Maki Shinichi's scalp went numb.
He wanted to rush forward for the block, but the distance was too great—and Makino Juro's release was too fast.
The shooting form looked strange, casual, almost lazy.
Like he was tossing a crumpled paper ball into a trash can.
A deep three-pointer!
Even without activating Midorima's template—
Akashi's three-point attribute was still at 90 points.
The basketball traced a towering arc through the air.
The entire arena fell silent.
Thousands of people lifted their heads at once, as though watching a meteor tear across the night sky.
On the sidelines, Coach Takato's neck stiffened, his mouth hanging slightly open.
Inside, he prayed frantically.
Don't go in… don't go in…
This isn't scientific! This isn't rational!
The ball seemed to fly forever.
Then—
it descended.
Perfectly vertical.
Perfectly precise.
Without the slightest deviation.
"Swish!!!"
The crisp sound of the net snapping echoed like a funeral bell from the underworld.
Nothing but net.
The white mesh exploded upward in a beautiful wave—
beautiful enough to break hearts.
Clack.
The tactics board slipped from Coach Takato's hands and hit the floor.
In the dead-silent gymnasium, the sound felt unbearably harsh.
He stared blankly at the boy standing beyond the three-point line, still holding his shooting pose.
An overwhelming sense of helplessness drowned him like a tidal wave.
Tactics?
Strategy?
Mind games?
In front of absolute talent, they were all jokes.
Like cavemen trying to stab a nuclear weapon with wooden sticks.
This...
was dimensionality reduction.
"WAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"
After one second of silence, the arena erupted.
The roar nearly blew the roof off.
"It—IT WENT IN!"
"What the hell is he, a human catapult?!"
"Monster!"
"A literal walking cheat code!"
"Kainan's mentality is collapsing!"
"Press him close and you get crossed into the dirt! Pack the paint and he shoots your lights out!"
"How the hell are you supposed to play against this?! Somebody call the police!"
Makino Juro slowly lowered his arm.
Without even glancing at the screaming crowd, he turned and jogged back on defense.
As he passed the pale-faced Maki Shinichi, he casually dropped a sentence:
"If you like hiding in the paint so much…"
"Then die in the paint."
26:20.
The lead had grown to six.
Kainan's morale visibly plummeted into the abyss.
"DON'T PANIC!!"
Maki Shinichi roared furiously, his bloodshot eyes resembling those of a wounded beast.
"Attack!"
"As long as we can still score, we still have a chance!"
He took the inbound pass and charged toward Shohoku's half like an out-of-control tank.
He couldn't lose.
He was Maki Shinichi—
the Emperor of Kanagawa!
If he couldn't stop Makino Juro....
then he'd fight fire with fire!
Crossing half court, he faced Ryota Miyagi without slowing down at all.
"MOVE!!"
With a furious roar, he lowered his shoulder and slammed forward.
Miyagi's chest tightened from the impact as he staggered backward.
"An opening!"
A wide road suddenly appeared before Maki Shinichi.
Drive through it—
and he could score!
However...
the instant he prepared to accelerate—
a black shadow appeared directly in his path like a ghost.
As though he had already read the script.
Maki Shinichi's pupils shrank violently.
Juro again?!
When did he get there?!
"Too slow."
The ghostly voice exploded beside his ear.
Golden rings slowly rotated within Makino Juro's eyes.
The Emperor Eye—
activated.
In Makino Juro's vision.
every twitch of Maki Shinichi's muscles, every shift of his center of gravity—
played out like slow motion.
Maki Shinichi wanted to stop.
Wanted to change direction.
Wanted to pass.
But before the command from his brain could even reach his body—
Makino Juro had already moved first.
His body feinted right.
His left hand shot out like a venomous serpent, slicing precisely toward the basketball.
Makoto instinctively protected the ball, shifting his balance.
In that split second.
Makino Juro pulled back and slammed his shoulder into Makoto's support point.
Not a charging foul.
But the final straw applied at the exact moment of imbalance.
