NOVEL NEXT Chapter 165: Horizon Vs Drakes : Rhythm vs. Riot
"Ohh, hello hello—and we're back with another fire matchup here at Yoyogi Court One!"
"It's Toyonaka Horizon High vs. Naha Southern Drakes High!"
"Both squads are coming off massive wins—Horizon just silenced Kurotsuki in one of the cleanest rhythm battles we've seen..."
"And the Drakes? They torched the Wolves. Pure tempo violence."
"This isn't just a matchup of winners—it's a collision course."
…
Horizon Bench.
The team hadn't stepped on court yet, but the intensity was already climbing.
Dirga was up, slow-dribbling behind the bench, bouncing the ball once every two seconds—perfect tempo.
His eyes scanned the court.
No talking.
Just focus.
Kaito adjusted his sleeves and cracked his knuckles.
Still on rotation lock—but watching everything.
His heartbeat synced to the court, even if his feet weren't touching it.
Rikuya stood near the edge of the bench, arms crossed.
His eyes locked on the towering figure warming up at the other end.
Joji Shimabukuro.
The Drakes' center.
Wide frame.
Heavy on the feet.
But with arms like steel cables and instincts like a hawk in a hurricane.
Taiga and Aizawa?
Already yelling.
Not at anyone.
Just yelling.
Sparks to keep the flame awake.
"Let's break 'em early!"
"Don't let streetball fool you—they bleed too!"
Meanwhile, Rei and Hiroki sat quietly at the end of the bench.
One calm.
The other unreadable.
Hiroki.
Dry.
Fresh.
Untried.
But now?
He was about to enter the storm.
…
Coach Tsugawa stood in front of them.
No clipboard this time.
Just five names.
"We start with—"
Dirga – PG
Hiroki – SG
Aizawa – SF
Taiga – PF
Rikuya – C
Dirga cracked his neck.
Aizawa grinned.
Hiroki stood slowly, stretching his arms once.
Rikuya rolled his shoulders.
Taiga slapped his chest.
No war cries.
Just readiness.
Just rhythm.
Coach looked them over once.
"Remember—they don't play with structure."
"So we don't over-correct."
"We control the response, not the chaos."
"You start with tempo," Tsugawa said, nodding toward Dirga.
"But this game? This game's going to break shape."
"Make sure it breaks in our favor."
No chants. No claps. Just that final order hanging in the air like a spell.
Then—
the court opened.
Both teams stepped into the light.
The crowd leaned forward, sensing it already.
This wasn't going to be like the last game.
Not surgical.
Not composed.
This would be a storm.
…
Warm-Up Phase
Horizon warmed up first.
Sharp form.
Clean lines.
Layups in rhythm.
Midrange flicks.
Elbow jumpers with familiar bounce.
The kind of routine that came from discipline, not flair.
Dirga moved with minimal flash—
One dribble, one step, shoot.
Efficient. Focused. Controlled.
Aizawa cracked passes to Taiga on the wing.
Rikuya worked his footwork near the baseline, posting invisible shadows.
And in the corner—
Hiroki just shot.
No noise.
No wasted motion.
The net barely rippled.
Then came the Drakes.
And it was nothing like what Horizon showed.
Haruki Miyazato, the Trickster King, hit the court like it was a street party.
No layup lines.
No midrange drills.
Just dribbling.
And the ball never stayed in one place.
It vanished under his leg, skipped off his elbow, spun off his back—
Before snapping perfectly into his shooting hand for a no-look three.
Swish.
Then a behind-the-back pass to Keita Yonaha, who caught it off the bounce and launched another three from deep range—
Splash.
Joji Shimabukuro, the Sky Hammer, didn't need finesse.
He was all violence.
A single stride—
One two-handed dunk.
Boom.
Backboard trembling.
The rim groaned under his hands.
Then another.
And another.
No one rebounded.
They just cleared out.
This wasn't warm-up.
This was a warning.
The Drakes didn't prepare.
They arrived.
Dirga bounced the ball slowly at the top of Horizon's arc.
Watching Haruki from across the court.
They hadn't even tipped off yet—
But the pressure was already shaking.
Aizawa leaned in next to him.
"You feel that?"
"Yeah," Dirga muttered.
"They're trying to break tempo before the whistle."
The referee walked to center court with the ball in hand.
Dirga stepped forward.
Hiroki followed.
Aizawa cracked his neck.
Rikuya gave Joji one last stare— Titan vs hammer.
Taiga punched his own palm, the sound echoing like thunder.
Horizon was ready.
But so were the Drakes.
Not in structure.
Not in order.
But in rhythmless destruction.
And now, the whistle blew.
A sharp, crisp TWEET that sliced through the gym's static.
The game—officially underway.
[Echo System: Opponent Scanning Initiated…]
Haruki Miyazato (PG)
Age: 17
Height: 178
Weight: 68
Attributes:
Inside Scoring: A
Shooting: A
Playmaking: SSS
Defense: C
Physical: S
Mentality: S
Keita Yonaha (SG)
Age: 17
Height: 185
Weight: 75
Attributes:
Inside Scoring: B+
Shooting: S
Playmaking: B+Defense: CPhysical: AMentality: A
Masato Shimoji (SF)
Age: 17
Height: 193
Weight: 82
Attributes:
Inside Scoring: B
Shooting: A
Playmaking: B
Defense: B
Physical: A
Mentality: A
Daisuke Hanazato (PF)
Age: 17
Height: 198
Weight: 93
Attributes:
Inside Scoring: B
Shooting: B
Playmaking: C
Defense: A+
Physical: A
Mentality: B
Joji Shimabukuro (C)
Age: 17
Height: 201
Weight: 102
Attributes:
Inside Scoring: A
Shooting: C
Playmaking: C
Defense: SSS
Physical: SS
Mentality: A
"Another mountain," Dirga muttered to himself.
He could already feel the weight of it.
The difference in age.
The difference in build.
This wasn't like Kurotsuki's system.
This was raw force.
One moment of hesitation against a team like this—
And you weren't just beaten.
You were swallowed.
But Horizon had Dirga.
And Dirga had seen this before.
Not in a system.
Not in drills.
In survival.
Tip-Off – First Possession
Joji and Rikuya met at center court.
Two towers—one raw and rising, the other a pillar of timing.
The ball flew—
Dirga held his breath.
Tap—
Joji smashed it.
Drakes ball.
And just like that—chaos.
Haruki caught it mid-stride, already spinning.
Not even setting a play.
Just motion—pure instinct and streetball joy.
Dirga dropped into a stance—low, wide—but Haruki didn't care.
He zigged.
Dirga shaded left.
He zagged—then stopped cold.
Dirga's balance twitched.
Too late.
The Trickster King slipped by, flicked a behind-the-back drop pass to Yonaha—
Three-pointer.
Swish.
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