CHAPTER 132: TWELVE SCHOOLS, ONE CROWN

The bus rumbled to life at exactly 09:00 AM, rolling forward with a low growl as the Horizon High team began their long journey to Tokyo.

A seven to eight-hour ride.

Destination: the legendary Yoyogi National Gymnasium in Shibuya. Capacity: 13,000 roaring fans. Stage: the Week of Madness—where legends are born and dreams are broken.

But before the first tip-off, there was one ritual every team had to face:

The National Group Draw.

A random lottery to determine the bracket placement. Chaos, tension, and whispers of rigged luck.

And for Horizon, two representatives would face that wheel of fate:

Dirga and Kaito.

Dirga sat by the window, his head leaning slightly against the cool glass, watching the highway blur into gray ribbons. A mix of nerves and excitement swirled in his chest.

In his mind, one name kept repeating.

Masaki And Yuto

His old teammate. His rival.

Would Toyonaka win the wild card slot?

Would fate let them meet again on this national stage?

He clenched the amulet on his bag—Ayaka’s lucky charm. Maybe today, fate would listen.

The bus ride, long as it was, passed in the usual blur of boredom and bursts of energy.

Taiga’s jokes? Terrible. But they made everyone laugh anyway.

Aizawa bragged shamelessly about acing the exam. "Top of the class, gentlemen. Bask in my genius."

"Wasn’t your name second from the bottom?" Hiroki shot back, grinning.

Sayaka passed snacks down the aisle like a flight attendant. Energy bars, bottled tea, rice crackers.

Even Rikuya cracked a smile once. Rare.

Some of them slept. Some quietly listened to music.

Dirga stayed awake, mostly. Eyes half-closed, mind locked on the draw ahead.

They arrived in Tokyo at 4:30 PM.

The air hit different here—thicker, faster, alive. As if the city itself had a pulse.

And there it was.

Yoyogi National Gymnasium.

Sleek. Towering. Steel and glass curled like a sleeping beast. A battlefield waiting to wake.

Five minutes down the road sat the dormitory—neutral ground, shared by all twelve teams. A quiet, concrete bunker tucked between lines of manicured trees. Clean. Cold. Built for function, not flair.

Dirga stepped off the bus, gravel crunching under his sneakers. He stretched, staring up at the glow of the stadium under the amber dusk. His heart, steady until now, finally skipped a beat.

Inside the dorm, the air was quiet—eerily so. The halls carried the weight of tension. Rivals breathing the same air, sleeping under the same roof. No trash talk. No noise. Just silence and focus.

A woman stood near the front desk, clipboard in hand.

She looked up as they entered.

Tall. Slender. Dressed in a sharp, dark blazer over a pale blouse. Her glasses reflected the overhead lights, hiding her eyes for a moment. But her voice was clear and firm.

"Team Horizon, right? I’m Mina Asagiri. I’ll be overseeing your stay here. If you need anything during the tournament, talk to me. That said, I expect all of you to follow the rules we’ve set up. Understood?"

Takeshi-sensei stepped forward, shaking her hand. "Yes, ma’am. Thank you for having us."

Coach Tsugawa followed with a polite nod. The rest of the team filed in behind, half alert, half drowsy from the ride.

Mina began counting on her fingers. "Ten of you. Alright. You’ll be assigned rooms in Block B, first floor. Please do not enter other blocks—each is reserved for a specific team."

She handed over a packet. "Inside you’ll find meal schedules, curfew, and gym access times. Breakfast is from 6 to 8 AM, dinner from 6 to 8 PM. Dorm doors close at 10 sharp."

One by one, keys were passed out.

"Rooms are single-occupancy. No visitors. You’re here to play basketball, not run a hotel," she added without a hint of sarcasm.

Dirga nodded silently. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t left since the bus. He glanced around the lobby. No signs of the other teams. Maybe they were already resting.

Then Mina looked up from her clipboard again.

"One more thing—the group draw will take place at 8:30 PM tonight, in the third-floor ballroom. It’s mandatory for two representatives from each team. Tomorrow is a full rest day. Opening ceremony starts Monday, 7:00 AM sharp. Be ready."

"Got it," Takeshi-sensei turned to them. "Dinner’s at 8. Until then, get some rest. Dirga, Kaito—you’ll be attending the draw. Be sharp."

Keys jingled. Shoes squeaked. Bags dragged.

They split off to their rooms.

But Dirga didn’t feel tired.

Not yet.

His hand brushed over Ayaka’s amulet again, the weight of it grounding him.

Somewhere in this building, twelve schools were dreaming the same dream.

And tonight... the wheel would start turning.

...

08:00 PM – Dorm Cafeteria

The Horizon team moved together like a single pulse of red and black.

Their sport jackets rustled in unison as they stepped into the cafeteria—a wide, clean space filled with rows of long tables, soft lighting, and the low hum of tension.

