I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It-Chapter 156: Horizon vs. Kurotsuki : The Conductor’s Vision 1

Half Time

Toyonaka Horizon High 32 - Nagano Kurotsuki High 27

"That was an intense first and second quarter."

"Yeah—and it proves something. Basketball’s a game of adjustments."

Both teams filed off the court.

Silence met strategy.

...

Horizon Locker Room

Coach Tsugawa didn’t start with a diagram.

He started with a question.

"Tell me what you see."

Dirga spoke first.

"They’re not setting screens anymore. They’re misaligning us before the play even starts."

Aizawa followed, nodding.

"Every pass pulls someone just far enough out—to make the next move easier."

Taiga clenched his jaw.

"That guy, Sho—he doesn’t block. He waits. Waits for you to fall first."

Kaito leaned forward.

Towel still around his neck.

Chest rising slower now.

But his eyes—sharp. Burning.

"It’s like they’re not attacking us at all."

He paused. "They just make us step wrong."

Another beat.

"Then punish us for trying to fix it."

Coach Tsugawa exhaled—long, steady.

Then—

He drew one clean line down the center of his clipboard.

"Then stop correcting."

His eyes swept the room.

He pointed.

"From now on—we commit first."

"We make them react."

Eyes to Dirga.

"You control the speed."

Then to Kaito.

"You control the fire."

Kaito nodded, slow and quiet.

But his hand hovered near his ribs—still.

He knew this fire wouldn’t last forever.

And somehow, that made him burn brighter.

Coach added, voice low but firm:

"Kaito—you’ll enter with five minutes left in the third."

"Not like before. No early flare and rest."

"You close this quarter. Strong."

Kaito looked up.

"Okay, Coach," he said.

But behind his voice, behind the stillness of his body—

Something sparked.

And it wasn’t quiet at all.

...

Kurotsuki Bench

Coach Renji didn’t approach.

He stood still, arms folded.

Waiting for them to sit first.

Not a word until they did.

Sho took the end seat, legs folded, eyes steady.

Toshiro wiped his palms once, then clasped them tight.

Taniguchi leaned forward—elbows on knees, breathing low through his nose.

Only then did Renji speak.

"We’re in the flow."

A pause.

Weighted. Calm.

"Hold it longer."

He turned to Toshiro.

"Don’t chase the ball."

A breath.

"Chase the next reaction."

Toshiro nodded once—no more, no less.

To Sho:

"Still no contests."

Sho’s reply came smooth, flat, unbothered.

"I am the contest."

Then to Taniguchi.

No diagram. No tactics.

Just a name.

"Kaito?"

Taniguchi didn’t look up.

Didn’t need to.

"He’s back," he said.

A breath passed. Quiet.

Then he added:

"But he’s chasing the past."

Renji gave a faint smile.

A knowing one.

"Then all we need to do..."

"...is keep him there."

No clap.

No chant.

No "let’s go."

Just five players rising—

Like they’d never sat at all.

...

The gym lights hummed.

Faintly.

Like a power line thrumming above an empty street.

The third quarter didn’t begin with a roar.

It began with a breath.

Slow. Held. Measured.

Horizon possession.

Dirga took the inbound from Aizawa.

Eyes narrowed.

Hands loose by his sides.

Not to speed the game up—

But to flatten the pulse.

No cuts.

No bursts.

Just... glide.

Taiga floated to the high post.

Rikuya slipped baseline.

Aizawa curled into the slot.

Rei set a soft brush screen—then vanished.

Kurotsuki didn’t bite.

Didn’t chase.

They absorbed.

Like fog swallowing footsteps.

But Dirga didn’t press.

He shut off instinct.

Switched to instruction.

Watched. Waited.

One bounce.

Two.

Then—

On the third bounce from Toshiro’s left heel—

That was the moment.

The trap flexed. A seam cracked open.

He fired.

Low bounce pass—perfect angle—right into Rei’s rhythm.

Curl. Mid-post.

One dribble. Pull-up.

Swish.

34 – 27.

No roar from the bench.

No thunder. No fire.

Just shoulders easing—two degrees lighter.

A score.

Not a spark.

But a foothold.

...

Kurotsuki inbounded.

No urgency. No signal.

Just rhythm.

Eiji brought it up the floor with the gait of a man walking through a memory.

Not fast. Not slow.

Just exact.

Toshiro met him at the wing.

No command.

Just understanding.

One dribble.

Pitch.

Toshiro caught—eyes scanning.

Taiga shaded left.

Too far.

An inch was enough.

Sho ghosted behind Rikuya’s blindside—

an echo of presence.

But he wasn’t the option.

Not yet.

Taniguchi curved from the far corner.

Low. Slow. Deliberate.

A ghost behind the curtain.

Then—

A hard cut.

Inside shoulder. Back foot jab.

Slip under Rei’s outstretched arm.

Toshiro fired the pass—without looking.

Taniguchi caught it mid-cut.

No dribble.

Just one-foot gather—

Layup.

Off-glass.

34 – 29.

...

Dirga blinked.

That wasn’t a set.

It was a conversation.

And Horizon had just been talked around.

He crossed halfcourt again.

No shout.

Just a twitch of the hand.

Taiga saw it.

Ghost screen—fake roll.

Aizawa curled to the strong side, dragging Sho—half a second of gravity.

Rei dropped to the corner.

Kurotsuki rotated early.

Too early.

Dirga skipped the ball like a stone over water—clean, low, fast.

Aizawa caught.

Rose.

Shot.

Clang.

Rim out.

