CHAPTER 113: HORIZON VS TOYONAKA : THE QUIET BETWEEN STORMS

The buzzer had barely faded when both teams headed toward their respective locker rooms. Sweat clung to their bodies like armor worn through battle. The crowd buzzed above, but in the tunnel... it was a different kind of quiet.

As Horizon walked down the hallway, Dirga slowed.

His eyes caught three figures waiting near the exit to the stands.

Buzz. Yu. Renjiro.

Even exhausted, Dirga’s focus didn’t waver.

Buzz—his iconic buzzcut with lightning patterns carved into both sides of his head—stood tall, arms crossed.

Yu—calm, unassuming, with the demeanor of a regular guy.

Renjiro—quiet as always, draped in his signature all-black, emo-style hoodie, his eyes barely visible under messy bangs.

Dirga exhaled. "Buzz-san..."

At the sound of his name, the rest of the Horizon squad slowed.

"Yo, Dirga." Buzz gave a small smirk. "Gotta keep buzzing, kid. Win this, alright?"

Yu grinned. "Nice quarter. That block at the end, Taiga—solid stuff."

"Thank you, Yu-san," Taiga said, chest still heaving.

Renjiro didn’t say anything. Just raised a thumb and gave a shy little nod.

Dirga smiled faintly. He’s weirdly cute in his own way.

Buzz turned to Coach Tsugawa, voice dropping slightly.

"Coach... like I said back at camp. After summer, I’m heading to Europe. Turning down the offers here."

Coach Tsugawa nodded with understanding. "Make it count, Buzz."

By now, some of the nearby fans had started to notice.

Gasps and whispers rippled—after all, Buzz, Yu, and Renjiro weren’t just any guests.

They were legends in the making.

Famous college basketball players in Japan.

The Horizon team offered respectful bows and continued on their way—hearts steadier than before.

...

Meanwhile, Masaki and his team approached the locker room from the opposite side.

Two familiar figures leaned casually against the wall—Sota and Masaru.

"Saw that last move," Sota said, adjusting his glasses with a nerdy grin. "Masaki, you’re starting to play more and more like Buzz. Maybe he infected you or something."

Masaru laughed, clapping Masaki on the back. "You guys better win. I don’t wanna hear excuses later!"

Their presence gave the Toyonaka team a moment of levity. Masaki shared a look with Masaru—brief, but meaningful. Words weren’t always needed between old friends.

After a short exchange of advice and encouragement, the Toyonaka team continued to the locker room.

...

Horizon Locker Room

The air buzzed—not from panic, but from purpose.

Coach Tsugawa stood tall at the front of the locker room, voice firm but proud.

"Nice quarter," he said. "You kept the pressure up and pushed them to their limit. Dirga—good job containing Masaki."

Dirga nodded, still catching his breath.

"We’ll keep the momentum rolling into the third. But we’ll rest Dirga and Hiroki to start."

He turned to the whiteboard, outlining the new lineup.

"Kaito at point guard. Rei at shooting guard. Aizawa at small forward. Taiga power forward. Rikuya—anchor the paint at center."

Then his tone shifted—sharper.

"I expect more from you two—Taiga, Rikuya. With Dirga out, it’s on you to keep Masaki in check. No free lanes. No free rhythm. Force him to fight for every inch."

"Yes, Coach!" the team responded in unison.

As the players began to stand, Dirga motioned quietly.

"Taiga. Rikuya. Over here."

The three gathered in a corner.

Dirga leaned in, voice low, calm, but intense.

"Masaki has habits—subtle ones. When he turns, how he shifts his weight before a drive, the timing between his dribbles. I’ve watched him long enough to know when he’s about to explode. Here’s what to watch for..."

He shared everything—tells, tendencies, rhythms—even the small hesitations Masaki uses to bait defenders.

Taiga blinked in amazement.

"Damn, Dirga... you read him that deep?"

Dirga just nodded.

Rikuya clenched a fist. "Thank you. I won’t let him run wild this quarter. I’ll hold the line."

The fire was lit.

...

Toyonaka Locker Room

Coach Reina stood in front of the whiteboard, arms crossed, gaze fixed on Masaki.

"The pace is ours now. But let’s be clear—something unexpected happened out there."

She tapped her marker against the board sharply.

"That kid Dirga... he’s like steel. He stood up to your thunder, Masaki."

Masaki’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look angry—but his frustration was visible. That second quarter... Dirga had made him work.

"He gave 200% to disrupt your rhythm," Reina continued. "But he can’t do that every quarter. His body won’t last at that output. He forced you off-beat once—now it’s your turn to take the tempo back."

Masaki nodded slowly. "Yes, Coach."

"Toyonaka doesn’t follow anyone else’s rhythm. We set our own. So go out there... and burn them with it."

The team stood, fire building behind their eyes.

...

The halftime performance had ended, but the energy in the arena hadn’t died—it had transformed.

Spotlights cut across the court in golden arcs, flashing briefly over the hardwood floor. Music rumbled from the speakers like distant thunder. Cheerleaders exited in sharp formation, their pompoms swaying to the beat, as the announcer’s voice surged back into the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is it! After an explosive first half, the score stands at Toyonaka 37, Horizon 36. One point. One game. One dream!"

Across the packed stadium, the Horizon side roared to life.

A tidal wave of black, red, and gold flags surged above the crowd. Fans wore jerseys trimmed with gold embroidery, faces painted in streaks of crimson and midnight. The Horizon cheer squad, led by Ayaka, stood tall—arms raised, voices sharp and unified.

"HO-RI-ZON! HO-RI-ZON!"

Their chants echoed like a war drum.

On the opposite side of the gym, Toyonaka’s red-and-white storm pushed back just as fiercely. Cheers for Masaki and Yuto roared like surf pounding against a cliffside.

"BLACK THUNDER! BLACK THUNDER!"

The crowd had become a living thing. Pulsing. Waiting.

Even the commentators could barely contain themselves.

"I’ve never seen anything like this! Horizon’s defensive shift in the second quarter was incredible—Dirga locking Masaki down for a stretch that might go down in high school basketball history!"

"But don’t forget, Toyonaka struck back just as hard. Masaki’s floater in transition, Yuto’s surgical control—this is a battle of kings."

"And now the arena’s electric—especially with national college stars Buzz, Yu, and Renjiro in the house! Everyone’s watching this game!"

Then—

Toyonaka emerged.

The crowd leaned in as the gym lights caught on Masaki King stepping onto the court.

His skin, a rich blend of African and Japanese heritage, gleamed under the arena lights—black braids tied cleanly behind his head, swinging slightly with each step. His eyes burned with quiet fire. No smiles. No antics. Just focus.

He walked like he didn’t just own the court—he belonged to it.

Yuto followed, tapping his chest lightly, expression as cold as calculation. The rest of Toyonaka filed in behind them: Haruto, Daichi, Shunpei—each one tightening shoelaces, slapping backs, calling formations.

Then—

Horizon appeared.

Black uniforms shimmered under the lights, trimmed in red and gold.

Kaito led the pack—calm, calculating, with a shooter’s focus in his eyes.

Taiga and Rikuya followed, fists clenched, eyes locked in.

Rei and Aizawa took their places, loose and ready.

And at the back—Dirga and Hiroki

Not starting.

But not forgotten.

The towel draped around his neck. His gaze sharp. Watching every movement like a hawk waiting for the signal to strike. Flow may have faded, but the fire hadn’t.

He wasn’t the conductor now.

He was the blade in the sheath.

Waiting.