Coach Anzai sat steadily on the bench.
The light reflected off his glasses, making his eyes impossible to read.
If this had been the old Shohoku, that "genius" wearing No. 16 would absolutely have been kept on the bench.
He would only be sent onto the court in the final stretch.
It conserved his energy and gave this troublesome bunch one last trump card to play.
But today was different.
This was Hiroshima, the stage of the National Tournament.
Their opponent was Toyotama, an A-ranked powerhouse from Osaka, a pack of mad dogs who would risk their lives to win and wouldn't hesitate to cripple an opponent if necessary.
Aside from Akagi, which of these Shohoku kids had ever faced this kind of mad-dog basketball?
They would panic.
They would lose their rhythm.
They would be dragged into Toyotama's suffocating, breakneck pace until their lungs felt ready to burst and their legs became as heavy as lead.
"So…"
Coach Anzai's fingers lightly tapped against his knee.
He had already made up his mind.
"We need an anchor."
"If they can't adapt to the mad dogs' rhythm, then we'll kill the rhythm completely."
"Slow enough…"
"…to make the opponent despair."
On the court.
Makino Juro stood on the center-court logo and lazily rolled his neck.
Crack.
His cervical spine gave a crisp pop.
"Tch. I was planning to coast and take it easy."
Makino Juro sighed helplessly.
"And instead, I get stuck doing all this hard work right from the start."
The imitation glow that had originally belonged to Ryota Kise quietly changed within his eyes.
The restless current instantly settled.
In its place came a chilling, razor-sharp rationality that made one's heart tremble.
It was absolute control.
And… the confidence of looking down upon all living beings.
[Perfect Copy · Switching]
[Shintaro Midorima (SG) · Full-Court Shooting]
[Seijuro Akashi (PG) · Emperor Eye]
Two utterly absurd, broken abilities were forcibly fused within his body.
"If we're going to slow things down…"
Makino Juro glanced up at the scoreboard.
8–9.
"Then I'll score in the most effortless way possible."
…
Toyotama possession.
Itakura Daijiro pushed the ball up the court, his face fierce.
Getting hit in the face by Makino Juro's leaning jumper just now had left him extremely irritated.
But he wasn't worried.
They were only down by one.
As long as they got their run-and-gun game going and pushed the pace to the limit, these lumbering Shohoku guys wouldn't even be able to catch their exhaust!
"Get moving! Don't stop!"
Itakura roared.
With one arm, he whipped the basketball toward the right corner.
There, Kishimoto Minori had already used a screen to run completely free.
"Beautiful!"
Kishimoto was delighted.
He caught the ball and rose for the shot in one smooth motion.
However.
Just 0.1 seconds before his fingertips were about to touch the ball...
a hand suddenly appeared.
Pale.
Slender.
Carrying an almost casual air.
Smack.
A gentle swipe.
The basketball's perfect trajectory was forcibly cut off.
"Huh?!"
Kishimoto's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
He whipped around.
Makino Juro was standing in the passing lane.
When had he gotten there?
There had been no physical contact.
No collision.
It was as though he had read the script in advance and simply stood there waiting for the basketball to deliver itself.
[Emperor Eye].
Absolute prediction capable of seeing through the future.
Against an ability this broken, Toyotama's straightforward passing was so slow it looked like a slideshow.
"Too obvious."
Makino Juro caught the ball with one hand, his tone as casual as though he were commenting on today's lunch.
Before the words had even finished...
the transition began!
"Get back! Get back on defense!!"
Toyotama's coach jumped up and shouted frantically from the sideline.
Kishimoto and Minami sprinted back like madmen, desperately trying to build a wall around the paint.
However...
Makino Juro didn't move.
He simply dribbled twice at his leisure and stopped one step past half court.
Directly over the center-court logo.
"What is he doing?"
"He's not going for the fast break? He's just standing there?"
In the stands, Maki Shinichi frowned deeply.
Kiyota Nobunaga was even clutching his head and shouting.
"That idiot! There's nothing but open space in front of him! Drive in and dunk!"
On the court.
Makino Juro stopped.
His feet came together.
His knees bent slightly.
His left hand steadied the ball while his right hand supported it.
That stance…
It was textbook-perfect.
Not a single unnecessary movement.
Not a trace of wasted energy.
"Hey…"
Minami, who had retreated to the three-point line, stopped and stared at him with an expression that practically screamed, Are you seriously kidding me?
"From there?"
"Are you out of your mind?! That's the freaking half-court line!"
"Wasn't that last shot just a lucky one?"
"You're seriously trying it again?"
Makino Juro blocked out all the noise around him.
In his world, there was only one thing left.
The basket.
He jumped.
Hung in the air.
The instant his fingertips released the basketball, that familiar, absolute sensation of control surged through him.
It was the unwavering confidence forged through Shintaro Midorima's countless hours of practice.
As long as his form remained perfect.
As long as nobody interfered.
The entire court was within shooting range.
Whoosh...
The basketball left his hands.
It didn't travel along a powerful, flat arc.
Instead, it climbed incredibly high.
Extremely high.
So high it seemed as though it might pierce through the lights in the arena's ceiling.
The entire crowd instinctively tilted their heads upward, their necks protesting the strain.
The ball's flight seemed to last an eternity.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Some people were beginning to wonder whether the ball had entered the stratosphere and was on its way to colliding with a satellite.
Toyotama's players stood beneath the basket, staring upward like a flock of clueless geese waiting to be fed.
Rebound?
Forget about it!
The ball was still in the atmosphere!
Finally...
the basketball reached its apex.
Then began its descent.
Accelerating under the force of gravity, it came straight down like a vertical bombardment.
SWISH!!
A crisp sound rang out.
The basketball had passed cleanly through the net, producing the most beautiful music imaginable.
The white net whipped violently upward like a wave exploding against the shore.
The entire gym fell silent.
You could hear a pin drop.
The only sound was the basketball bouncing against the floor.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Three seconds later...
ROOOOOAR!!!
The roar from Hiroshima Gymnasium nearly blew the roof off.
"He… he made it again?!!"
"No freaking way!!"
"That was from half court! Was that a shot or an intercontinental ballistic missile?!"
The commentator nearly dropped his microphone.
His mouth hung open wide enough to swallow a light bulb.
"A… an ultra-long-range three-pointer!!"
"Shohoku No. 16! Juro!"
"He's just hit a Logo Shot from the center circle!!"
11–9.
Shohoku had taken the lead.
Juro remained where he was, holding his follow-through with his wrist bent.
He casually pushed up the bridge of a pair of nonexistent glasses.
"Do your best."
He turned around, leaving the crowd with a ridiculously cool silhouette.
"Leave the rest to fate."
…
"Damn it!!"
Kishimoto Minori was so furious that the muscles in his face twitched.
Luck!
It had to be sheer damn luck!
Nobody could possibly use a shot like that as a regular weapon!
"Give me the ball!"
Kishimoto roared at the teammate taking the inbound.
He wanted to answer.
He wanted to tear that arrogant show-off apart!
The ball reached Kishimoto's hands.
Like a bull seeing red, he lowered his head and charged straight into the paint.
"Get out of my way!"
Seeing Juro standing in front of him, Kishimoto's eyes flashed with ferocity.
He suddenly changed direction, trying to use his physical advantage to bulldoze straight through.
However...
the instant his center of gravity shifted...
Makino Juro's right hand moved.
The next second, the basketball was in his hand.
"Too slow."
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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