The game resumed.
Shohoku inbounded the ball.
Fujima Kenji locked his gaze onto Makino Juro, killing intent almost tangible in his eyes.
At this moment, his confidence had swelled to its peak.
He controlled the game.
He controlled the rhythm.
He controlled everything.
"It's useless, Makino Juro."
"Your stamina's already at its limit, isn't it?"
"Dribbling this slowly… are you just waiting to die?"
Fujima spread his arms wide, sealing off Makino Juro's advance, his voice icy.
Makino Juro dribbled forward, his pace indeed sluggish, every bounce of the ball looking weak and drained.
"Yeah… I'm exhausted. Honestly, I just want to go home and sleep."
He let out a sigh.
"But… I want to win more."
Suddenly...
His eyes snapped toward the right side of the paint, pupils sharply focusing.
"Rukawa!"
He shouted.
Fujima instinctively shifted his weight to the right.
A fake?
No—Makino Juro really made the motion to pass with both hands!
The tension in his muscles couldn't be faked!
Just as Fujima moved to cut off the passing lane—
Makino Juro's wrist twisted in an almost unnatural motion.
The ball wasn't passed.
Instead, it snapped back to his left side in one incredibly smooth, wide behind-the-back dribble!
A hesitation drive into a behind-the-back pull!
"What?!"
Fujima's expression changed drastically.
He could still pull off that kind of move?!
Makino Juro blew past him in a single step.
"Don't even think about it!!"
Hasegawa and Takano rushed in simultaneously to help.
Front blocked, rear sealed.
A dead end.
In the stands, some spectators had already stood up. Others covered their eyes.
"It's over!"
"He's trapped!"
"This is a dead ball!"
At that critical instant—
Makino Juro suddenly stopped.
He didn't look at the basket.
He didn't look at his teammates.
Then...
He shouted:
"Micchi!!!"
The cry rang out loud and clear across the noisy arena.
Everyone instinctively searched for the owner of that name.
Beyond the three-point line—
Mitsui Hisashi was sprinting.
He reached the 45-degree angle outside the arc.
Wide open.
But…
Where was the ball?
Makino Juro hadn't passed it!
He was completely surrounded—there was no way he could get the ball out!
And yet—
Mitsui acted like a madman.
He reached his spot, locked his eyes on the rim, and raised his hands.
Then he jumped.
In midair, he extended his body, arms lifted high, forming a perfect shooting posture.
But...
His hands were empty.
He was shooting nothing.
"What is he doing?!"
"Is he shooting air?!"
"Have they lost their minds?!"
The entire arena erupted in confusion.
Even Fujima froze.
What kind of play was this?
A distraction tactic?
Right when everyone thought Mitsui had hallucinated from exhaustion—
Makino Juro, buried within the crowd, curled his lips into a wild grin.
A hunter's smile, watching prey walk into the trap.
His right hand, hidden at an impossible angle, snapped forward with explosive wrist force.
"BOOM!"
The ball exploded off his hand like a heartbeat amplified.
With vicious sidespin, it slithered through the narrow gaps between three defenders like a venomous snake.
Then, at an unbelievable angle and speed, it shot toward the three-point line.
At that moment.
Mitsui had already reached the apex of his jump.
His body hung in the air, hands still waiting.
Time seemed to freeze.
In his mind, flashes surged—
A dim rehab room.
A shattered knee.
The roar of delinquent motorcycles.
Coach Anzai's gentle face.
I wasted two years…
I have no stamina left…
My arms can barely lift…
But...
I am Mitsui Hisashi!
The man who never gives up!
At that very instant...
"PA!"
A solid, crisp sensation filled his palms.
The orange basketball—
At the exact peak of his jump, at the precise moment his hands were ready.
No earlier. No later.
Dropped perfectly into his grasp.
As if it had always belonged there.
The entire arena fell silent.
Every mouth hung open.
Every eye nearly popped out.
What kind of godlike pass was that?!
Was this foresight?!
Mitsui didn't hesitate.
Because this—
Was Makino Juro's promise.
The moment he touched the ball, his fingers instinctively gripped the seams, his wrist snapping down in one smooth motion.
No adjustment.
No aiming.
Muscle memory took over.
"This shot…"
Mitsui watched the ball leave his hands, a confident smile curling his lips.
"It's in."
The ball traced a high, flawless arc.
Over everyone's heads.
Over the years he had lost.
Over every doubt and every sneer.
"Swish!"
The clean sound of the net was like music, shattering the silence.
Score!
58:58!
Tie game!
"AHHHHHH!!!"
"It's in!!!"
"Unbelievable! He shot with empty hands—and the ball actually came!"
"That number 16—is he a magician?!"
"An alley-oop three?! My god!"
The entire arena exploded, the roar nearly lifting the roof.
The Shoyo bench stood frozen, as if they had seen a ghost.
After landing, Mitsui held his shooting form, chest heaving violently.
But the light in his eyes had never burned brighter.
He turned to look at Makino Juro, who was casually walking out of the crowd.
Makino Juro's face remained indifferent, still wearing that half-dead expression.
They crossed paths.
No hug.
No shouting.
Like two office workers brushing past each other after a long day.
But at the moment they passed.
Both raised their right hands in perfect sync.
Smack!
A crisp high-five.
No words needed.
That scene carved itself into the memory of everyone present.
That silent trust—
Was louder than any roar.
…
Fujima Kenji stared at Makino Juro's back, his nails digging deep into his palms.
He felt it.
That creeping emotion called fear.
Not because of that strange "vision manipulation"—
But because of the man himself.
That calm precision—like a surgeon slicing open a defense even in desperation—
That was the truly terrifying part.
…
Makino Juro returned to his half, his legs feeling like they were filled with lead.
Showing off really is exhausting…
He complained inwardly.
But...
Looking at the rapidly increasing numbers on his retina, his mood instantly improved.
[Ding! Shock value from Fujima Kenji +10]
[Ding! Shock value from Taoka Moichi +10]
[Ding! Shock value from Maki Shinichi +10]
...
[Ding! Shock value from all spectators +50]
[Current Shock Value: 1350]
That "magic pass" just now had harvested a massive wave of shock points.
"Now that's worth it."
Makino Juro licked his dry lips, a gambler's frenzy flashing in his eyes.
Three minutes left.
The game—
Was only just beginning.
Since conventional methods could no longer break through Fujima's defense—
Then it was time to play something unreasonable.
Makino Juro muttered inwardly:
"System."
"Draw again."
END OF CHAPTER
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