Each team occupied their own table, clearly marked by color. A quiet battlefield of glances, whispers, and anticipation.

Dirga’s eyes scanned the crowd immediately.

Masaki... where was he?

The wild card tournament had finished yesterday, but there was no official word. No announcement. And no sign of Toyonaka.

Dirga exhaled slowly, shifting his gaze across the room.

Tokyo Kousei in sleek imperial black—quiet, unreadable.

Sendai Seiryu in azure, fluid and calm.

Kanazawa Sekiryuu draped in deep obsidian purple—tall and coiled like predators waiting to strike.

The rest formed a spectrum—yellow, green, gray, ocean teal... all here. All deadly.

He recognized some faces. Rivals from his past life. Others he only knew from Sayaka’s intel briefs.

The team moved to their assigned table. They sat, they ate.

No loud chatter. No jokes. Just silent chewing and the occasional glance toward the ballroom doors.

Even Taiga stayed quiet, his usual energy dampened by the weight of the night.

Dinner passed in ritual.

When they stood again, it was automatic—like pieces on a chessboard returning to formation.

Chairs slid. Feet shuffled. Voices quieted.

Each player moved instinctively toward their rooms, the weight of the coming days already settling on their shoulders like the press of a storm.

But for Dirga and Kaito, the night wasn’t over.

The promise had been made: after the draw, everyone would regroup in Coach Tsugawa’s room to strategize.

But first, fate called them forward.

The hallway outside the cafeteria stretched long and sterile. The sound of their sneakers against the tile echoed like drums before a battle.

The air was cooler here, heavier somehow. As if the building itself understood what was about to happen.

The ballroom loomed ahead.

Where the wheel would spin.

Where destiny would choose the battlefield.

They entered.

And it hit them immediately—the atmosphere was electric.

Warm chandelier light spilled over polished floors. Velvet banners of each region hung from the walls. Circular tables were set with precision.

But this was no celebration.

This was the sorting ceremony.

There were journalists in tailored suits, murmuring beside camera crews. Scouting agents leaned back with sharp eyes, data tablets already out.

And seated around the room were the chosen ones—athletes who had crushed hundreds of dreams to be here.

Dirga and Kaito weren’t the first to arrive.

They weren’t the last.

But they arrived exactly on time.

They moved silently to their assigned table. Sat.

Kaito scanned the room with his usual calm, his eyes briefly locking with several others—nods exchanged like silent swords being drawn.

Then, a familiar voice took the mic.

"Good evening. As most of you already know, I’m Mina Asagiri," she said, her voice cool and precise. "Tonight, we finalize the draw for the National Stage."

A pause.

"But before we begin, allow me to introduce the final piece of this year’s board... the Wildcard."

The doors opened with a hush.

Dirga’s breath caught.

From the entryway stepped two players in black:

Masaki King.

Yuto Kobayashi.

Toyonaka had made it.

Dirga shot up in his seat slightly—his hands clenched around Ayaka’s amulet as Masaki’s eyes found his.

They didn’t need words.

The fire in Masaki’s gaze said it clearly: "I made it. Now face me again."

Dirga smiled faintly.

His blood stirred—warm and hungry.

The board was set.

"All twelve teams are now present," Mina declared, her voice clear beneath the soft hum of tension. She stepped aside as the digital wheel flashed to life, rotating with a mechanical hum that filled the ballroom.

Fate spun.

Destiny snapped into place.

Group A:

Toyonaka Horizon High

Toyonaka High

Sapporo North Wolves High

Tokyo Kousei Academy

Naha Southern Drakes High

Nagano Kurotsuki High

Group B:

Sendai Seiryuu High

Nagoya Raijin High

Okayama Ironcrest High

Takamatsu Wavefront High

Fukuoka Yamabane High

Kanazawa Sekiryuu High

The names were like war banners. Every school—a fortress of talent. Every name—a warning.

Kaito leaned back beside him, whistling low. "Group A’s stacked."

Dirga didn’t answer.

He didn’t care.

Whether it was Group A or Group B—it made no difference.

At this stage... everyone was a monster.

Each team had carved their path through regional hell just to breathe the air inside this gymnasium.

No one here was weak.

And that was fine.

Because neither was he.

He closed his eyes for a breath—just one—and when he opened them again, they were sharp with quiet fire.

’Who I fight doesn’t matter.’

Tokyo Kousei? He’d take them.

Sapporo North Wolves? He’d break them.

Even Masaki and Yuto, standing just across the ballroom with Toyonaka’s black uniforms—he’d face them too.

Because this wasn’t about avoiding danger.

It wasn’t about surviving.

This was about winning.

He would crush whatever stood in his way.

No hesitation. No retreat.

No mercy.

Whatever came—

He’d face it.

And he’d win.