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

And Taiga?

Taiga stared across at Haruki.

Chest rising.

Eyes narrowing.

Because now they'd seen each other.

For real.

Not trick vs. brute—

But test vs. test.

…

And Dirga?

Dirga cracked his neck.

Then—

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

The rhythm snapped into place.

Like cables locked into a harness.

Horizon's offense aligned.

No panic.

No fire.

Just answer.

And next?

They would return the echo.

Maestro State: Active.

But Dirga didn't rush.

He walked the ball up.

Not slow from hesitation—

Slow because the tempo needed it.

Like a conductor lifting his baton

before the first drop of a symphony.

Taiga trailed him.

Chest still burning from Haruki's last sleight-of-hand.

Rikuya exhaled through his nose.

The war with Joji hadn't stopped.

But he was still standing.

Kaito and Rei took their spots—

Wide. Spaced. Dangerous.

Making the Drakes think twice.

Dirga raised a hand—once.

Not a signal.

A shift.

Like brushing a single piano key

and knowing the rest of the melody will follow.

Then—

They moved.

Taiga swept wide for the screen.

Rei faked baseline—dragged Masato.

Kaito curled up from the slot.

Joji sagged.

Clogging the lane.

But Dirga didn't see players.

He saw beats.

Hesitations.

False reads.

Defensive breath out of sync.

That was the map.

He dribbled once.

Snapped the ball—Rei.

Immediate swing—Kaito.

The defense flinched.

Joji stepped in—just one step too far.

Enough.

Dirga had already cut.

Split the top.

Kaito bounced it back.

Catch. No gather.

A soft lob—threaded pass.

Rikuya.

Already sealed.

Pivoted inside Joji's hip.

Flash of contact—elbow tight.

And—

Hooked it off the glass.

25 – 27.

The crowd didn't roar.

It hummed.

Because this wasn't chaos.

This was the storm—

starting to bend.

…

Drakes' ball.

Haruki walked it up now,

a flicker of challenge in his eyes.

"Maestro, huh?"

He dribbled right.

Taiga met him stride for stride.

No trap.

No gamble.

Just mirrors.

Taiga didn't lunge.

Didn't reach.

Just tracked the rhythm of Haruki's breath.

Jab step.

Pause.

Snap-pass to Keita on the wing.

Pull-up three.

Dirga rotated—

Hand up—

Fingers in his face.

Keita launched anyway.

Clang.

Rebound—Rikuya.

Secured like clockwork.

Dirga called for it instantly.

No reset. No slow down.

The rhythm was already his.

Maestro State: 34 seconds remaining.

He sprinted.

Hiroki flared to the wing.

Taiga swept wide again—just enough motion to slip a defender.

Dirga dragged two bodies mid-lane.

Then—

Stopped.

Reverse pivot.

Whip pass. Corner.

Rei.

Catch. Set. Fire.

Bang.

27 – 27.

"AND DIRGA'S PULLING STRINGS LIKE THREAD THROUGH NEEDLES!"

"REI CASHES IN—AND HORIZON'S SLICING THE CHAOS WITH PRECISION NOW!"

"AND JUST LIKE THAT—WE'RE ALL TIED UP!"

…

Drakes' ball.

But now—

Haruki didn't sprint.

Didn't smirk.

He stood at the half-line.

Still. Watching. Studying.

Across from him?

Taiga.

And this time—

He wasn't leaning.

Wasn't guessing.

He was reading.

Finally catching Haruki's tempo.

The bounce started slow.

Haruki let it roll off his back foot.

Then—exploded.

Crossover.

Behind-the-back.

Inside-out.

Taiga slid. Stayed low. Stayed right there.

But this time?

Haruki wasn't trying to beat him.

He was baiting him.

Dirga saw it—

Half a second too late.

Haruki braked—hard.

Taiga hesitated.

Dirga rotated to help.

Too late.

No-look. Lob. Over the top.

Joji.

Sky.

Hammer.

Two-handed slam.

27 – 29.

"JOJI AGAIN! THE SKY HAMMER DROPS IT FROM THE STRATOSPHERE!"

"THAT'S HARUKI AT HIS BEST—NOT JUST A SCORER, BUT A DISRUPTOR!"

The backboard shook.

The rim groaned.

And the crowd?

Surged like a tidal wall.

…

On the floor, Rikuya exhaled—shoulders tight.

He'd jumped.

He'd fought.

But Joji?

Joji was built from something else.

He spat once.

Eyes narrowing.

