Fujima jumped.
In midair, he executed a shooting feint, baiting Akagi into leaping for the block.
Everything was within his calculations.
Akagi took the bait, the paint was left exposed, and Hanagata Toru had already secured position beneath the rim.
It's over.
A cold smile tugged at Fujima's lips.
With a flick of his wrist, he prepared to slip the ball under Akagi's arm and deliver it to Hanagata.
In his vision, that red-haired rookie was still standing idly on the left side—completely harmless.
His eyes told him that area was safe.
However.
The moment the ball left his hand—
Fujima's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
What…?
On his retina, Sakuragi Hanamichi—who had just been spacing out on the left—suddenly "skipped frames" in a bizarre glitch.
Like a lag spike tearing through a video feed.
One moment, he was on the left.
The next—
That red figure had appeared directly in the passing lane without any warning.
No preparatory movement.
No muscle tension.
It was as if he had teleported.
"What?!"
Fujima's expression changed drastically.
This defied physics.
This defied his prediction.
But it wasn't teleportation.
It was Makino Juro's skill—blocking Fujima's perception of Sakuragi's explosive first step.
By the time Fujima realized Sakuragi had moved, Sakuragi was already there.
"You damn substitute!!"
"Don't underestimate a genius!!!"
Sakuragi roared, launching himself like a red surface-to-air missile. With terrifying vertical leap, he intercepted the pass mid-flight.
Smack!
A thunderous sound rang out.
He seized the basketball firmly in his hands.
"He… he stole it?!"
Hanagata's eyes widened in disbelief.
The entire arena sucked in a collective breath.
"That red-haired guy… how did he do that?"
"Fujima actually made a bad pass?!"
Fujima landed, his face pale.
That moment of distortion sent a chill crawling across his scalp.
Did I… see it wrong?
That's impossible… my eyes clearly showed—
"Nice one, Sakuragi!"
"Push the fast break!" Makino Juro's voice cut in at just the right moment.
He had already moved into position beside Sakuragi, hand outstretched for the ball.
Sakuragi was still fuming—
But his body reacted faster than his brain. He instinctively whipped the ball to Makino Juro.
"From now on, call me a genius!"
"Yeah, yeah—genius, genius."
Transition!
2 minutes and 30 seconds remained.
Makino Juro advanced the ball.
This time, Fujima didn't dare relax for even a second.
His gaze locked onto Makino Juro, while a portion of his focus tracked that strange variable—Sakuragi Hanamichi.
Was that just luck?
No… definitely not.
Fujima clenched his jaw, veins bulging at his temples.
These two… something's wrong.
Makino Juro crossed half-court.
On the right side, Rukawa Kaede extended his hand, his eyes cold.
"Pass."
It was obvious—he wanted isolation.
But Makino Juro ignored him completely.
Even if he passed, it would be useless. Rukawa was already fully within Fujima's field of vision.
Makino Juro's gaze shifted once more—to Sakuragi.
At this moment, Sakuragi was being tightly marked by Takano.
Then… let's do it again.
Makino Juro drew in a deep breath.
His lungs burned like bellows being overworked.
His legs felt as heavy as lead.
But the blue glow in his eyes burned even brighter.
He moved.
No fancy dribbles—just a hard drive toward Fujima's left side!
"Too naive!"
Fujima instantly slid over to cut him off.
His prediction told him—Makino Juro was going for a pull-up jumper.
But at the exact moment Fujima shifted his weight—
Makino Juro's wrist flicked subtly.
The ball wasn't a shot.
It was a bounce pass—fired toward an empty patch near the free-throw line.
There was no one there.
A mistake?
No—
At the exact moment the ball rebounded upward.
A streak of red lightning tore through Shoyo's defense.
Sakuragi Hanamichi!
Once again—he appeared.
In Fujima and Takano's eyes, Sakuragi had been locked in a struggle just a second ago.
So how—
In the blink of an eye, had he already broken free and reached that spot?!
That cursed "delay" struck again.
Takano was still standing there, arms spread wide—defending nothing but air, confusion written all over his face.
"How did he get there?"
Sakuragi caught the ball.
A clear path lay ahead.
Only Hanagata remained, rotating over to contest.
"Don't even think about it!!"
Hanagata gritted his teeth, arms raised high.
"Get out of the way, four-eyes!!"
Sakuragi roared.
His feet slammed against the floor—
Boom!
It felt like the court itself trembled.
He soared into the air, his red hair whipping wildly like a blazing flame.
That monstrous vertical leap allowed him to completely tower over Hanagata.
"This is—"
Hanagata's pupils trembled violently as he stared at the overwhelming silhouette above him.
That pressure…
It was like facing a primordial beast.
"I am… a genius!!"
"Sakuragi Hanamichi!!!"
In midair, Sakuragi fully extended his body, gripping the ball with both hands—
and slammed it down with savage force.
BOOM!!!
A deafening crash.
The rim screamed in protest as the entire hoop shook violently.
Hanagata was sent flying by the sheer impact, stumbling backward before collapsing onto the floor.
A poster dunk!
Silence.
Deathly silence.
The entire gymnasium seemed frozen in time.
Everyone stared, mouths agape, at the red figure hanging from the rim, their minds completely blank.
A few seconds later—
BOOM!!!
The cheers exploded like a tsunami.
"He… he scored!!! A dunk!!!"
"That redhead just blew Hanagata away!!"
"That's insane! Are these really high schoolers?!"
Sakuragi landed, smugly flipping his hair as he shouted toward the stands:
"See that?! That's the power of a genius! Hahaha!"
Behind him—
Makino Juro bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air.
Sweat dripped onto the floor, forming dark circles.
He was exhausted like a dog—
but a victorious smile curled at his lips.
He lifted his head and looked at Fujima Kenji, who stood frozen in the distance.
Their eyes met.
Makino Juro raised his thumb, pointed it at the laughing red-haired figure, then lightly wagged it.
He didn't say a word—
But his gaze spoke clearly:
So?
Did your eyes… just lie to you?
The scoreboard flickered.
60 : 58.
Shohoku takes the lead!
2 minutes remaining.
Fujima clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms. The pain snapped him out of his shock.
He stared at Makino Juro—who looked like he might collapse at any second, yet still radiated provocation.
That uneasy feeling in his chest had finally turned into reality.
This first-year substitute…
He wasn't just a playmaker who could shoot and pass.
He was a monster.
A monster who could manipulate perception—perhaps even distort reality itself.
"Don't panic!"
Fujima took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the storm inside him.
He turned and shouted at his shaken teammates:
"It's not over!"
"It's only a two-point game!"
"Give me the ball!!"
Makino Juro straightened up, wiping the sweat from his eyes.
His vision was starting to blur.
Using [Pseudo · Emperor Eye] twice in a row had been devastating to his mental stamina.
It felt like a steel needle was stirring inside his skull.
Two minutes left…
He glanced at the scoreboard and gave a bitter smile.
This isn't basketball anymore… it's a fight for survival.
But...
Seeing the wariness in Fujima's eyes—
Juro felt it was worth it.
If you want to play tactics… if you want to rely on prediction—
Then I'll play with you to the very end.
Let's see...
Whether your eyes see more clearly…
or my "cheat" runs deeper.
END OF CHAPTER
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The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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