With a single slap, the basketball was sent flying.
Makino Juro landed casually, then lazily picked at his ear with his pinky, as if nothing remarkable had just happened.
Originally, he had planned to activate the "Aomine Daiki" template and go toe-to-toe with that hedgehog-haired guy, Sendoh Akira, in a flashy showdown…
Juro grumbled inwardly, his gaze drifting toward Sendoh on the opposite side.
And now?
He was stuck wrestling with muscleheads in the paint.
"How annoying."
Makino Juro let out a sigh and turned his head toward Rukawa Kaede.
The cold-faced fox was wiping sweat off his arm guard, his sharp eyes locked firmly onto Sendoh.
"The paint's mine for now," Makino Juro said, casually pointing at the key beneath his feet, as if he were telling someone to leave takeout at the door.
"As for that hedgehog—he's yours. Keep him out of here. I'm busy."
Rukawa paused for a moment.
His narrow eyes flicked sideways at Makino Juro, and he snorted coldly through his nose.
"Didn't need you to say it."
"I won't lose."
With that, he turned and walked off, his back radiating a clear "don't talk to me" attitude.
"Tch. Cocky brat."
Makino Juro clicked his tongue, rolling his neck as it cracked audibly.
The overwhelming power from the Atsushi Murasakibara template surged wildly through his body.
It felt… strange.
As if his body had become a moving fortress.
Every step he took made the hardwood groan under the pressure.
The game resumed.
The previous ball had gone out of bounds.
Ryonan inbounded.
Sendoh Akira brought the ball up the court.
His pace had noticeably slowed, no longer as carefree and fluid as before.
What Makino Juro had just done in the paint—standing his ground against Uozumi—had clearly overloaded his mental processing.
That sleepy-looking Shohoku guard… felt like a prehistoric tyrannosaurus lurking beneath the surface.
"If we can't attack inside…"
Sendoh dribbled past half-court, eyes scanning the floor rapidly.
Rukawa was already glued to him, his defense airtight, eyes burning with intensity.
"Then we space it out."
With a flick of his wrist, the ball shot out like it had eyes, flying straight to the right corner.
Waiting there—
Ryonan's secret weapon: Fukuda Kicchou.
On the sidelines, Coach Taoka Moichi was practically roaring his lungs out:
"Fuku!"
"That's an open shot! Blow past that red-haired amateur!"
Fukuda caught the ball.
His eyes—burning with a desperate hunger for recognition—ignited with fierce intensity.
Standing in front of him was Sakuragi Hanamichi.
"Hah! It's you again, you damn Fukuda!"
Sakuragi lowered his stance, arms spread wide like an enraged crab, trash talk already flying:
"My defense is an impenetrable fortress!"
"You're not getting past me!"
Fukuda didn't waste words.
A probing step.
A feint.
Then—explosion!
His first step was incredibly explosive, instantly attempting to blow past Sakuragi on the left.
"In your dreams!"
Sakuragi's reaction speed was equally insane.
Even as he lost balance for a split second, he forcibly twisted his waist—
Like a coiled spring snapping back into place, he slid laterally and blocked Fukuda's path head-on.
"What?!"
On the sidelines, Aida Hikoichi's mouth dropped wide open.
"Sakuragi Hanamichi… actually kept up with Fukuda-senpai's drive?!"
Even Fukuda was startled.
His rhythm disrupted—but he had already committed.
"Gah!"
He forced himself into the air, his body slightly off-balance, releasing a desperate floater.
A terrible shot. Pure guesswork.
Sakuragi jumped at the same time.
His terrifying vertical leap almost covered Fukuda's entire shooting window.
"Get that out of here!"
Even though he didn't block it cleanly, the overwhelming pressure completely threw Fukuda off.
Clang!
The ball smashed against the front rim and bounced high.
"Rebound!"
With Akagi off the court, the shout came from Ayako on the sidelines.
Under the basket, it instantly turned into a meat grinder.
Uozumi Jun's eyes were bloodshot, his massive body locking down position like a raging gorilla.
He had to wash away the humiliation from earlier.
"This rebound is mine!"
Roaring, Uozumi tried to bulldoze Makino Juro out of the paint.
But no matter how much force he used—
Makino Juro didn't budge.
Not even a little.
In fact…
Makino Juro even had time to yawn, squeezing out a tear from the corner of his eye.
"You're too loud, big guy."
Just as the ball began to descend—
A red figure burst in from the side, his jump speed utterly unreasonable.
Sakuragi Hanamichi!
"Rebound King Sakuragi, entering the fray!"
Sakuragi soared into the air, arms stretched high, about to claim the ball.
"Haha! This rebound is mine!"
But...
Just before his fingers could touch it—
A hand appeared.
A slender, pale hand… almost delicate in appearance.
No run-up.
No roar.
Just a simple bend of the knees—
Atsushi Murasakibara's passive talent: Absolute Airspace Control.
That hand expanded in midair, blotting out the sky.
SMACK!
A crisp, scalp-tingling sound echoed.
Not a two-handed rebound.
Not even a tip.
It was—
A one-handed catch.
Makino Juro's five fingers clamped down like a hydraulic press, gripping the spinning basketball midair.
The ball… stopped.
As if someone had hit pause.
Sakuragi, still flailing midair, grabbed nothing but air—his expression instantly freezing into a meme-worthy look of disbelief.
He landed.
Thud.
Makino Juro came down smoothly, casually tucking the ball under his arm, his gaze sweeping indifferently across the stunned crowd.
That look...
As if he were staring at a bunch of country bumpkins who'd never seen the world.
Silence.
Then...
A synchronized gasp erupted across the arena.
"Holy?!"
In the stands, Kiyota Nobunaga's jaw nearly hit the floor.
"What the hell was that?!"
"A standing jump? A one-handed rebound?!"
"Over Sakuragi and Uozumi's heads?!"
"Is that a basketball or an orange in his hand?!"
Maki Shinichi's eye twitched violently.
As a power guard himself, he knew exactly what that meant.
It wasn't just vertical leap—
It was terrifying grip strength and absolute control over the ball's trajectory.
"This guy…"
"Is he really a guard?"
"This level of physical ability… is basically cheating."
Maki's voice was low, filled with disbelief.
On the court.
After landing, Sakuragi circled around Makino Juro twice, his face filled with existential confusion.
"M-Master?!"
Pointing at the slightly deformed basketball in Makino Juro's hand, he stammered:
"This move… you never taught me this!"
"One-handed rebound! That's way too cool!"
"I wanna learn it! Teach me!"
Makino Juro shoved the red-haired head away in disgust.
"Learn my ass."
"That's talent."
With that, he flicked his wrist.
The basketball turned into a streak of orange lightning, shooting across half the court in an instant.
"Ryota!"
"Fast break!"
END OF CHAPTER
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