Sho secured the rebound without leaving his feet.

No leap.

Just timing.

Back the other way.

Kurotsuki didn’t sprint.

They flowed.

Sho sealed early—firm, wide.

Eiji faked the bounce.

Toshiro ghosted off the corner, baiting the switch.

No ball.

Then—

Sho slipped the seal.

Right under Rikuya’s hip.

Eiji lasered the pass.

Sho caught. Pump.

One step.

Jump hook.

Soft. Spinning.

Dead center.

34 – 31.

...

Dirga walked the ball up.

Jaw tight.

He could feel it again.

Not collapse.

Just...

Symmetry.

The game wasn’t fast.

It wasn’t slow.

It just was.

Like breath.

Dirga brought it up again.

No isolation.

No flare cuts.

No flash.

Just alignment.

Taiga curled right—quiet, tight.

Rei lifted half a step from the corner, subtle enough to draw a shift.

Sho didn’t react.

Which meant—

Toshiro would.

Dirga held.

One beat.

Two.

Then fired—

Skip pass.

Aizawa caught it clean.

This time—no early jump.

No hesitation.

He didn’t shoot.

He drove.

Sho rotated late—half-step off balance.

He had to commit.

Had to step in.

Aizawa dumped it low—

Rikuya.

Up.

Two hands.

Dunk.

36 – 31.

Dirga didn’t pump his fist.

Didn’t shout.

But he let out a breath.

One answer.

Now they just needed the next one.

...

Kurotsuki ball.

They inbounded without a whisper.

Taniguchi drifted early.

Not to the corner.

To the mid-elbow—unnatural. Unscripted.

Sho slipped behind him, dragging Rikuya with a soft decoy seal.

Rei looked left.

Just for half a second.

That was enough.

Toshiro curved behind.

Caught the pass.

Didn’t shoot.

Just moved it.

Reflex. No thought.

Taniguchi.

Wide open.

Catch. Release.

No arc.

Just muscle memory.

Swish.

36 – 34.

"They’re not just executing..."

"They’re echoing."

"You can’t tell which cut is real—"

"Until it’s too late."

...

Horizon Ball.

Rei took the inbound this time.

Dirga crossed halfcourt—then paused.

The rhythm pressed against his lungs like a tide.

Rising. Subtle. Heavy.

He tapped his left hip.

Signal.

Taiga lifted—ghost screen.

Slipped the moment contact threatened.

Dirga didn’t pass.

He kept it.

Surged left.

Sho stepped up—too slow.

Dirga floated it—clean arc over the hedge.

Taiga.

Catch.

Drop step.

Rise.

Soft finish.

38 – 34.

"DIRGA THREADS THE NEEDLE—AND TAIGA DELIVERS AGAIN!"

Kurotsuki turned.

No frustration.

No anger.

Just formation.

They weren’t playing emotion.

They were maintaining temperature.

...

Kurotsuki Ball.

Eiji brought it up.

This time, Toshiro started far side.

Then—

He walked into the lane.

That’s all.

He walked.

Sho mirrored.

Taniguchi stalled weak side.

No motion.

No screen.

Just... placement.

Dirga squinted.

It didn’t look like a play.

It looked like a mistake.

Then—

Toshiro stopped.

Sho sealed.

Quiet. Sharp.

The angles shifted—

like doors opening down a hallway.

Bounce pass.

Sho caught it off one foot.

Didn’t jump high.

Didn’t flex.

Just rose—

like mist.

Bucket.

38 – 36.

...

Dirga’s ball.

He stood near halfcourt.

Ball under one arm.

Shoes resting light on hardwood.

But in his chest—

A war.

Not the kind with shouting.

Not chaos.

Just... tension.

Tension between the rhythm in his brain—

And the chaos in his instincts.

They’re matching us now.

No—

Outreading us.

We’re running plays.

They’re answering possibilities.

Dirga wiped his hand on his shorts.

Rei was steady.

Aizawa was burning slow.

Taiga? Rock solid.

Rikuya? Containing Sho like no one should’ve.

And him?

He was seeing the cracks too late.

Kurotsuki didn’t force turnovers.

They didn’t block shots.

They just made you step wrong—

Then punished you for correcting.

Just like Coach Tsugawa said:

So stop correcting.

Dirga scanned the halfcourt.

Horizon reset.

No urgency.

No trap.

But even in the silence—

He felt the net closing.

Kurotsuki didn’t press.

They leaned.

Made every screen feel scripted.

Every pass a little too obvious.

Rei’s cut.

Aizawa’s lift.

He already knew—this ends in a contested shot.

So instead of running the set—

He stopped.

Mid-dribble.

Right at the elbow.

Dead center.

Toshiro’s eyes twitched.

Sho braced—expecting bounce or skip.

Taniguchi tensed at the wing, ready to jump a switch.

Dirga just stood there.

Holding the ball.

Feeling the floor breathe.

You’re reading plays, Dirga.

They’re reading patterns.

So he made one choice.

He did nothing.

Held it.

Five seconds.

Six.

Just breathing.

Waiting.

Until the first defender twitched—

Sho.

Stepped, just slightly, toward Taiga.

Dirga moved.

One dribble left.

Step-back.

Kick to Aizawa—far wing.

Late defense.

Catch.

Shot.

In.

40 – 36.

He backpedaled slowly.

Not smiling.

Not satisfied.

Just... listening.

To the floor.

To the weight of five defenders trying to anticipate something—

That hadn’t even been called.

He exhaled.

If I can keep them guessing... I can slow them.

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