"Simply slowing the pace down will get Shohoku run over by Toyotama."
"Slow is for stability."
"But in that instant when offense transitions into defense, you have to be fast."
He turned his head toward Maki Shinichi beside him.
"Juro is doing an excellent job. He's taken 'slow' and 'fast' and fused them together."
"On offense, he plays like an old man deliberately wasting time, grinding away at Toyotama's patience."
"But on defense, he retreats as swiftly as the tide pulling back, leaving them no opportunity for a surprise attack."
Maki Shinichi folded his arms across his chest.
A trace of gravity appeared on his rock-solid face.
"Coach Anzai, who has always been as immovable as a mountain, and that Juro…"
"They've drawn their swords this quickly today…"
"This isn't like them."
In Maki's impression, Makino Juro was the kind of guy who would lie down if he could avoid standing.
And the game had only been going for a few minutes.
Yet he'd already started taking control of the game?
Coach Takato Riki looked toward the chubby figure on the Shohoku bench and smiled.
There was the mutual respect of two master coaches in that smile, but there was also the madness of a gambler.
"Because this is something only Makino Juro can do."
"To forcibly reverse the team's momentum under extreme pressure while simultaneously suppressing Toyotama's counterattack."
"That requires absolute control of the court, as well as absolute confidence."
"As a gambler, when you're facing an A-ranked powerhouse, how could you possibly resist the urge to make the bet?"
"Coach Anzai has pushed all his chips onto Juro."
On the Shohoku bench.
Coach Anzai adjusted his glasses.
A flash of reflected light swept across the lenses, and his kindly smile concealed a trace of the slyness of an old fox.
"Heh heh heh…"
Everything was under control.
Except…
Pat.
A large hand landed on his chin without the slightest hesitation.
"Old man!"
Sakuragi Hanamichi sat beside him.
While angrily staring at the court, he repeatedly slapped Coach Anzai's chin as though he were bouncing a basketball.
"I wanna play! I wanna go teach that ponytail bastard a lesson!"
Coach Anzai's cheeks jiggled with every slap, but his smile never faded.
"Student Sakuragi, please wait a little longer."
"The stage belongs to Student Juro right now."
On the court, Toyotama's offense had fallen into a quagmire.
Their fast break couldn't get going, forcing them into a half-court battle.
For a team accustomed to chaotic, free-flowing basketball, it was practically a prison sentence.
They moved the ball around several times but still couldn't find an opening.
Only five seconds remained on the shot clock.
"Give it to me!"
Toyotama's center, Iwata Mitsuaki, demanded the ball impatiently.
He forced his way into the paint and spun into a hook shot.
"Too naive!"
A thunderous roar exploded from the court!
Akagi Takenori's eyes widened, and every muscle in his body suddenly bulged.
His enormous frame rose like a black mountain erupting from the earth, blotting out everything beneath it!
Iwata Mitsuaki suddenly found the light disappearing from before his eyes.
And then...
SMACK!!
A sharp crack that made one's teeth ache.
Akagi's enormous hand slammed squarely into the basketball with astonishing force.
The ball flew away like a cannon shell that had been shot down, sailing straight out of bounds before smashing heavily into the advertising board.
BANG!
For one second, the entire gym fell silent.
Then the Shohoku bench erupted with deafening cheers.
"The Fly Swatter!! It's back!!"
Shiozaki and Kakuta threw their arms around each other, their faces flushed with excitement.
"That's brutal!"
"The captain got even stronger after coming back from America!"
Even the spectators who had been supporting Toyotama couldn't help sucking in a sharp breath.
"What terrifying pressure…"
"So this is Kanagawa's No. 1 center?"
Iwata Mitsuaki landed and staggered backward.
Cold sweat trickled down his temple as he stared at the panting Gorilla before him.
Akagi landed, pounded his chest, and roared, declaring his ownership of the paint.
At that moment, Juro walked over.
He didn't excitedly slap Akagi on the back.
Instead, he calmly raised one hand and pointed his index finger toward the ceiling.
