I Died on the Court, Now I’m Back to Rule It

On the sideline, Kaito stepped forward.

Didn't ask this time.

Didn't clench his fists.

He just said it.

"Three minutes."

Coach Tsugawa turned to him.

The crowd behind them didn't exist.

Only the silence between words.

"Two minutes thirty."

"Don't break."

Kaito nodded.

…

Next possession—Horizon tried to answer.

Dirga cut baseline—

Pulled the defense down like a gravity well.

Kicked it out to Rei.

Rei faked right—drove left.

Sharp. Convincing.

Aizawa read it, curled into the cut.

Dump-off—

Tipped.

Sho. Fingers just enough.

Ball popped loose—

Fast break.

Eiji pushed.

Dirga backpedaled—full sprint into control.

But he wasn't the target.

Taniguchi caught it in motion.

Pump.

Dirga reacted—

Jumped—half-second late.

Mid-air dish—

Taniguchi dumped it mid-glide.

Sho.

Layup.

63 – 60.

The crowd rumbled.

Not a roar.

But something worse.

A build.

"Kurotsuki's finding momentum! That's five straight points—Sho's presence is anchoring this floor!"

"And Ryōta—he's not drifting anymore. He's shaping the court."

…

Dirga pushed tempo.

Tried to bait Toshiro into a switch—

A staggered look.

A seam.

But Ryōta—

Read it early.

Rotated high.

Intercepted.

Fast break—clean.

Eiji.

One dribble.

Wing to corner.

Taniguchi. Again.

Catch.

Rhythm.

Shot.

Sinks.

63 – 63.

…

Coach Tsugawa didn't flinch.

Didn't shout.

Didn't call timeout.

He just looked across the court—

Then back to the bench.

Measured. Calm.

Then Coach Tsugawa nodded once.

"Two minutes thirty," he said.

"That's all you get."

"End it."

Kaito stood.

Didn't stretch.

Didn't bounce on his toes.

Didn't say a word.

Just dropped the towel from his shoulders—

A quiet shift.

A line drawn.

And stepped forward.

…

He walked onto the court.

Sho noticed first.

His spine straightened.

Breath caught shallow in his chest.

Then Toshiro.

Then Taniguchi.

One by one—

Their eyes tracked him.

No flinch.

No grin.

No trash talk.

Just gravity.

Thick.

Tangible.

Like old memories were being pulled out of storage.

Unfolded in real time.

Taniguchi stepped forward.

Met him at the top.

Still didn't blink.

"You came late," he said.

Like he'd been waiting all game.

Kaito stopped near the arc.

Set his stance—low, patient, effortless.

"I'm still on time," he replied.

…

Dirga crossed halfcourt.

Eyes half-lidded.

Like he was listening to something the court was whispering.

And he was.

Not words.

Not calls.

Rhythm.

The quiet code of the game.

Footfalls.

Inhale timing.

The brush of jersey fabric when a defender cheats the lane.

The way breath gets caught in the throat before a switch.

He raised one hand.

[Maestro's Pulse – Active Trigger: Maestro State – 60 seconds]

It didn't explode.

It sank.

Like a stone in water.

No noise. Just ripples.

Dirga's body didn't tense.

It tuned.

Subtle shifts—ankles relaxing, shoulders uncoiling, fingertips lighter on the leather.

His teammates didn't move faster.

They moved in unison.

Aizawa cut baseline. Not to score—to tilt the floor.

Taiga curled high. Pulled Toshiro with him. Extended the tension.

Rikuya sealed wide. A half-inch hip shift against Sho, just enough to demand gravity.

And Kaito?

Still at the right elbow.

Not watching the ball.

Watching space.

Eyes low.

Posture calm.

Like a spring held in a master's hand—

Loaded. Waiting.

…

Taniguchi was ready.

Eyes locked.

Feet mirrored.

Weight set.

But Kaito wasn't measuring him.

He was measuring the gap.

Not the space in front—

The one behind.

The angle.

The one opening you don't earn by force—

You earn it by patience.

…

Dirga stepped left.

Dribbled once.

The defense shifted.

Barely.

But enough.

Dirga didn't look.

He didn't need to.

He felt it.

Kaito slipped—

Behind Taniguchi.

No explosion.

Just the beat between a blink and a breath.

Dirga fired.

Bounce pass.

Threaded like a needle through breathing lungs.

Kaito caught it mid-stride—

Right foot.

Left foot.

Up.

Finger roll.

65 – 63.

…

Kurotsuki Ball.

Toshiro brought it up—faster this time.

The response wasn't reaction.

It was already loaded.

Sho posted hard. Elbow up, shoulder turned.

Taniguchi faked baseline. Aizawa hesitated—just a breath.

Kaito switched but a beat too late.

Aizawa bumped off a flare. Missed the read.

Taniguchi caught it.

Corner.

Set.

Fired.

The arc was clean.

The rotation pure.

Snap.

65 – 66.

…

No celebration.

Just execution.

Kurotsuki wasn't chasing.

They were matching tempo.

And now?

The margin was a single shot.

Dirga looked at Kaito this time.

No smirk.

Just recognition.

"You made yours."

"Now I've made mine."

Dirga stayed centered.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't press.

He moved like a conductor with one last piece to finish.

Taiga screened and slipped—soft angle.

Aizawa flared weak side.

Kaito hovered in the seam.

Dirga delayed.

Held.

Waited for Ryōta to lean just a fraction too far.

Then—threaded it.

Kaito caught it mid-step.

Taniguchi recovered—fast.

But Kaito didn't stop.

Mid-post.

One dribble.

Pivot.

Fade.

The shot floated.

Rotation perfect.

67 – 66.

…

Kurotsuki possession.

Eiji walked it up slow, the ball draped low against his hip.

His steps were calm, but his eyes twitched left—just for a flicker.

The plan had changed.

They weren't running through Taniguchi now.

They were orchestrating around him.

Toshiro ghosted upward—set a soft screen like a whisper.

Kaito followed Taniguchi tight, chest grazing his shoulder.

But Taniguchi didn't flare.

He curled inward—

Then stopped.

Pivot.

Mid-lane.

Kaito blinked.

It was a trap.

Toshiro slipped behind—screened him at the spine.

Kaito staggered—

Taniguchi popped out to the wing.

Wide open.

Catch.

Kaito lunged—fast, desperate—

But Taniguchi didn't fire.

He dumped it.

Sho.

Rolling untouched down the lane.

One gather.

Soft finish.

67 – 68.

Dirga exhaled once.

No shake. No scowl.

Just a nod.

"They're forcing the switch," he murmured.

"Playing two steps ahead."

But his hands stayed loose.

His mind—clear.

He didn't panic.

Because now, it wasn't about the trick.

It was about the answer.

…

Horizon possession.

Dirga brought the ball up like a violinist raising his bow.

Maestro State still pulsing beneath his ribs.

He raised two fingers.

Aizawa ghosted left.

Taiga drifted right.

Kaito held high—coiled, waiting for the trigger.

Dirga passed to Aizawa.

Then darted behind the screen, dragging shadows with him.

It wasn't deception.

It was layered rhythm—composed, not chaotic.

Kaito stepped into motion.

Caught it in stride.

Taniguchi met him—chest square, feet silent.

Kaito stopped.

Jabbed.

Taniguchi didn't flinch.

Dirga saw the lock.

Called off the screen with a subtle wave.

Let Kaito cook.

One bounce.

Stop.

Rise.

Fade.

Bang.

69 – 68.

"KAITO AGAIN! Fadeaway fire! This is what we waited for!"

"But there's no time to celebrate—Kurotsuki's sprinting back like wolves."