CHAPTER 100: HEIAN GAKUEN VS TOYONAKA : THUNDER AND STONE

Before Yuto could even open his mouth to apologize, Masaki spoke first.

His voice was hoarse, but the words were clear.

"We need you to win this game."

Everyone froze.

Even Coach Reina paused.

There was no pride in Masaki’s voice. No arrogance.

Only the quiet admission of a warrior reaching his limit.

And in that moment—something shifted between them.

Yuto stood.

Looked Masaki in the eye.

And nodded.

"...Then let’s finish this. Together."

...

The Fourt Quarter

The atmosphere inside the gym was electric. The crowd held its breath as the final quarter started, every eye watching the shift—Toyonaka was no longer divided.

They had become one.

Masaki, the Black Thunder, was in full storm mode. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t question. He exploded off screens, hit step-back threes, slashed into the paint with power and grace, and took contact like it was fuel. His body screamed with fatigue, but his heart roared louder.

Yuto, now back on the floor, anchored the defense.

He didn’t just defend—he led.

He barked out switches, rotated with perfect timing, and anticipated Heian Gakuen’s triangle attack with surgical precision. More than once, he disrupted passing lanes, forcing the Emperor’s system into awkward positions. When Reiji tried to isolate, Yuto was there. When Riku pulled up, a hand was always in his face.

This was the Yuto Dirga remembered from his past life: a general on the court, a wall on defense, and a heartbeat his team could rally around.

Masaki and Yuto.

Thunder and Stone.

Together, they turned Toyonaka from a broken engine into a roaring machine.

But Heian Gakuen... wasn’t a team that broke easily.

They were champions for a reason.

Their three core players—Reiji, Riku, and Ayanokoji—entered their own zone. Reiji with his insane footwork and court awareness, Riku with his deep shooting and on-ball defense, and Ayanokoji... with calm, deadly patience.

No matter how hard Toyonaka pushed, Heian Gakuen answered. Blow for blow. Point for point.

With every basket, the crowd rose and fell in a wave of noise.

Dirga, in the crowd, could feel his heartbeat syncing with the tempo of the game. This wasn’t just a semifinal.

This was a battle of kings.

The score: Heian Gakuen 88 – Toyonaka 86.

Only 12 seconds left.

Timeout, Toyonaka.

In the huddle, Coach Reina kept it simple.

"Masaki," she said, meeting his eyes, "last shot is yours."

Masaki looked at Yuto. For the first time, there was no tension—only trust.

Yuto nodded. "We’ve got your back."

The crowd stood.

The buzzer sounded.

Masaki received the inbound at the top of the arc. Ten seconds. He dribbled once, twice. Heian Gakuen hedged with a double—Reiji and Riku. He faked left.

Step-back. Right.

Space.

He rose—high—above two defenders.

Three.

Two.

One—

Bang.

Net.

Pure.

Tie game. 88 – 88.

The gym erupted. The buzzer screamed. The commentator nearly lost his voice shouting:

"MASAKI!! THE BLACK THUNDER WITH ICE IN HIS VEINS!!! THIS IS INSANE—WE’RE GOING TO OVERTIME!!"

Fans were on their feet, waving towels, screaming.

Even Dirga, watching from the stands, couldn’t stay still. His heart pounded like drums in his chest. His palms were sweating.

He wanted to be down there.

He wanted to play.

To feel that heat. That pressure. That glory.

This wasn’t just a semifinal anymore.

This was war.

And it wasn’t over yet.

...

Just when everyone thought the drama had peaked, overtime began—and somehow, it got even more intense.

First Overtime.

The energy from Masaki’s buzzer-beater still pulsed through Toyonaka. They came out like a storm, surging with momentum and fire. The offense clicked, the defense held firm. For the first few minutes, it felt like Heian Gakuen might finally break.

But champions don’t fall so easily.

Heian Gakuen showed why they were called "The Emperor." Not just because of their talent—but because of their will.

They clawed their way back, possession by possession, led by Reiji and Riku’s unrelenting pressure. With just seconds left, Ayanokoji hit a mid-range jumper to tie it again.

98 – 98.

The arena exploded again.

Second Overtime.

Now fatigue began to show. Players were drenched in sweat, hunched over between whistles. Everyone was gasping for air. Substitutions came fast, rotations shuffled, but no one wanted to give an inch.

Both teams played like wild dogs unleashed—pure instinct, pure heart.

Basket for basket. Dive after dive.

And once again—it ended even.

114 – 114.

Third Overtime.

By now, it was no longer about skill or tactics—it was about heart.

But in that pressure, Toyonaka’s defense hardened. The fatigue didn’t break them—it bonded them. Yuto had finally decoded the patterns of Heian Gakuen’s triangle offense. He shouted calls, jumped lanes, read plays before they even formed.

Heian Gakuen began to struggle.

Every shot was contested.

Every pass was a risk.

Masaki, even after all the minutes he’d played, was still going. His steps a little slower, sure—but his eyes burned the same. He had become more than just a scorer.

He had become a magnet—drawing attention, creating chaos.

The clock ticked down.

Score: Heian Gakuen 127 – Toyonaka 125.

One final possession.

Three-point difference.

Masaki dribbled up the court. The gym held its breath.

He let the clock wind down to the last ten seconds. The defense tightened. He drove—exploding toward the paint with that signature burst.

Three defenders collapsed on him.

But just as they jumped—he passed.

To Yuto.

Wide open at the top of the arc.

Time slowed.

Yuto caught the ball, feet set.

He rose.

Released.

Swish.

127 – 128.

Silence. Then chaos.

The crowd erupted.

People were on their feet. Flags waving. Phones recording. Students crying. Coaches hugging. Commentators shouting over each other:

"HE HITS IT! YUTO HITS THE GAME-WINNER! MASAKI WITH THE TRUST, YUTO WITH THE DAGGER—TOYONAKA HAS DONE IT!"

On the bench, the Toyonaka players jumped in the air. Masaki pumped his fist once, then fell to his knees in exhaustion and joy. Yuto pointed to him, eyes wide with fire, and mouthed, "We did it."

On the other side, Heian Gakuen looked stunned. Beaten—but not disgraced. They bowed respectfully, acknowledging a battle unlike any they’d fought.

Dirga sat frozen in the crowd, heart racing like he’d just played every minute himself. His hand clenched the railing in front of him.

This... this was basketball.

This was the road to greatness.

And now—it was set.

The final.

Horizon vs. Toyonaka.

Again.