"Good."
Makino Juro's voice pierced through the cheers and entered the ears of every teammate.
"We got the stop."
"Next…"
He turned around.
His pale golden eyes swept across Toyotama's still-shaken players, and a cold smile curled at the corner of his lips.
"Stay disciplined. Get one more."
…
Juro received Miyagi's pass and slowly dribbled across half court.
His eyes lowered slightly as he glanced at the System panel.
[Current Template: Ryota Kise (SF)]
[Status: Perfect Copy (Active)]
Makino Juro thought to himself:
Once my stamina reached 90, my endurance really did improve quite a bit.
The most terrifying aspect of Ryota Kise's [Perfect Copy] wasn't imitation.
It was fusion.
It was like the Tiger Talisman from Jackie Chan Adventures.
For five minutes, cooldowns didn't matter.
Position didn't matter.
He could freely use every skill possessed by the Generation of Miracles.
In other words...
the Makino Juro of this moment was a monster combining Akashi's Emperor Eye, Aomine's agility, Midorima's shooting range, and Murasakibara's strength into one terrifying existence.
"Even if it's only five minutes…"
Makino Juro suddenly raised his head.
Golden light erupted from the depths of his eyes, like two burning miniature suns.
A suffocating aura suddenly exploded outward from his body!
Minami Tsuyoshi, standing opposite him, stiffened.
The sensation of being targeted by an apex predator crawled up his spine and straight to his scalp.
"Five minutes…"
The corner of Juro's mouth curled upward with arrogant confidence.
"That's more than enough to completely crush a bunch of frogs at the bottom of a well like you."
BOOM!
The sound of the dribble exploded.
Makino Juro moved.
No longer was he playing at that leisurely old-man pace.
This time...
he was as fast as lightning!
"Stop him!!"
Minami shouted.
He and Itakura simultaneously rushed forward, attempting to close the gap and trap Makino Juro.
"Too slow."
Makino Juro sneered.
While moving at high speed, his body suddenly came to a stop in a way that seemed to defy human biomechanics.
Daiki Aomine · Formless Dribbling!
The basketball flew wildly between his legs, moving so fast that only afterimages could be seen.
Minami and Itakura's centers of gravity were instantly thrown completely out of balance.
They staggered around like two drunken men.
Then...
Makino Juro made a huge spin move, slipping through the narrow gap between them like a spinning top.
Smooth.
Effortless.
Yet carrying an extreme, almost violent beauty.
"What?!"
Kishimoto Minori saw Makino Juro charging toward him and gritted his teeth as he stepped up to help.
"Don't get so damn cocky! You first-year brat!"
He spread his arms, trying to block Juro's path.
Juro looked at Kishimoto.
A trace of amusement flashed through his eyes.
He didn't slow down.
He didn't change direction.
He simply jumped!
One step inside the free-throw line, his entire body shot upward like a rocket!
"Are you trying to die?!"
Kishimoto roared and jumped to block him.
The two collided in midair.
Kishimoto had initially believed he could use his superior strength to knock Makino Juro out of the air.
But the next second, he realized in horror...
Makino Juro wasn't fighting him for position.
Instead, as he rose, his body stretched backward with extraordinary flexibility.
The degree of his lean was so extreme that he looked as though he were about to lie flat in midair!
That was Daiki Aomine's Unorthodox Shot!
Makino Juro caught the ball in one hand.
His body was almost parallel to the floor.
With Kishimoto's desperate fingertips barely reaching him, Makino Juro gently flicked his wrist.
"This…"
Makino Juro's voice, cold as ice, slipped into Kishimoto's ears.
"…is the difference between a mortal and a god."
Swish!
The basketball circled the rim once before obediently dropping through the net.
8–9.
Makino Juro landed.
He didn't even spare the stunned Kishimoto behind him a glance.
He casually brushed nonexistent dust from his jersey.
Then he turned around.
Back on defense.
Leaving the entire gym with nothing but his proud, solitary silhouette.
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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