"BEEEEEP!"
The shrill whistle cut through the dead silence of the court like a sharp knife.
The referee's face darkened as he rushed over, whistle still between his lips, ready to issue a foul.
However, before he could even make the signal, before he could announce the foul number, a hand was already raised high into the air.
Makino Juro stood beneath the basket, his expression as calm as if he were merely out for his morning exercise.
He did not even bother looking directly at the referee.
He simply shook the right hand that had just delivered the blow.
"My foul."
His voice was not loud, yet the sheer calmness in it sent a chill down everyone's spine.
The referee froze.
The words "flagrant foul" had already reached the tip of his tongue, but he forcibly swallowed them back.
After all these years of officiating games, this was the first time he had ever seen someone send another player flying and then calmly "turn himself in" afterward.
Makino Juro lowered his hand and casually looked down at the court.
Minami Tsuyoshi was curled up like a cooked shrimp, twitching in agony.
When the Top-Heart Elbow had connected, Makino Juro had used only thirty percent of his strength.
Bajiquan was all about penetrating force.
If he had unleashed his full power, Minami would not have merely broken a few ribs. Part of his entire rib cage would have collapsed.
He might even have died on the spot, leaving his entire village to hold a funeral banquet.
"You should be grateful."
Juro walked over to the stretcher and looked down at Minami.
Minami's face was deathly pale, cold sweat soaking through his bangs.
There was not even the slightest trace of pity in Makino Juro's eyes, only the cold indifference one would show toward a piece of trash.
"If this weren't a basketball court, you'd already be dead from that blow."
Minami's teeth chattered from the pain.
His lips trembled, but he could not utter a single word.
That suffocating sensation of standing on the brink of death still felt like an invisible hand gripping his heart.
For that brief moment, he had genuinely thought he was going to meet the King of Hell.
"Bastard!"
The Toyotama players around them finally came to their senses.
One by one, they rushed toward Makino Juro with bloodshot eyes.
Yet strangely, none of them dared to step within three paces of him.
That gaze was simply too fierce.
He looked like a beast that had just torn its prey apart and was now lazily picking its teeth.
Whoever went up would die.
Kishimoto Minori clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked.
The veins on his neck bulged, and a low, beast-like growl came from his throat.
"You…"
"Shut up."
Makino Juro turned his head.
His gaze swept across Kishimoto's twisted face like the edge of a blade.
Then he slowly looked around at the stunned, furious, yet frightened Toyotama players.
A mocking smile curled across his lips.
"This is what happens."
Makino Juro pointed toward Minami, who was being carried away on the stretcher like a beaten stray dog.
His voice was cold enough to freeze the air.
"You want to play dirty on a basketball court?"
"This is the price."
"If you choose to become a villain, then you'd better be prepared to be crushed by someone even more vicious."
The entire arena fell silent.
The only sound was the rumbling of the stretcher wheels rolling across the floor.
Even the spectators in the stands seemed to forget how to breathe.
Too arrogant.
Too ruthless.
Yet when those words came from Makino Juro, they carried a domineering logic that was strangely convincing.
Violence against violence.
That was Makino Juro's basketball philosophy.
He specialized in dealing with anyone who refused to submit.
At the sideline, Coach Anzai pushed up his reflective glasses and stood at the appropriate moment.
The electronic buzzer sounded.
"Shohoku requests a substitution!"
Juro showed no reluctance whatsoever.
He turned and walked toward the sideline.
Mission accomplished.
Minami was off the court.
Toyotama's fangs had been pulled.
What remained was nothing more than a pack of stray dogs without their alpha.
They were no longer worth fearing.
At the entrance to the tunnel, a tall figure had been waiting for quite some time.
Rukawa Kaede's left eye was covered with thick gauze.
In his remaining right eye, a flame burned wildly.
It was fighting spirit suppressed to its absolute limit.
The two crossed paths near the sideline.
Neither said anything unnecessary.
Makino Juro raised his hand.
Rukawa raised his hand.
Clap!
Their palms met with a crisp sound.
"Your turn."
Makino Juro did not stop walking.
