In the stands.
Kiyota Nobunaga from Kainan swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. The drink bottle in his hand creaked under his grip, his face frozen in utter disbelief.
"Ryonan hasn't even made a single shot against that 'sleepy guy'… it's all blocks!"
The air in the arena felt completely frozen.
Makino Juro stood beneath the basket.
The oppressive aura brought by the Atsushi Murasakibara template was like an impenetrable Wall of Sighs.
It was crushing Ryonan's morale into pieces.
He didn't even bother moving. Just standing there with his arms spread, the entire paint became his private domain.
Whoever entered—
Died.
"Damn it…"
Koshino bent over with his hands on his knees, sweat pouring down his chin as he gasped like a broken bellows.
"We can't get in at all… are that guy's arms extended or something?!"
"The only option is mid-range or three-point shots…"
Juro yawned, his lazy gaze sweeping across the scoreboard before flicking toward the direction of the infirmary.
"That gorilla looked way too intense when he left… If I can't hold the fort, he's gonna nag me to death later."
He casually brushed his sweat-soaked bangs back.
"Since I said I'd guard the house…"
His faintly violet eyes narrowed as they landed on Jun Uozumi, whose face was darker than the bottom of a pot.
"Then not even a fly is getting in."
The game resumed. Ryonan ball.
Driven to the edge, Uozumi's eyes were bloodshot, like a gambler who had lost everything.
A two-meter-tall powerhouse captain… getting completely shut down in the paint by a guard?
That was worse than death. It was like offering his face to be slapped.
"Give me the ball!!"
Uozumi roared like a beast, demanding the ball deep in the post.
Sendoh frowned. He knew it wasn't the best choice—but he still fed the ball inside.
Right now, their captain needed to regain his footing. Otherwise, his mentality would collapse.
The moment Uozumi caught the ball, he made no fancy moves.
He turned himself into a battering ram.
All his strength loaded into his shoulder as he charged backward like a runaway truck.
"Get the hell out of my way!!"
BOOM!
Muscle collided with muscle in a dull, bone-rattling thud.
Juro frowned slightly.
"What a brute."
Even with Murasakibara's strength, that kind of suicidal collision was still irritating.
At the moment Uozumi exerted force, Juro subtly shifted his stance—like tai chi—redirecting most of the impact.
Uozumi suddenly felt empty behind him.
His heart surged with joy.
"There's an opening!"
He spun immediately, grabbed the ball with both hands, and exploded upward—
Ready to vent all his frustration in one dunk.
"GO IN!!"
But...
The moment he jumped—
The world went dark.
Makino Juro moved later, yet arrived first.
That arm struck like a hunting serpent—precise and lethal—slamming down onto the basketball.
"Too naive."
PA!
Another brutal block!
But this time, Uozumi had charged too hard. Combined with Juro's downward force, both of them lost balance midair.
BOOM!
They crashed onto the floor with a thunderous impact, like demolition work.
BEEP!
The referee's sharp whistle cut through the air.
"Red No. 16! Blocking foul!"
"Two free throws!"
Makino Juro lay on the floor, staring at the blinding lights above, clicking his tongue.
"Tch… went a bit overboard, huh?"
"Still need to work on my acting."
He slowly got up, brushing off his clothes like nothing had happened.
On the other side, Uozumi froze for a second when he heard the whistle—then suddenly sprang up like a corpse revived.
"YES!!"
He raised his arm and shouted, his rugged face finally breaking into a long-lost grin—almost feral.
Even though he got blocked again—
It was a foul!
Free throws!
Against that damned "Wall of Sighs," he had finally pried open a crack!
"Finally…"
On the sidelines, Coach Taoka was visibly excited.
"They're finally scoring inside!"
"As long as he makes these two, the pressure will ease!"
Uozumi stepped onto the free-throw line.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his heartbeat.
Just make them…
At that moment..
Two shadows appeared like guardian deities on both sides of the lane.
Left: Makino Juro.
Right: Sakuragi.
They exchanged a glance.
Perfect synchronization.
"Heh heh heh…"
Sakuragi grinned wickedly—the kind of grin that begged to be punched.
He drew his hands in front of his waist, striking an exaggerated, chuuni pose.
Palms facing Uozumi—
Like charging up a special attack in a fighting game.
"Take this, Monkey Boss!" Sakuragi shouted.
On the other side, Makino Juro looked disgusted—
But still mirrored the same pose.
Two "gatekeepers," left and right, began casting their spell.
Juro's face was expressionless as he muttered in a low, droning voice:
"Miss… miss… this ball's cursed…"
"The rim has a lid… your hands will shake… you'll slip…"
Sakuragi chimed in:
"I curse you, Monkey Boss! Your shot will turn into a banana and fly away!"
Uozumi's grip on the ball trembled.
Cold sweat instantly covered his forehead.
"These two bastards… what the hell are they doing?!"
That bizarre, humiliating stance—combined with their eerie chanting—
Completely shattered his already fragile composure.
"D-don't think you can disturb me!"
Gritting his teeth, Uozumi forced the shot.
The moment the ball left his hand, his fingers were stiff like burnt sticks.
CLANG!
The ball smashed against the backboard—
Didn't even touch the rim...
And bounced away.
"WHAT?!"
The arena erupted in shock, falling silent for a split second.
"Hahahaha! It worked! It worked!"
Sakuragi jumped in excitement, pointing at Uozumi as he laughed wildly.
"Monkey Boss got defeated by my psychic powers!"
"My magic is unstoppable!"
Uozumi's face flushed a deep pig-liver red. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and disappear.
"Shut up! There's still one more!"
The referee shot Sakuragi a warning glance and tossed the ball back.
Second free throw.
Uozumi raised the ball again.
This time, he didn't even dare glance sideways at Juro and Sakuragi.
He just wanted to get rid of this hot potato as fast as possible.
"Miss… miss… miss…"
Makino Juro's muttering returned—
Like surround-sound audio that wouldn't go away.
Sakuragi pulled faces beside him, firing off imaginary "energy blasts" with both hands.
Uozumi's palms were drenched in sweat—slippery and uncontrollable.
"Damn it… damn it!"
He rushed the shot.
The ball traced an incredibly stiff and ugly arc.
SWISH—
Not the clean sound of a perfect shot...
But the sound of the ball grazing the bottom of the net…
And dropping straight to the floor.
An airball.
Even worse than the first.
A "ground-hugging missile."
Silence.
Dead silence.
Then..
The entire arena exploded in laughter.
Two missed free throws. Both airballs.
For a center—
This was a career-ending level of humiliation.
"YEAH!!"
Sakuragi and Makino Juro leapt up and high-fived midair.
"Nice one, Master!!"
"The Curse Strategy is a total success!"
END OF CHAPTER
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The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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