Then—turning toward Dirga as they crossed halfcourt—

"We need to contain the sky."

Dirga nodded.

But his eyes?

Still on Haruki.

Because something had shifted.

Not in the scoreboard—

But in the rhythm.

…

Dirga's pulse: steady.

But the Maestro State was fading.

The heightened clarity—the map beneath the noise—

It was blurring.

15 seconds left.

Still enough for one more clean strike.

Dirga shifted left.

Quick signal.

Rei flared up on the wing.

Kaito ghosted right, dragging Keita wide.

The Drakes' defense twitched—unsure which blade would fall.

Exactly what Dirga wanted.

Taiga slipped the screen.

Rei jabbed baseline—then cut to the slot.

Dirga snapped the pass. Cross-court. No pause.

Kaito.

Catch. One dribble.

Rise.

Contested—

But balanced.

But confident.

Release.

Air.

Net.

Swish.

29 – 29.

…

A ripple passed through the gym.

Not a cheer.

Not a gasp.

A shift.

Like the storm had just changed direction.

And Haruki?

Was glowing.

Not literally.

But his presence now—

Undeniable.

The smirk was gone.

The dancing vanished.

He wasn't improvising anymore.

He was conducting.

Every flare.

Every slip.

Every pass to Joji that bent gravity—

Planned.

Precise.

Predatory.

Dirga felt it.

Not fear.

But pressure.

The kind you respect.

The kind that sharpens you.

He looked at Haruki.

Then down at his hands.

Fingertips tingling.

Pulse steady.

Not tired.

Not rattled.

But he needed more.

A deeper layer.

A clearer map.

So—

[Tempo Sight – Triggered: GODFRAME – 45 seconds]

The court exploded.

Not literally.

But in vision.

Light. Trails. Heat pulses.

Passing lanes lit in blue.

Backdoor cuts shimmered red.

Screens glowed amber before they even formed.

The entire court—

Alive with motion yet to happen.

Dirga's eyes narrowed.

Voice low.

Certain.

"We're not getting the last word."

"We're getting the last three."

…

The drakes didn't slow.

Hungry. Pressing. Blood in the water.

Haruki's jaw clenched, ready to snap back—

But Dirga had already seen it coming.

Pin decoy.

Haruki's drift—cut like a blade.

Joji sliding into space, feinting threat.

Telegraphed.

Predictable.

Scripted.

Dirga's breath slipped between his teeth.

A whisper like steel on silk—

"Taiga. Trap high."

Taiga moved—early.

Too early?

No—just right.

Met Haruki at the apex—top of the key.

Bodies collided. Not enough to foul. Just enough to stall.

Haruki blinked—hesitated—

Then broke right.

But Dirga was already there.

Jumped the lane.

Intercept.

No wasted motion.

No celebration.

He didn't sprint. He waited.

Paused.

Drew the eyes.

Baited Keita in the corner.

Keita flinched—hands ready.

No pass.

Dirga stopped cold.

Top of the arc.

One breath.

Two.

Lift.

Release.

The net snapped like a gunshot.

Bang.

32 – 29.

…

18 seconds left.

Drakes' ball.

They don't call timeout.

No clipboard. No reset.

They let Haruki work.

No scream.

Just the steady thump of the dribble.

Pulse rising in sync with the bounce.

Horizon held.

Didn't collapse.

Didn't blink.

Taiga stayed wide—anchored.

Dirga shaded left, reading the angle.

Haruki danced.

Behind-the-back.

Hesi.

Snatch.

Electric footwork on hardwood.

But Dirga?

He saw the crossover before it even left the wrist.

Stepped into the space.

Cut off the lane.

Haruki twisted—fluid, feline—

Pivot. Hang. Lob.

Joji rose.

Soared.

But Rikuya met him mid-air.

Two titans colliding—

WHACK!

The ball spiked off the glass.

Denied.

Rikuya roared.

Echoed off the rafters.

Taiga boxed out like a wall of muscle.

And Aizawa—back in, clutch—

Snatched the rebound.

One clean motion.

He fired the outlet pass.

Dirga caught it.

4 seconds.

No pass.

No look.

Just fire in his legs.

He pushed to the elbow—

Defender trailing—just a breath too slow—

Float.

Time stretched thin.

A heartbeat.

Then—

Swish.

35 – 29.

…

The buzzer screamed.

But the gym didn't.

It breathed.

Held its breath.

Because Horizon?

They didn't just end the quarter.

They rewrote it.

Toyonaka Horizon High 35 - Naha Southern Drakes High 29