CHAPTER 114: HORIZON VS TOYONAKA : HEAT WITHOUT CEILING 1

Third Quarter Begins.

The stadium buzzed. A low hum of tension ran through the bleachers—nerves, cheers, hope—flickering like static before the storm broke again.

Horizon’s five stepped out: Kaito at the helm—eyes sharp, breath calm. Rei, ready at the wing. Aizawa, flexing his wrists, shaking loose the cold. Taiga, silent and square-shouldered. Rikuya, patrolling the paint like a sentinel.

The whistle blew.

Kaito received the inbound.

He didn’t wait.

No slow build-up. No setup.

He sprinted forward—

Fast. Too fast.

Like a slingshot had let loose.

As soon as he crossed the half-court line—

Taiga was there.

Set like a wall. An early screen. Tight. Precise.

Toyonaka stuttered—

Caught off guard.

A glitch in their rhythm.

Kaito burst off the screen—

Acceleration. Like a gear kicked into overdrive.

Defenders scrambled, unsure whether to switch or fight through.

Too late.

Kaito reached the elbow.

Planted.

Rose.

A clean mid-range jumper.

Swish.

38 – 37.

The net snapped back like a whip.

Masaki wiped his palms on his shorts.

No time to dwell.

He stepped toward Yuto for the inbound.

"Give it," he said, low and steady.

Yuto didn’t speak. He just nodded—

Because they both felt it.

The shift.

Kaito’s jumper wasn’t just two points—

It was a crack.

A fissure in the tempo Toyonaka had crafted, possession by possession, like a layered symphony.

Yuto inbounded.

Masaki caught the ball.

Eyes scanning.

Every angle. Every shadow.

Taiga.

Not Dirga.

Didn’t matter.

Dribble. One. Two.

Cross. Left. Hezi. Snap.

But Taiga didn’t bite.

Not this time.

He slid with him, sharp, deliberate—

Because before the quarter began, Dirga whispered something.

"Masaki loves the pause. Don’t bite it—mirror it."

And Taiga did.

Still, Masaki was Masaki.

A storm doesn’t stop. It breaks through.

With extra effort—

A shoulder dip and torque of speed—

He surged past Taiga.

But Rikuya was waiting.

Towering. Silent. Steady.

Masaki stepped—fake shot.

Rikuya didn’t flinch.

Didn’t rise.

Because Dirga told him, too.

"Don’t jump first. Let Masaki show you his hand."

Masaki tried again.

Turn. Pivot. Shoulder fake.

Nothing.

Rikuya remained planted, arms wide, presence like a wall that refused to crack.

So Masaki spun—

Back to Rikuya—

Trying to go low, into a post-up move.

But that was Rikuya’s world.

You don’t win using his weapon.

Locked.

Shut.

No room.

Masaki glanced—first time this game—

And saw Yuto slipping behind.

Dish.

A pass.

Masaki gave it up.

The crowd murmured. That was rare.

The black thunder—passing?

Yuto caught it.

Instant reaction—

Rei reached. Slid. Missed.

Yuto glided by.

Masaki reversed direction—

A sudden cut.

Yuto lobbed it.

Masaki soared.

Behind Rikuya now.

Air beneath his feet.

Eyes locked on the rim.

BOOM.

Two hands. Dunk.

38 – 39.

A beautiful sequence.

A rare collaboration.

But—

It exposed something.

For the first time,

Masaki had to pass to score.

And Dirga—

Still on the bench, towel over his head, chest heaving,

Eyes sharp despite the fatigue.

He saw it.

That subtle hesitation. That pass.

A crack in the thunder.

Kaito caught the inbound pass and flowed forward like water under pressure—

Controlled, steady.

He spotted Rei—

Wide open in the corner.

Whip.

The pass shot through the air like a sniper bullet.

Rei reached out—

Catch. Gather. Rise. Shoot—

PAAKK!!

Haruto.

Like a shadow erupting from the ground, his palm smacked the ball mid-air.

DENIED.

The ball scattered loose.

Taiga was already there.

Snatching it from the scramble like a lion pouncing on prey.

Masaki lunged in—of course he would—

Trying to wrench it away.

But Rikuya set a fast screen—blunt and solid.

Taiga spun. Drove.

Aizawa cut.

Zip.

The pass threaded through the defense like a blade.

Aizawa rose—

Layup. Simple.

CRASH.

Yuto came flying from behind.

Another block.

Haruto scooped the rebound.

One motion—

Outlet to Masaki.

And now—

Black Thunder returned.

Sprinting down the court with only one thing in his eyes: the rim.

But Taiga wouldn’t let it happen again.

He chased.

Hard.

Every step burning.

Masaki slowed—

Fake stop.

But Taiga had learned.

No hesitation.

No overbite.

He slid in sync.

Locked.

Masaki clicked into a floater—

Mid-air finesse, his signature—

But Taiga had already launched—

PAAAKK!!

Second block.

Out of bounds.

Another shift. Another roar.

In just thirty seconds—

Possession changed three times.

Two monster blocks.

And now—

The game wasn’t just fast.

It was violent. Brilliant. Blazing.

The court was on fire.

From the Horizon bench, Dirga’s fingers curled into his towel.

"Yeah..."

He smiled through the breathlessness.

"Let’s keep setting it ablaze."

At least a pause to breathe.

A moment to recalibrate.

But the game didn’t allow it.

The third quarter had just begun—

And already it was a blur of motion, heat, and adrenaline.

Toyonaka inbounded.

Shunpei tossed the ball to Yuto, who immediately scanned the floor.

Pick and roll.

Classic setup.

Masaki approached.

But Yuto rejected it.

Slashed into the paint himself.

Except—

Rikuya was waiting.

A wall of muscle and timing.

Yuto bailed mid-step—

Kick out to Shunpei.

Quick swing to Daichi.

Then—

Off-ball screen.

Hiroki hammered a screen for Masaki, who darted around it like lightning.

Open. Too open.

Daichi saw it—

Snap pass.

Masaki. Elbow. Rise. Fire.

The ball hit the rim—

Ping!

Spin. One.

Taiga and Rikuya locked into the paint.

Haruto wedged in like a tank from the weak side.

Spin. Two.

Crowd holding their breath.

Spin—Three.

Clink.

It rolled off.

And the paint exploded.

Bodies crashed. Elbows flew. Shoes screeched.

Rikuya—

Rose like a mountain through the chaos.

Secured.

Snatched the ball with two hands, ripped it down, and turned—

Outlet to Aizawa.

And then it was a sprint.

Aizawa took off like he was shot from a cannon.

No defenders behind him.

Whether it was fatigue, hesitation, or just the overwhelming pace—

Toyonaka couldn’t catch him.

One step. Two. Layup.

Swish.

40 – 39.

A long possession.

A broken play.

A scramble.

A score.

But now?

The heat was rising.

Not just in the gym—

But on the court.

Every step.

Every cut.

Every screen.

Met with resistance.

The game’s intensity kept climbing.

Like a fever without a ceiling.

Offense slowed.

Defense locked in.

Every possession stretched—

Drawn-out battles of footwork, grit, and timing.

In the next three minutes, only four more baskets fell.

44 – 44.

Tie game.

Sweat dripping like rain.

Breathing turning into growls.

And on the court—

Kaito start to breath heavily hand gripping his chest.

His shoulders rose and fell in shallow bursts.

The General had run through his own limits.