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

Another game had ended.

But the air didn't feel like victory yet.

The crowd—once thunder—was now only soft murmurs, footsteps on hollow bleachers, fading echoes as fans filtered out into the hallway light.

Above the silence, the sharp shrill of the referee's whistle sliced through.

A final signal.

Both teams moved toward center court.

No words.

Just the hush of sneakers, the creak of joints, and the weight of exhaustion folding over the moment.

They lined up—bowed.

One last gesture of respect.

Then—just like that—it was over.

Players turned. Some smiling. Some silent. Some dragging their feet.

Back to the bench.

Except two.

…

Kaito and Taniguchi remained.

Still at center court.

Still locked in something that went deeper than scores.

Taniguchi stepped forward, wiping sweat from his brow.

His voice was casual, but there was a gravity beneath it.

"So... you played through that heart of yours, huh?"

Kaito let out a breath. Not heavy. Not bitter. Just... real.

He met Taniguchi's gaze.

"What, you care now?"

"You looked like you wanted revenge out there."

Taniguchi chuckled, light and dry.

"You started it."

"I just played along."

That earned a tired grin from Kaito.

He reached up and pressed two fingers to his chest, where his jersey clung to him with sweat and weight.

"Yeah. Despite this heart…"

His hand curled around the fabric.

Clenched.

"I'll keep playing."

"Until I can't anymore."

"But I'll never be far from basketball."

Taniguchi didn't smile right away.

But there was a flicker in his eyes.

"Then I'll be watching."

He raised a hand.

Fist.

Kaito looked at it.

Then bumped his own against it.

No words after that.

Just a beat of stillness.

Two rivals.

No longer clashing.

Just... connected.

…

Dirga sat on the bench, elbows on knees, eyes unfocused but burning under the surface.

Beside him—Rikuya, arms crossed and quiet.

Aizawa, towel over his head, breathing even.

Rei leaned back, one ankle resting on the other knee.

Taiga, already hydrating, muttered something about his legs turning to stone.

And last—Kaito.

Dropped into the last seat like he'd been carrying more than just the score.

No one said anything at first.

Just the quiet, steady hum of a team that wasn't resting—

They were resetting.

Then—

Sayaka stepped in.

Clipboard in hand. Voice light, but firm.

"Alright. Game one is done. Game two's coming."

Dirga blinked and sat up straighter.

"Next opponent?"

"Naha Southern Drakes High," she replied, flipping to the next page. "They play loose. Creative. Street-heavy influence. But the real danger's in their tempo surges."

"They like chaos," Rei added, rubbing his shoulder.

Sayaka nodded. "Exactly. They bait you into scrapping. Then they flip the rhythm when you're too deep to pull out."

Taiga grunted. "So we stick to our flow."

Kaito didn't speak.

But he nodded once.

Not all-in.

But ready.

Then—Sayaka gestured toward the back of the bench.

A new figure stepped forward.

Hiroki.

Still in his warmups.

Still dry.

Still unreadable.

But now standing in front of them—

Calm. Composed.

Ready.

Coach Tsugawa followed him in, hands behind his back, gaze steady as ever.

"That," the coach said quietly, "is why Hiroki didn't play today."

They all looked up.

"One of you needed to stay untouched."

He scanned them.

Sweat still on their brows.

Towels draped.

Legs stiffening.

Shoulders slowly tightening under the adrenaline crash.

"Because when most of you are burning," Tsugawa said, voice low but sharp,

"we'll need someone who hasn't been set on fire yet."

Dirga nodded slowly.

He got it.

Back-to-back days were tough.

But two games in one day?

That wasn't just exhaustion—it was erosion.

The body didn't recover because it wanted to.

Every screen.

Every cut.

Every box-out.

They left marks. Not bruises.

Imprints.

And when the fourth quarter of the second game rolled around—

Having someone who hadn't absorbed those marks?

That was the difference between breaking down—

And breaking through.

Kaito glanced over at Hiroki.

"You ready?"

Hiroki smirked, soft and sure.

"I've been ready since warmups."

And this time, the whole bench didn't just hear him.

They believed him.

…

20 minutes.

That's all Horizon had before their next game.

Not much.

Not enough.

But still—something.

So for 20 minutes?

They crashed.

All of them.

Dirga lay flat on his back along the locker room floor, arm draped over his eyes like a curtain.

Rikuya slumped with his legs sprawled out in front of an open locker, breathing so steady he might've been in a coma.

Rei had claimed an empty bench and was snoring lightly.

Kaito leaned back against the wall with his towel over his head, chest rising and falling like waves.

Taiga and Aizawa?

Of course—they had dragged a mat into the middle of the room and were lying side by side, arms folded, pretending not to be the loudest sleepers on the team.

It wasn't glamorous.

But in tournaments like this, 20 minutes of sleep could mean ten more minutes of legs in the fourth quarter.

Ten minutes later—

A voice broke through the silence.

"Hey. It's time."

Sayaka's voice. Calm. But with that edge everyone knew too well.

Groans rolled out across the room like thunder.

Taiga groaned first, rolling over like he was about to melt into the floor.

"That was too fast…"

"Yeah, five more minutes—please," Aizawa added, eyes still closed, clutching his jacket like a blanket.

Sayaka raised an eyebrow.

Taiga kept his head down. Aizawa pulled the jacket tighter.

Sayaka took a single step forward.

And suddenly—they were both upright.

"We're up, we're up!" Taiga said quickly.

"Great day for basketball," Aizawa added, voice cracking.

Dirga cracked one eye open and smirked.

"Troublemakers."

And as Sayaka crossed her arms, her stare hardening into that familiar, terrifying calm—everyone remembered the unwritten rule of Horizon:

You can sleep through a quarter—

But you do not sleep through Sayaka.

…

Shoes laced.

Warmups off.

Towels slung around necks.

Heartbeat syncing again.

Horizon was getting ready.

Another court.

Another opponent.

Another rhythm to break.

They were facing:

Naha Southern Drakes High.

Street-born.

Chaos-forged.

A team that didn't run plays so much as unleash storms.

Their basketball wasn't polished.

It was unpredictable.

No script.

No symmetry.

Just sudden surges of tempo and ego.

They crossed halfcourt like they owned it.

Shot from anywhere.

Spun out of double-teams.

Laughed while breaking defenses.

And if you tried to play them like a regular team?

You'd drown.

Dirga tied the last loop in his laces, stood, and took a slow breath.

"Time to rewrite their rhythm," he muttered.

Kaito stretched his arms wide and cracked his neck.

"Time to pull the leash on chaos."

Taiga pounded his chest once.

Aizawa rolled his wrist, calm fire behind his eyes.

And Hiroki?

Still fresh.

Still unread.

Still waiting to leave his mark.

Game two was about to begin.

And Horizon?

They weren't tired.

They were just getting started.