Using minimal force to topple overwhelming strength.
"Ugh!"
Maki Shinichi felt as though he had stepped on a banana peel.
Both legs instantly lost control.
That horrifying sensation of weightlessness returned again.
BANG!
This time—
it wasn't just one knee.
Maki Shinichi crashed onto both knees, both hands slamming onto the floor just to keep himself upright.
A full prostration.
The entire arena exploded in shock.
If the first time could still be called an accident—
then this time was an execution.
The Emperor of Kanagawa...
had knelt before Makino Juro twice in a single game.
Makino Juro didn't even bother lowering his head to look at the defeated king beneath him.
Steal.
Fast break.
Layup motion.
All in one fluid movement.
Kiyota rushed over for help defense.
Makino Juro's face remained expressionless.
Just when everyone was wondering how he intended to score—
his right wrist flicked.
The ball slipped behind his back.
His left elbow struck it from behind.
The basketball traced a bizarre arc behind him.
Without even looking...
it flew directly over the kneeling Maki Shinichi's head.
The pass was overflowing with humiliation—
and genius.
The ball bounced perfectly into Rukawa's hands.
Rukawa caught it.
Nothing but open court ahead.
"BOOM!!"
A one-handed tomahawk slam!
Rukawa hung from the rim, black hair drenched with sweat, sharp eyes blazing.
After landing, he stared at Makino Juro intensely.
That anticipation.
That steal.
That no-look pass with eyes seemingly on the back of his head…
He was so strong it inspired despair—
and excitement powerful enough to make one tremble.
I'll defeat you someday.
Rukawa clenched his fist as ambition exploded within him.
Meanwhile, Makino Juro merely adjusted his wristband calmly—
as though he had just swatted a mosquito.
28:20.
Kainan had completely fallen apart.
"Give me the ball!"
Jin Soichiro sprinted to the perimeter for the pass.
They had to stop the bleeding!
As Kainan's ace scorer, he had absolute confidence in his shot.
Catch.
Rise.
Release.
A textbook shooting form.
However.
the instant the basketball left his fingertips—
a slender hand abruptly appeared along its trajectory.
No jump.
Makino Juro simply stood there and extended his arm.
As though he had foreseen the future itself—
calculating the exact path and height in advance.
Smack!
A soft sound rang out.
Not a violent spike.
Instead, he casually plucked the ball out of the air—
like picking fruit from a tree.
"Too weak."
Makino Juro held the ball with one hand and coldly looked at Jin after he landed.
"Your shooting motion has too much startup."
"In my eyes, it's nothing but openings."
His tone sounded like a teacher scolding an elementary school student.
Despair.
Pure despair spread through Jin Soichiro's heart.
The three-pointer he took pride in—
didn't even deserve the right to leave his hands?
"BEEEEEP!!"
The halftime buzzer sounded.
For Kainan, it was practically divine salvation.
30:20.
Shohoku led by ten.
The Kainan players walked off the court with their heads lowered.
Maki Shinichi's back looked as though he had aged ten years in a single half.
The plague known as "we can't win" spread throughout the bench area.
Nobody dared look at Coach Takato.
Even fewer dared look toward Shohoku—
toward that black-haired boy resting calmly with his eyes closed.
He was a god.
A demon.
An unbeatable nightmare.
Makino Juro leaned against his chair as the system notification rang pleasantly inside his mind.
[Ding! Host compatibility with Akashi has increased]
[Akashi Seijuro Template Compatibility has risen to 50%]
[Due to the unique nature of the Akashi Template]
[Special Skill: Zone (Tyrant) has been unlocked]
The corner of Makino Juro's mouth curled slightly before vanishing instantly.
He opened his eyes and swept his gaze across his excited teammates.
"Don't celebrate too early."
His voice remained cold and indifferent—
yet everyone instantly fell silent.
"The first half was just warm-up."
"In the second half…"
"I'm going to erase the name 'Kainan' from history completely."
"Are you ready?"
"To welcome…"
"our new dynasty."
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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