"Stolen!"
"This is Shohoku's counterattack!"
The cheers from the stands erupted like a tidal wave.
Makino Juro clutched the scorching basketball in his hands, his lungs burning as if they were on fire.
Tired.
Truly exhausted.
If he could choose, he would lie flat on the floor right now and pretend to be dead.
But the countdown clock ahead blinked like a death sentence.
28 seconds left.
Score: 89–86.
Down by three.
"There's still time!"
"Don't rush! Take it slow!"
Takenori Akagi roared from the backcourt, his voice hoarse.
Meanwhile, Kaede Rukawa and Hanamichi Sakuragi sprinted forward like two wild beasts released from their cages—one on the left, one on the right.
Ryonan's defensive retreat was just as fast.
Although his pass had been stolen, Akira Sendoh reacted instantly, sticking tightly to Makino Juro's side.
Not even half a step of space.
"Don't think you're getting past me so easily."
Sendoh panted heavily, yet his eyes shone with frightening intensity.
It was the excitement of someone pushed to the edge.
Makino Juro advanced with his dribble, not particularly fast.
He was calculating.
A two-pointer?
No.
Even if they scored two now, the gap would still be one point.
Possession would switch to Ryonan. If they ran down the clock—or simply forced a foul—Shohoku would lose for sure.
It had to be a three-pointer.
Only a three could keep them alive.
"Tch… what a pain."
Makino Juro even had the leisure to complain internally.
Why does this game have to be so hot-blooded?
Wouldn't it be nicer to just coast along quietly?
By now he had already crossed half court.
Ryonan's defensive formation shrank rapidly.
Tomoyuki Uekusa and Hiroaki Koshino hovered like a pair of pincers, ready to trap at any moment.
And Sendoh—
was like stubborn chewing gum that just wouldn't come off.
"Pass me the ball!!"
Sakuragi charged to the free-throw line area, arms spread wide as he shouted.
"The genius is wide open!"
"One dunk and we win!"
Clearly, this single-celled organism hadn't done the math.
To him, scoring meant victory.
Makino Juro glanced at Sakuragi.
Then at Rukawa, lurking in the left corner.
The muscles in his arm suddenly tightened.
His palm slammed the ball.
[Kuroko Tetsuya · Accelerated Pass]
"BOOM!"
A dull explosive sound rang out, as if the air itself had been pierced.
The basketball shot forward like an orange laser—
straight toward Sakuragi…
and past him!
The ecstatic grin on Sakuragi's face froze instantly.
He stretched out both hands, ready to embrace the basketball that belonged to a genius.
"WHOOSH!"
A gust of wind brushed past his face, blowing his red hair backward.
The ball—
was gone.
"NANI?!"
Sakuragi's eyes widened as he watched the ball slam toward the corner.
There stood Rukawa.
Rukawa caught the pass like a mountain—steady and unmoving.
The spin of the ball dissolved perfectly the moment it touched his palm.
Nice pass.
Rukawa thought silently.
"DAMN YOU, RUKAWA!"
"You stole the genius's ball!"
"That pass was meant for me—from Master!"
Sakuragi jumped in fury. If this weren't a game, he would've headbutted Rukawa on the spot.
"Idiot."
Rukawa didn't even look at him.
His gaze was locked on the charging Uekusa.
At that moment—
the entire arena held its breath.
Everyone could see it.
Shohoku didn't want two points.
They wanted three.
Only a three-pointer could save them.
"Defense! Don't let him shoot the three!"
Moichi Taoka screamed from the sideline until his voice cracked.
"Even if you give up two, you cannot give up three!"
Ryonan's players lunged toward the perimeter like madmen.
Uekusa rushed Rukawa.
Koshino sprinted toward Kiminobu Kogure.
And Sendoh—
still shadowed Makino Juro relentlessly.
Rukawa didn't shoot.
He knew forcing a shot here meant terrible odds.
Besides—
that lazy bastard was already in position.
