopped in place, standing tall and straight like a spear.
His indifferent gaze swept over Kiyota kneeling at his feet.
Within those crimson-gold eyes, there was no mockery.
No pity.
Only absolute coldness—
The kind of gaze a god might cast upon an insect.
"Hey."
His voice wasn't loud.
Yet it exploded in Kiyota's ears like thunder.
Kiyota's body jolted violently, instinctively trying to raise his head.
But his neck felt pinned down by an invisible hand.
A suppression that came from the depths of the soul itself.
"Is the floor cold?"
Just four simple words.
Not very damaging—
But overwhelmingly humiliating.
"Ugh…"
Kiyota bit his lip until it bled, trying desperately to stand and shout back:
"Don't underestimate me!"
But his legs were limp like noodles.
It felt as though every bone had been ripped from his knees.
They simply refused to obey him.
Extreme humiliation and despair intertwined together.
In an instant, the first-year rookie's mental defenses completely collapsed.
"Dammit… DAMMIT!!"
Kiyota Nobunaga clenched his fists and pounded the floor like a madman.
Tears and snot covered his face as he cried like an oversized child.
He couldn't stand.
In front of that man....
He felt like even the right to stand had been stripped away from him.
"BEEEEEP!"
The referee finally rebooted from his mental crash.
"Basket counts! Shohoku scores!"
"The game… continues!"
That whistle barely managed to drag the arena back from its frozen state.
Maki Shinichi struggled to his feet.
His knees burned with pain, but compared to the collapse inside his heart, such injuries meant nothing.
He raised his head and stared fixedly at that retreating black figure.
The purple lightning that had once allowed him to touch the realm of the gods—
Had now completely gone dark.
All that remained was the gray ash of defeat.
"…I can't win."
The moment that thought appeared, it spread like wildfire and instantly consumed Maki's mind.
Just one minute ago...
He believed he had pushed open the gates to the divine realm.
Believed he could stand on equal footing with Makino Juro.
Now he finally understood how ridiculous that thought had been.
This was never a battle between equals.
This was dimensional suppression.
The casual amusement of a god toying with mortals.
And once the god grew bored—
The mortals wouldn't even retain to look up.
"Maki…"
Jin Soichiro staggered over, trying to help his captain up.
But the moment he touched him, he froze.
Maki's hand was ice-cold—
Like a corpse.
"…Inbound the ball."
Maki's voice was hoarse, like gravel scraping through his throat.
Kainan inbounded from the baseline.
Maki received the pass and mechanically dribbled the ball upcourt.
Every step felt as heavy as iron weights chained to his feet.
The commanding, domineering "King Maki" was gone.
In his place remained only a lonely, exhausted old man nearing the end of his road.
At half court—
Makino Juro stood at the top of the three-point arc.
No pressure defense.
No defensive stance.
His arms hung loosely at his sides, posture relaxed and casual.
Yet those crimson-gold eyes quietly watched Maki approach with the ball.
No movement.
Yet more terrifying than an army of thousands.
Sweat began pouring uncontrollably from Maki Shinichi's palms.
"Where is he looking?"
"The left?"
"The right?"
"Or at my weakness?"
"…Is he about to steal the ball?"
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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