On the court.
Makino Juro didn't give Fujima even a second to process what had just happened.
"Fast break!"
Before his voice even fully fell—
Rukawa Kaede and Sakuragi Hanamichi exploded forward like beasts that had just caught the scent of blood, sprinting toward the frontcourt.
"Get back on defense!!"
Fujima roared, forcefully suppressing the shock in his chest as he turned and gave chase.
Shoyo's discipline was impeccable—Hasegawa and Takano imdiately retreated into the paint, sealing off the passing lanes.
But Makino Juro didn't dribble.
He stood in the backcourt, holding the ball with both hands, assuming an almost bizarre stance.
Left palm supporting the ball.
Right hand pulled back.
And then...
He fired forward violently.
Like a volleyball spike.
Like launching a cannon shell.
[Accelerated Pass]
"BOOM!!!"
A dull explosion echoed through the gym.
The instant the ball left his hand, a visible ripple of air shock spread outward!
The orange basketball transford into a straight, blazing beam—
Tearing through the air.
Tearing across the court.
Ignoring distance. Ignoring ti.
Fast.
Too fast.
So fast even the caras could barely keep up.
Frontcourt.
Rukawa Kaede sprinted at full speed, not even bothering to look back.
Because that lazy guy had once said:
"As long as you run to the spot, the ball will find you."
The mont Rukawa stepped inside the three-point line and raised his hand—
A sharp gust of wind struck from behind.
No need to slow down.
No need to adjust.
The ball slamd perfectly into his palm.
"—Heavy!"
Rukawa felt his hand go numb.
The violent spin on the ball burned against his fingertips.
But he didn't hesitate.
Using that montum—
He gathered into three steps and rose!
Facing Hasegawa Kazushi, who had already retreated to the rim.
Rukawa's eyes flashed cold.
"Move."
"Out of my way!"
He soared, body stretched like a drawn bow—
"Not a chance!!" Hasegawa roared, leaping to block.
But the instant they collided mid-air.
Hasegawa's pupils shrank in terror.
The ball in Rukawa's hand didn't slow down—
It felt even heavier, carrying the leftover force from that terrifying pass!
"BOOOOM!!!"
Rukawa dunked it viciously over Hasegawa!
The sheer force sent Hasegawa flying out of bounds, stumbling to the floor.
42:46.
The rim trembled violently, letting out a pained tallic groan.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Every spectator stared, mouths agape—
At the black-haired boy hanging on the rim…
…and at the No.16 still frozen in a passing pose in the backcourt.
What just happened?
How did the ball get there?
It was like a beam of light—crossing the entire court in an instant.
[Ding! Shock Value from Fujima Kenji 10]
[Ding! Shock Value from Maki Shinichi 10]
[Ding! Shock Value from Sendoh Akira 10]
...
[Ding! Shock Value from the entire audience 50]
（Shock Value calculated based on character importance）
The notifications flooded his mind like a storm.
Makino Juro lowered his burning hand, casually shaking his wrist.
Looking at the rapidly rising numbers, a satisfied smile finally curled at his lips.
"Looks like… I don't even need to show my face to flex."
He glanced at Fujima, whose expression had darkened.
"Hey, Ace."
"Zoning out on the court… that's a bad habit."
Fujima Kenji slowly turned around.
That once-confident, composed face—like he controlled everything—
finally showed a crack.
"…Who are you?"
His eyes locked onto Makino Juro, as if trying to see through him.
Makino Juro shrugged, already turning away, his posture as lazy as ever.
"Just a benchwarr from Shohoku."
He waved casually without looking back.
"Oh—and one more thing, senpai."
"Your light is too bright."
"And where the light shines the most…"
"…shadows tend to devour people."
The atmosphere of the ga—
changed completely.
If before, it had been Fujima's solo performance.
then now...
even though the spotlight still shone on him—
in the shadows beyond that light…
a ghostly reaper had already raised its scythe.
"Damn it…"
Fujima clenched his teeth, a thin layer of cold sweat forming on his forehead.
As one of Kanagawa's twin pillars—
he had never felt such a bizarre pressure from a re substitute.
It wasn't strength.
It wasn't speed.
It was sothing… absurd.
Like throwing a full-force punch into cotton.
only for a poisoned needle to suddenly stab back from within.
The unknown—
was the most terrifying thing of all.
"Everyone, stay calm!"
Fujima took a deep breath, forcing himself to settle down, his mind racing.
"It's just one play!"
"That pass was fast—but if we shut down the receiver, we're fine!"
"Offense!"
Shoyo inbounded again.
This ti, Fujima was extrely cautious.
As he brought the ball up, he deliberately kept his distance from Makino Juro—
while forcing himself to track that faint, flickering presence with his peripheral vision.
As long as I don't get close… you can't steal it.
Fujima sneered inwardly.
He directed Hanagata to co up high for a set.
The ball moved into Hanagata Toru's hands.
Back to the basket—he drew Akagi in—
Then suddenly...
A bounce pass to the cutting Hasegawa!
"Nice pass!"
Hasegawa caught it cleanly.
The lane was wide open.
One layup—and they could stabilize everything!
But...
The instant Hasegawa jumped—
A hand appeared from beneath his arm.
No foul.
No contact.
Just a perfect, surgical strip—
"Gotcha!"
The ball was gone.
"What?!"
Hasegawa twisted mid-air, eyes wide—
And saw a familiar, expressionless face.
Makino Juro.
When did he get here?
Wasn't he just at the top of the key guarding Fujima?!
Fujima's entire body trembled.
He had been watching him the whole ti.
No… that's not right.
The mont Hanagata passed the ball—
everyone's attention shifted to it.
And in that split second
Makino Juro had vanished from his vision.
"Fast break!!"
Makino Juro called out again.
This ti—
Sakuragi Hanamichi was already in front.
"WAHAHAHA!! The ball is mine!!"
The red-haired boy charged like an out-of-control red Ferrari.
Sakuragi caught the pass—
The basket wide open before him.
"GENIUS DUNK!!"
One step inside the free-throw line.
He leapt—
Body fully extended.
One-handed slam!
"BANG!!"
44:46.
Only a two-point gap!
In less than a minute.
Shohoku had cut 4 points straight!
And every single play—
ca from No.16's defense and fast breaks!
"Tiout!!"
Fujima Kenji finally snapped—
calling for a tiout at the top of his lungs.
His chest rose and fell violently as he stared at Makino Juro—
now surrounded by Sakuragi and Rukawa.
For the first ti...
there was sothing new in his eyes.
Fear.
That guy…
was like a ghost.
Everywhere.
Nowhere.
The mont Shoyo's offense showed even the slightest crack—
he would seep in like liquid rcury,
and deliver a fatal strike.
Shohoku Bench
The mont Makino Juro stepped off the court.
Sakuragi imdiately threw an arm around his neck.
"WAHAHA! Master!"
"That pass just now was AWESO!"
"Still not as good as my genius dunk though!"
"Let go… you're choking …"
Makino Juro rolled his eyes, struggling as he felt his neck about to snap.
Miyagi Ryota walked over, handing him the already-opened Pocari Sweat, his expression complicated.
"…Thanks."
"Hm?" Makino Juro took it and chugged half the bottle. "For what?"
Miyagi glanced toward Fujima, who was reorganizing tactics at Shoyo's bench.
"Heh…"
"That guy's face… finally looks ugly."
Makino Juro smiled faintly, wiping the water from his lips.
Then he glanced at the system panel—
[Shock Value: 1050 / 1000]
His eyes glead.
"System."
"Draw for ."
END OF CHAPTER
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