Everyone knew Makino Juro would shoot the three.
Rukawa knew.
Akagi knew.
Even Sendoh knew.
It was an open conspiracy.
Makino Juro dragged his heavy legs toward the top of the arc.
Every step felt like wading through lead.
"Sakuragi!"
Makino Juro suddenly shouted.
"Move that butt over here!"
"Hah?!"
Though his face showed pure annoyance, Sakuragi's body moved faster than his brain.
"The genius will kindly help you again, Master!"
With a sidestep, Sakuragi planted himself like an iron tower in Sendoh's pursuit path.
"Iron Wall!"
"THUD!"
Sendoh slammed straight into him.
So hard!
Is this guy made of steel?!
Using that instant of space, Makino Juro circled to the top of the arc.
Rukawa's pass arrived right on time.
Man and ball—
perfectly synchronized.
Catch.
Turn.
Face the basket.
Makino Juro inhaled deeply, trying to calm his racing heart.
"Don't even think about it!"
A furious roar.
Ryonan had gone mad.
Koshino abandoned Kogure and dove toward him.
Sendoh forced his way around Sakuragi, arms fully extended.
Even Ikegami rushed out from the paint.
Triple team!
This was the defense reserved for a buzzer-beater.
Looking at the forest of arms in front of him, Makino Juro didn't panic.
He almost laughed.
"What a grand reception…"
"I just want to go home early."
[Midorima Shintaro · Full-Court Shooting]
Skill activated.
As long as the shooting form wasn't disrupted—
100% accuracy.
Makino Juro jumped.
His body leaned backward dramatically in midair, nearly forming a 45-degree angle with the ground.
Partly to evade the block.
And partly…
to draw a foul.
"SMACK!"
Koshino's hand struck Makino Juro's wrist.
"BEEEEEP!"
The referee's whistle pierced the air.
Foul!
But at the same instant the whistle sounded—
the ball had already left Makino Juro's fingertips.
An absurdly high arc.
The basketball soared over three defenders' fingertips and into the blinding arena lights.
Time seemed to stretch infinitely.
Hundreds of eyes locked onto that spinning orange planet.
Coach Taoka dropped to his knees on the sideline, hands clasped as he muttered prayers.
Akagi clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.
Rukawa held his breath.
Sakuragi's mouth hung open.
The ball floated in the air for a long time.
Long enough for Makino Juro to crash onto the hardwood.
"Please… go in…"
He rubbed his sore backside.
"Swish!"
Crisp.
Clear.
The sound of a perfect net.
For one second, the arena fell into absolute silence.
Then—
the scoreboard changed.
89–89.
Tie game!
"Not over yet!"
The referee raised a single finger and pointed to the free-throw line.
"Basket counts! One free throw!"
3+1!
A four-point play!
"BOOOOOM!!!"
The roar nearly blew the roof off the gym.
"It's in! It's in!"
Sakuragi was the first to rush over, locking Makino Juro in a headlock and shaking him violently.
"Master! You're incredible!"
"That ball flew to the ceiling and came back down!"
"Cough—let go—I'm dying—"
Makino Juro rolled his eyes.
He hadn't died from exhaustion on the court—
but this idiot disciple might strangle him to death.
Rukawa walked over and looked down at Makino Juro.
For once, a faint curve appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Lucky shot."
"That was skill."
Makino Juro shoved Sakuragi away irritably.
He stepped up to the free-throw line.
5 seconds left.
Tie game.
If this free throw went in—
Shohoku would lead by one.
The arena fell silent.
Everyone held their breath, afraid of disturbing this decisive shot.
Makino Juro dribbled the ball once.
It felt heavy.
His arms ached.
Yet he still wore that lazy expression.
"Let's just end this already."
"I want a cola."
He raised the ball.
A light flick of the wrist.
The basketball traced a plain, unremarkable arc.
"Swish."
Nothing but net.
89–90!
Shohoku takes the lead!