Makino Juro clapped his hands lightly.
As if he had just done something trivial.
He even adjusted a pair of nonexistent glasses, then glanced calmly at the utterly stunned Kiyota Nobunaga.
"Best rookie?"
"You guys can fight over something that boring all you want."
With that, Makino Juro turned to leave.
His back radiated that unfathomable, effortlessly cool aura—like someone who had just done something incredible and didn't care to claim the credit.
However—
Right at that perfectly composed moment...
Two shadows appeared behind the three of them like ghosts, carrying an icy, hellish pressure.
"You idiots…"
"What the hell do you think you're doing, clowning around here?!"
Akagi Takenori and Maki Shinichi—the captains of both teams.
At this moment, they wore identical expressions of fury, the veins on their foreheads bulging into clear "anger marks."
The game hadn't even started yet, and these three were already putting on a comedy show in the middle of the court!
This was the finals.
The sacred finals!
"Thud! Thud! Thud!"
Three heavy, crisp sounds rang out.
Akagi delivered a brutal "iron fist of justice" to both Sakuragi Hanamichi and Makino Juro.
Not to be outdone, Maki gave Kiyota Nobunaga a solid punch to the head as well.
"OW!!!"
All three clutched their heads and dropped into a defensive crouch.
Their earlier arrogance vanished instantly.
Steam practically rose from the massive bumps forming on their heads.
Tears welled up at the corners of their eyes, and the tone shifted in an instant—from hot-blooded sports manga… to pure gag comedy.
"What was that for, Gorilla?! That hurt!" Sakuragi roared.
"Why did you hit me… I was just passing by…" Makino Juro muttered, holding his head, looking as aggrieved as a wronged housewife.
"Maki-senpai! I was defending Kainan's honor!" Kiyota complained, on the verge of tears like a 200-pound child.
Rukawa Kaede, by sheer luck, avoided the disaster.
Watching the three crouching in pain, he instinctively shrank back.
"…Idiots."
He quietly took two steps backward, trying to erase his presence entirely.
Looking at this ridiculous scene—
The suffocating tension of the finals somehow eased.
But everyone knew...
This was only the calm before the storm.
Maki Shinichi withdrew his hand after disciplining Kiyota and turned his gaze toward Makino Juro.
This time, his eyes were no longer filled with overwhelming pressure, but with deep scrutiny—like he was trying to see straight through him.
That shot just now…
It may have looked flashy.
But that terrifyingly soft touch… that perfect control of strength…
It sent chills down his spine.
"Looks like today's game won't be boring," Maki murmured, a feral smile curling at his lips as the fire of battle ignited in his eyes.
"Sorry about that. Poor discipline on my end."
Maki's large hand clamped down on Kiyota's head like a vise.
Kiyota had been staring blankly at the ceiling patterns just a second ago—now he was forced into a perfect ninety-degree bow, whimpering like a monkey being strangled by fate.
"Same here. Ours are even more embarrassing."
Akagi's face was pitch black as his thick fingers twisted Sakuragi's ear like tightening a rusted screw.
Makino Juro, having dodged in time, had already slipped far away.
"Ow ow ow! Let go! My ear's about to fall off and run away!" Sakuragi yelped, his body twisting like a wrung towel.
But Akagi's arm was as steady as a mountain—completely unmoving.
Like dragging dead weight, the two captains expressionlessly hauled their respective "problem children" back to the bench.
"Thud!"
"Thud!"
Two more "fatherly" punches landed almost simultaneously—painful just to hear.
Kiyota instantly crouched again, clutching his head with tears streaming down his face.
"Maki-senpai, I was just telling the truth…"
Sakuragi held the steaming lump on his head and glared at Akagi.
"You damn gorilla! That was strategy! Psychological warfare! Don't you understand tactics?!"
"Shut up!"
Akagi and Maki shouted in unison, their voices full of exhaustion.
The two captains exchanged a glance across the air.
In each other's eyes, they saw the same thing—
The deep, weary sorrow of "raising troublesome kids."
Playing a game costs stamina.
Managing these idiots costs your life.
At that moment, from Kainan's bench—
The middle-aged man who was always fanning himself slowly walked over.
Takato Riki.
Kainan's head coach, known as the "Tactician."
He walked straight up to Sakuragi Hanamichi, who was still rubbing his head.
His gaze was like that of an appraiser examining a newly unearthed ancient artifact—full of curiosity and scrutiny.
"Sakuragi-kun."
Takato tapped his folding fan lightly against his palm, his tone gentle but his eyes sharp.
"That dribbling just now was interesting. How long have you been playing basketball?"
That explosive, beast-like power and coordination—
No ordinary training could produce that.
Though his movements were still rough, like unpolished granite—
That feel for the ball… didn't lie.
This was raw, untamed genius.
Sakuragi froze for a moment.
Then he planted his hands on his hips, puffed his chest out, and lifted his chin proudly.
"Hah? What do you want, old man? Trying to recruit this genius?"
"Old… man?"
A vein throbbed on Takato's forehead.
He was in the prime of his life!
But Sakuragi didn't notice at all.
He pointed his thumb at himself and burst out laughing.
"Of course I only started playing in high school!"
"Don't be too shocked, old man—I'm the man carrying Shohoku's future!"
Takato's fan-tapping stopped mid-motion.
Three months?
The prefectural tournament had just begun…
Which meant—
This kid had gone from zero to this level… in just three months?
Three months to develop this kind of dribbling… and that monstrous jumping ability?
"…Another monster?"
A storm surged in Takato's heart, though he forced a composed smile—albeit slightly stiff.
Taking a deep breath, he turned his head.
His gaze fell on Makino Juro.
And instantly grew serious.
If Sakuragi was an unpolished gem—
Then Makino Juro was a bottomless black hole.
That absurd, sky-piercing arc shot from earlier was still replaying in his mind.
"And what about you, Juro-kun?"
Takato closed his fan, pointing it toward him.
"With shooting and court vision like that… you must have been playing for many years, right?"
Makino Juro didn't even lift his eyelids.
He let out a long yawn.
Hearing the question, he slowly turned his head.
"Playing what?"
He tilted his head slightly, then suddenly smirked with a mischievous grin.
"Playing Dio?"
Takato: "???"
Maki Shinichi: "???"
The Kainan players around them all looked confused, exchanging bewildered glances.
"Dio? Who's that?"
"A foreign rising star?" Kiyota scratched his head and asked Jin Soichiro.
"I've never heard of him… maybe from a European league?" Jin muttered, searching his mental database of players.
Seeing the question marks written all over Takato's face, Makino Juro just shrugged and turned toward the bench.
Leaving behind a lazily infuriating silhouette—
And one casual sentence drifting in the air:
"I never practice."
"Minimize internal effort—starting with me."
END OF CHAPTER
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