CHAPTER 118: HORIZON VS TOYONAKA : ECHOES AT THE BUZZER 3

[ Active Skill Flow State: ACTIVATED ]

[ Pressure Detected: MAXIMUM ]

[ Attribute Boost: 300% ]

[ Timer: 3 Minutes Remaining ]

A pulse cracked through Dirga’s core.

Snap.

His eyes widened.

The court blurred—then sharpened.

Every outline, every bead of sweat, every twitching muscle on the opposing side came into razor clarity.

His body?

Reborn.

The fatigue?

Purged.

Veins humming.

Lungs no longer choking.

Muscles tightened and responsive, ready to detonate at his command.

It felt like stepping back into divinity.

"Time to break it."

Dirga brought it up.

Not slow.

Not rushed.

But with intent—like a hunter stalking prey.

Toyonaka set up their defense.

Yuto waited.

He noticed it immediately—

The change.

His feet shifted.

His shoulders tensed.

Dirga wasn’t just fast now.

He was inevitable.

He nodded once to Aizawa.

Another time to Taiga.

The plan clicked.

Rikuya moved up from the paint,

Set a ghost screen on the right.

Dirga rejected it.

Then—exploded left.

Yuto bit—

Dirga stopped mid-step—hesi.

Yuto froze.

Gone.

Dirga ghosted past him, slicing between Daichi and Shunpei.

Shunpei reached—

Too late.

Dirga was already airborne.

Not for a dunk.

Not for a layup.

But for a high-arching floater that kissed the sky.

Time stretched.

He felt the wind across his wrist.

The light from the gym ceiling like stars above a battlefield.

The ball spun—

Swish.

67 – 66.

Dirga landed like a shadow.

No celebration. No grin.

Just fire in his eyes—focused and unblinking.

He turned.

The kill wasn’t over.

Toyonaka’s offense returned like a machine.

But now—

The rhythm was broken.

Their confidence was cracked.

Masaki took the ball, and as always—he led the charge.

But Dirga was already there.

Not waiting.

Hunting.

"Taiga, switch. I got him."

No hesitation.

Taiga nodded and slid back into the post.

Masaki vs. Dirga.

Two flames clashing in the open.

One man rising.

The other trying not to fall.

Masaki dribbled.

He snapped his wrist—crossed left.

Right.

A stutter.

Another jab.

Eyes burning holes into Dirga’s chest, looking for the crack.

But Dirga—

Dirga didn’t move.

Didn’t bite.

Didn’t breathe.

The Flow State flooded his instincts.

He didn’t react late.

He anticipated early.

Masaki spun.

Dirga was already there.

A hand.

A flick.

The ball popped loose.

Stolen.

And like a bullet from a gun,

Dirga ran.

Aizawa followed.

Rei sprinted up the right wing.

Rikuya and Taiga thundered behind like heavy artillery.

Toyonaka scrambled.

Defensive lines shattered, falling back in desperation.

Masaki turned—chasing from behind like a storm refusing to die.

But Dirga?

He wasn’t rushing.

He was reading.

One glance.

Aizawa on his left.

Rei on the right.

Rikuya filling the paint.

Masaki was closing.

"They think I’ll take the easy two."

Dirga slowed.

Stopped.

Step. Back.

Masaki slid past, caught in the momentum.

Dirga rose.

The crowd inhaled.

Release.

The gym fell into slow motion—

His form perfect.

His hand flicked.

The arc pure.

Swish.

70 – 66.

Four-point lead.

More than one possession.

A dagger through the rhythm.

The gym exploded.

The Horizon bench leapt to their feet—

Takeshi-sensei roaring with a fist in the air.

Coach Tsugawa clapped so hard it echoed.

Sayaka dropped her water bottles screaming.

From the stands—

"HORIZON! HORIZON! HORIZON!"

Ayaka’s voice rose above them all, hands cupped around her mouth, leading the chant like a general on the hill.

The stands were a sea of black and gold thunder.

And Toyonaka?

They felt it.

The tilt.

The shift.

The gravity pulling away from them.

Masaki’s face as he walked back to inbound?

Tight jaw.

Furrowed brows.

Eyes lost somewhere between rage and fear.

Dirga had seized the court.

...

Possession after possession—

Dirga didn’t just lead.

He dictated.

He wasn’t just the point guard.

He was the conductor.

The offense bent to his will. The rhythm pulsed to his beat.

Every player moved as if hearing a silent music only Dirga could hear.

Tap. Pass. Slide. Cut.

Rei floated along the three-point line—ready. Always ready.

Aizawa carved lanes through the wing like a blade through cloth.

Taiga ghosted behind screens—flashing into open gaps.

Rikuya anchored the paint—shoulders wide, timing perfect.

And Dirga?

Dirga didn’t just pass the ball.

He passed with purpose.

Laser bounce pass to Aizawa slicing through the lane—score.

No-look dish to Rikuya rolling—slam.

Quick swing to Rei in the corner—swish.

When defenders blitzed him, he passed.

When they sagged off, he pulled up.

When they guessed—

He punished

them for guessing.

He was unpredictable.

But more than that—he was untouchable.

And on the other end?

Masaki struggled.

The shine in his eyes was fading, the glow dulled by fatigue, frustration, and Dirga’s shadow.

Because Dirga wasn’t just leading Horizon’s offense.

He was locking down Toyonaka’s ace.

One man, both swords.

Attack and shield.

Masaki tried to shake him.

Spin. Hesitate. Cross.

But every move found Dirga still there—a phantom that wouldn’t fall.

Masaki drew contact.

No whistle.

He kicked it out.

Miss.

He tried to drive.

Stripped.

He looked at the scoreboard—

81 – 72.

1:00 remaining.

The number hit like a slap.

Nine points.

One minute.

A one-possession game had become a chasm.

The arena boiled with energy.

The chant for Horizon now felt inevitable.

"HORIZON! HORIZON!"

Ayaka screamed so hard her voice cracked.

The stands were fists in the air. Feet stomping. Rhythm pounding.

Dirga stood at midcourt, breathing fire.

Chest heaving.

Eyes still sharp.

Even now—

He wasn’t done.

Toyonaka cracked.

Timeout.

...

He wasn’t done.

Dirga stood tall, chest rising slow.

He hadn’t sat.

He wouldn’t sit.

Because this court was his.

Timeout.

Toyonaka Bench

The huddle was quiet—too quiet.

No one was breathing easy.

Masaki sat, towel over his head, steam rising from his shoulders.

Drops of sweat fell like rain from his chin to the polished wood.

His chest pumped like an engine, but his eyes...

His eyes burned.

Coach Reina’s voice cut through the fog.

"Focus. Listen. We shut down Dirga—we win.

He’s the maestro. The rhythm of Horizon runs through him."

Her finger jabbed the clipboard so hard the marker tip snapped.

"Yuto, you’re our lock. Full press. Face-guard. No air. No daylight."

"Masaki—offense runs through you. You bring us back."

The team nodded, but doubt hung like a curtain.

Until—

Masaki dropped the towel.

His eyes pierced through the noise.

His voice was calm. Cold. Sharp.

"No," he said. "We’re not here to shut him down.

I’m going to destroy him."