That roar carried the resolve of burning one's bridges.
The entire arena was shaken.
Even Sakuragi Hanamichi on Shohoku's bench was startled.
"Damn! That Fukuda just went berserk!"
Even Sendoh froze for a moment.
Then, the smile at the corner of his lips slowly widened.
"Alright."
Without the slightest hesitation—
A flick of his wrist.
The basketball shot out like an orange lightning bolt, locking onto Fukuda's hands with pinpoint accuracy.
This… was trust.
Even if you had just been crushed.
Even if you were being humiliated.
As long as you asked—
I would give you the ball.
"Pa!"
Fukuda caught it.
In that instant, his world shrank down to only one thing—
The hoop in front of him.
And the one blocking his path…
Makino Juro.
"GET OUT OF MY WAY!!"
Fukuda roared as he exploded forward.
This time, there were no flashy fakes.
Pure speed!
Pure power!
He poured every ounce of rage into this drive—
Like a runaway tank, crushing straight toward Juro.
"Good."
Deep within Juro's pupils, that faint blue glow flared to life.
The moment Fukuda made his move—
The world in Juro's eyes slowed to half speed.
The twitch of Fukuda's muscles.
The shift of his center of gravity.
The rhythm of his breathing…
Everything played out in slow motion.
"Too slow."
Makino Juro sneered inwardly.
This kind of straightforward attack might dominate on a street court.
But against the true "Generation of Miracles" level…
It was nothing but flaws.
Like a program riddled with bugs.
Just as Fukuda's shoulder was about to slam into Juro's chest—
Makino Juro moved.
He didn't meet force with force.
Instead, with a light tap of his toes, his body slid back smoothly—like a weightless sheet of paper—riding along Fukuda's momentum.
Pulling the chair?
No.
At the exact moment he retreated—
His right hand shot out like a venomous snake.
Fast. Precise. Ruthless.
Not aiming for the ball itself—
But for the exact break in Fukuda's dribbling rhythm.
"Pa!"
A crisp interception.
Fukuda felt like he had crashed into cotton—his strength useless, his chest tight with frustration.
And then...
The ball slipped out of his control again, as if coated in oil.
"Nani?!"
Fukuda was horrified.
Again?!
I protected the ball with my body—how did he get his hand in there?!
The ball ricocheted off the floor toward midcourt.
"That's mine!!"
Fukuda dove forward like a madman, sliding across the hardwood, desperate to reclaim possession.
But a black lightning bolt was faster.
Makino Juro.
With a simple scoop—
The ball obeyed, popping up and settling neatly into his palm.
Then..
Full throttle.
"STOP HIM!!"
Coach Taoka's shrill scream echoed through the arena like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
He didn't even need to shout—
Sendoh Akira was already there.
As Ryonan's ace, his elite court vision had predicted this moment.
"No passing through."
Sendoh spread his arms, blocking Juro at midcourt, his gaze sharp as a blade.
One-on-one.
Shohoku's wild card—
Against Ryonan's ace.
The entire crowd held its breath.
This was the real clash.
Juro looked at Sendoh, fully prepared.
A playful curve lifted his lips.
He didn't slow down.
Instead—
He sped up.
"Is he suicidal?"
Sendoh's heart skipped.
At that speed, charging straight in could only end in an offensive foul.
But at the very instant the two were about to collide—
Makino Juro made a move that defied physics.
At full sprint—
His right foot slammed on the brakes.
"SCREECH!!"
His sneakers screamed against the floor.
The massive inertia dragged his upper body forward—
While his legs froze in place.
A stop?
Sendoh instinctively adjusted, raising his center of gravity to contest a shot.
But...
At that exact moment...
Makino Juro exploded again.
From extreme motion—
To absolute stillness...
Back to extreme motion.
Without even 0.1 seconds of delay.
Crossover!
A terrifyingly wide angle—
The kind that snaps ankles.
The ball whipped from his right hand to his left—
His body nearly skimming the floor as he slipped past Sendoh's armpit.
Formless crossover!
"What?!"
Sendoh's vision blurred.
The red figure vanished from sight.
Beaten.
Cleanly.
Not even a chance to foul.
"WOOOAAAH!!!"
The crowd erupted.
"He got past Sendoh!!"
"What kind of monster is No.16?!"
"Is that kind of crossover even human?!"
"His knees don't matter anymore?!"
After blowing past Sendoh, the lane opened wide.
But Juro didn't go for a simple layup.
Because…
Too boring.
If he was using Aomine Daiki's template—
He might as well go all out.
He drove into the free-throw line.
Uozumi Jun was still sprinting back—
But he was already too late.
Makino Juro tossed the ball off the backboard.
It hit—
And bounced back.
Self alley-oop?
Everyone thought so.
But...
Makino Juro took off.
He caught the rebound mid-air—
Twisted his body 180 degrees.
Back to the basket.
With both hands gripping the ball—
He slammed it behind his head into the rim!
Reverse alley-oop dunk off the glass!
"BOOM!!!"
The rim screamed in agony, as if it might tear off entirely.
Makino Juro hung on the rim, his legs swinging with the momentum.
The ball hit the floor.
Bounced.
Fell.
Silence.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then—
A tidal wave of screams exploded, threatening to blow the roof off.
"AAAAHHHHHH!!!"
"That was insane!!!"
"That's NBA-level!!!"
"Shohoku's No.16! I'm your biggest fan!!!"
Makino Juro dropped to the ground.
He turned.
Looked at the stunned Fukuda.
Then at Sendoh, whose eyes were filled with complex emotions.
Finally—
His gaze landed on Coach Taoka, whose face had gone ashen.
Makino Juro raised a slender finger to his lips.
"Shh."
"Did you hear that?"
His voice was soft—
Yet it cut through clearly, reaching every Ryonan player.
Three parts mockery.
Seven parts indifference.
"That's the sound of your mentality collapsing."
55:46.
The gap widened to 9 points.
"…Damn it…"
Coach Taoka slumped into his seat.
"That dribble rhythm… that explosiveness… that hang time…"
"That's not just talent—"
"That's a maxed-out monster… even scarier than Sendoh!"
Shohoku's bench.
Sakuragi's mouth was wide enough to fit two eggs.
He pointed at Makino Juro, his finger trembling.
"C-Coach…"
"That damn master…"
"Was he just… flying?"
Coach Anzai's glasses reflected the light, hiding the smile in his eyes.
"Sakuragi."
"That is the pinnacle of physical talent… combined with a feel for the ball forged through countless repetitions."
He paused.
Then said softly—
"That… is basketball in its purest freedom."
END OF CHAPTER
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