His voice drifted into Rukawa's ears.
"Don't embarrass Shohoku."
Rukawa did not look back.
He strode onto the court and coldly spat out two words.
"Too noisy."
Makino Juro walked to the bench and dropped into a chair, looking completely at home.
Ayako quickly handed him a towel and some water.
She looked at him with a complicated expression.
"You just now… you seriously scared the hell out of me. You looked like a killer."
Makino Juro took the water and tilted his head back, gulping it down.
His Adam's apple bobbed, carrying a hint of wildness.
"It takes a villain to deal with a villain."
He draped the towel over his head, concealing the sharpness in his eyes.
His muffled voice came from beneath it.
"You can't reason with a rabid dog. You have to smash its teeth out before it learns how to wag its tail."
On the court, the game continued.
Without Minami, Toyotama's atmosphere had become suffocatingly oppressive, like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding.
Kishimoto Minori's eyes were bloodshot as he stared at the newly substituted Rukawa Kaede.
"One-Eyed Dragon…"
He gritted his teeth.
The rage in his heart desperately needed an outlet.
That monster was gone.
And Shohoku had replaced him with a cripple who could only see through one eye?
Was Shohoku deliberately humiliating them?!
"Give me the ball!"
Kishimoto roared at Itakura, who was taking the inbound.
Itakura hurriedly passed the ball over.
Kishimoto caught it without making any adjustments and charged toward Shohoku's paint like an out-of-control tank.
He wanted to score.
He wanted to destroy Shohoku's defense.
He wanted to prove that Toyotama had not lost!
Rukawa stood one step inside the three-point line, expressionless as he watched Kishimoto charge toward him.
His left field of vision was completely black.
His sense of distance had indeed been affected.
But…
"There."
Makino Juro's mocking voice echoed in his mind from the locker room.
"Are your ears just decorations?"
"Close your eyes and listen."
It was as if the world had suddenly been muted.
The surrounding noise faded away.
The vibrations of the floor.
The friction of sneakers against the court.
The rapid rhythm of breathing.
In Rukawa's perception, the world became clearer than ever.
It was as though he had activated wall hacks and could see everything across the entire map.
At the corner of Rukawa's remaining right eye, a faint red lightning bolt flashed.
Crackle!
Kishimoto reached him.
He suddenly made a wide crossover, attempting to attack Rukawa's blind spot on the left.
"Go to hell!"
Kishimoto roared as he jumped, preparing to posterize the One-Eyed Dragon.
In the stands, Maki Shinichi frowned slightly.
"Too reckless."
Kiyota Nobunaga, however, shouted excitedly.
"That guy can't see his left side! This is a guaranteed basket!"
Just as everyone believed Rukawa was about to be beaten off the dribble—
Rukawa moved.
Without the slightest hesitation.
Without the slightest delay.
He did not even turn his head toward the left, as though he had an eye growing there.
His body moved purely on instinct.
His left hand shot out like lightning.
PAK!
A crisp crack exploded across the entire arena.
The basketball was still rising when a large hand slammed it firmly against the backboard.
A vicious chase-down block!
Kishimoto's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
How was this possible?!
He clearly could not see the left side!
This made no sense!
Rukawa landed and grabbed the basketball with one hand.
His right eye coldly glanced at the dumbfounded Kishimoto.
"Too slow."
Before his words had even finished, Rukawa was already moving.
He transformed into a streak of crimson lightning, instantly tearing through Toyotama's fragile defense.
Fast break!
Itakura Daijiro desperately chased after him, trying to interfere with Rukawa's layup.
"Don't even think about scoring!"
Itakura charged in from the right.
His massive body was like a wall.
Rukawa suddenly stopped at full speed.
His sneakers scraped violently against the floor.
"SKREEECH!"
Itakura could not stop in time.
He shot straight past Rukawa, looking like a clumsy clown.
Rukawa gathered the ball and jumped.
His form was beautiful.
Perfect textbook technique.
His wrist flicked smoothly.
"Swish!"
The basketball dropped cleanly through the net, the sound of the nylon netting crisp and satisfying.
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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