I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It-Chapter 145: Horizon VS North Wolves : Declaration of Freedom 3

53 – 53.

No celebration.

No bark.

Minato jogged back, chest rising with slow control.

Aizawa followed.

Their eyes met briefly at halfcourt.

Minato didn’t smirk.

Aizawa didn’t flinch.

...

Dirga brought the ball up.

No shake. No flash.

Just rhythm.

The way he moved—the way the floor moved with him—was music in motion.

Rei circled right.

Taiga posted mid.

Aizawa drifted toward the short corner, drawing Minato off-balance just enough.

Across from him, Gaito didn’t lunge.

Didn’t overplay.

He waited. Calculated.

The Shepherd still watching the field like it was his to command.

Playmaker vs. Playmaker.

Dirga tapped his wristband. Once.

A signal.

Barely more than a heartbeat.

Rikuya shifted—subtle angle.

Backscreen.

Rei flared out—cutting wide like a thread pulled taut.

Dirga approached—

Pump-faked a handoff.

Gaito twitched.

That single misstep was enough.

Dirga didn’t hesitate.

Step-back.

No-pass hesitation.

Then—burst.

He drove hard inside.

The defense caved in.

Minato rotated. Tomoya closed the paint.

Dirga didn’t force the finish.

He let them collapse.

And then—

He passed backward.

To no one.

To space.

Except—

Aizawa was already in motion.

Slashing into the exact lane Dirga had created with the delay.

He caught it mid-air.

No gather.

No adjustment.

Layup.

55 – 53. Horizon leads.

"They’re not even looking anymore!"

"Dirga and Aizawa—connected on instinct. They’re not running plays. They’re composing them."

...

Gaito wiped sweat from his jaw, eyes narrowing.

He brought the ball up faster this time.

No patience. No posture.

He passed to Haru, took it back instantly, and attacked Dirga straight up.

Hard left.

Dirga slid with him. Hips low. Eyes focused.

"Switch!" Taiga called—

But Dirga dipped under the screen—stayed with it.

Gaito spun—

Faked the dish.

Dirga didn’t flinch.

He passed out to Haru—who faked.

Rei read it but held ground.

Back to Gaito.

Then—

Bullet pass to Tomoya, cutting baseline.

Perfect angle.

Except—

Rikuya rotated early.

Too early.

Because Dirga had seen it coming.

He’d lured them there.

Forced the read.

Tomoya caught it—hesitated.

Just half a second.

But that was enough.

Rikuya swiped—

Clean.

Turnover.

The Wolves staggered.

But Dirga?

He didn’t run.

He walked it.

Let them feel it.

Let them breathe in the shift.

Let them understand—

The tempo wasn’t theirs anymore.

He raised one hand.

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

And the court...

shifted.

Like stage lights fading into perfect alignment.

Spacing pulsed tighter.

Trajectories snapped to rhythm.

Rikuya moved like he already knew what Dirga would do two passes ahead.

Taiga rolled half a second early—and it was exactly right.

Rei curled opposite—pulling Haru with him, dragging space open like unraveling thread.

And Aizawa?

He vanished.

Not literally.

But in the Wolves’ eyes, in their radar—

He disappeared.

Minato scanned.

Where—?

And then—

There.

Cutting across the seam, from the elbow to the short corner.

No noise. No trail.

Just motion.

Dirga didn’t even glance.

He fired the ball—

Blind.

Strike.

Aizawa caught it in stride.

One step.

No wasted motion.

Finger roll.

57 – 53.

...

Gaito slapped the ball, voice tight with urgency.

"Push!"

The Wolves surged.

Minato sprinted ahead, waving off the pass.

"Let me."

He didn’t ask.

He took.

Caught on the move, planted in the high post.

Rikuya dropped to wall him off.

Aizawa chased across the angle, cutting him off shoulder-first.

Minato turned.

One dribble.

Two.

Contact.

Aizawa held. Stayed on his feet.

Minato spun out.

Turnaround jumper.

Soft arc.

Swish.

57 – 55.

No words.

No nods.

Just war.

...

Dirga didn’t hesitate.

He exploded.

Pushed forward like a fuse chasing the spark.

Midcourt in three strides.

And the resistance?

Didn’t touch him.

Haru collided into his shoulder mid-run—

And bounced off like air.

Phantom Drive: Fully active.

His body flowed like steel wrapped in silk.

Exploding, decelerating, shifting momentum without ever breaking rhythm.

Minato rotated to cut him off.

Dirga didn’t flinch.

He slipped past—two defenders juked clean.

The Untouchable: Triggered.

Everything locked in.

His feet moved like ink strokes.

His vision split seconds ahead.

His balance went ghost-clean.

He hit the paint—

Then didn’t shoot.

He stopped.

Planted.

And without looking—

Kicked out.

Left wing. Aizawa.

Clean.

No hand up.

No contest.

He caught it.

Rose.

Release.

Swish.

59 – 55.

The gym erupted.

But beneath the sound—

It wasn’t chaos.

It was a pulse.

The sound of a team breathing in unison.

"This isn’t basketball—it’s choreography!"

"And Dirga’s flowing like he sees every heartbeat in advance!"

...

But Gaito wasn’t finished.

He came back with fury.

Drove straight into Dirga’s chest—shoulder down, eyes locked.

Dirga absorbed the contact. Slid. Cut off the first step.

Gaito spun.

Hesitated.

Then kicked it to Haru at the wing.

Rei stepped up—late.

Gaito cut baseline.

Rei recovered, but the delay left a crack.

Aizawa stepped in from the help-side.

Minato’s voice rang out from behind the arc.

"NOW!"

Gaito twisted mid-step—reverse pass.

Back to Minato at the top of the key.

Open.

Clean.

Shot up—

Bang.

59 – 57.

Two points.

And suddenly, it was back within one possession.

The crowd roared—

But Dirga didn’t flinch.

He exhaled.

He could feel Flow State humming in his ribs.

Pushing. Beckoning. Whispering to unleash it.

But he shook his head.

No. Not yet.

Let’s finish this without burning it all.

Let’s end it clean.

He didn’t need to overpower them.

Not when he could out-think them.

...

[Tempo Sight: Godframe – Activated | 45 Seconds Remaining]

The world unfolded in pulses.

Time slowed.

The court fractured into precision-coded pathways.

Defenders flared red. Teammates blazed in blue. Passing angles shimmered—transient veins of opportunity flickering in and out of existence.

Dirga’s eyes didn’t blink.

He saw everything.

Gaito hedged too high—anticipating a screen that hadn’t even happened.

Riku lagged in the paint, late on help.

Minato? Already sliding wide—cheating early toward Aizawa’s zone.

Perfect.

Dirga paused mid-step.

Froze the floor.

Then—snap-pass behind his back.

Taiga.

Sliding silently into the weakside pocket.

Caught it like it was scripted.

One dribble.

Layup.

61 – 57.

"They’re not calling plays—they’re syncing minds!"

"This is Maestro’s basketball. Dirga isn’t leading. He’s composing!"

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