CHAPTER 133: SURVIVORS OF THE SAME FIRE

Dirga’s eyes locked with Masaki’s across the ballroom floor.

No words.

Just a glance.

Sharp. Heavy. Familiar.

Rivals.

Again.

They were in the same group—fate never let them stray far.

But Dirga didn’t flinch.

He simply turned and walked away.

Back through the quiet hallway.

Back to the dorms.

But something tugged at the edge of his mind.

The silence.

It had crept in during dinner.

Too still.

Too calm.

Where was the usual noise? The cocky trash talk? The arrogant smirks from overconfident teams?

Gone.

Tonight, every team wore the same expression—blank. Tense.

As if they were all holding their breath before the storm.

That unease stayed with him even as he reached Coach Tsugawa’s room.

Inside, the others were already gathered—sitting, murmuring in low tones.

Kaito stepped up beside the whiteboard.

"We got Group A," he began, voice steady but sharp. "Here’s who we’re up against."

Sayaka didn’t waste a second—already flipping her clipboard open, handing out data sheets with practiced precision.

Dirga sat. The page was still warm from the printer.

His eyes skimmed across it, the names pulling memories from deep inside his second life.

...

Group A Analysis:

Sapporo North Wolves

Cold-blooded pack hunters.

Ruthless in defense, surgical in offense.

Key Players:

Gaito Fujimori (PG) – Calm as ice, cuts through pressure.

Minato Haruto (SF) – Versatile finisher, sharp instincts.

Tokyo Kousei Academy

Depth like the ocean. Last year’s champions.

Their bench could start for most teams.

Key Players:

Kei Takahashi (PG) – Captain. Orchestrator. Genius.

Taku Endō (PG - Bench) – The silent dagger.

Naha Southern Drakes High

Flashy. Wild. Streetball chaos.

They don’t just beat you—they make you lose your mind.

Key Players:

Haruki Miyazato (PG) – Trickster king.

Joji Shimabukuro (C) – Raw strength. Ridiculous vertical.

Nagano Kurotsuki High

Masters of misdirection. Defense-focused, counter specialists.

They’ll bait you into your own defeat.

Key Players:

Hiroki Taniguchi (SG) – Shadow shooter.

Toshiro Nishimura (PF) – Trap-setter.

Shō Kurose (C) – Anchor of their wall.

Toyonaka High

Explosive style. Relentless defense.

Their fire is back—with Masaki and Yuto leading.

Key Players:

Masaki King (PF) – Momentum incarnate the black thunder

Yuto Kobayashi (PG) – The righteous captain. The Heart of defense

...

Dirga glanced around the room.

Aizawa’s face had gone pale. He clutched the paper too tightly.

Did he recognize someone on the list? A rival? A fear?

Dirga didn’t ask.

Before he could even open his mouth, Sayaka cut in—calm, precise, relentless.

"This is what we’re up against. These are the monsters of Group A," she said, eyes locked onto the team. "Only four will move forward into the knockout stage."

She let the silence speak for a beat.

Coach Tsugawa stood slowly. His voice was gravel and fire.

"We’ve trained for this. Our team’s new, yes. Built from the ground up. But we didn’t get here on luck."

His gaze swept across each player.

"We bled for this spot. We earned it.

And now, you remind them who we are."

Dirga clenched the page in his hand.

This wasn’t just a national tournament.

This wasn’t just basketball.

This was his second chance.

His reincarnation.

His redemption.

He wouldn’t waste it.

He’d tear through this bracket if he had to.

Sayaka tapped the board again. "After the ceremony, there’ll be two exhibition match. We will go first. Horizon vs. Sapporo North Wolves."

Every head snapped toward her.

The first battle.

The first blood.

His heartbeat didn’t rise. His hands didn’t tremble.

Instead, he smiled.

Cold. Focused. Ready.

Let it begin.

And just like that, the night closed.

...

The Tokyo sun rose early, but the tension in Dirga’s chest rose faster.

He was already dressed. Horizon’s iconic black and red sports jacket, zipped halfway. Sweatpants.

Shoes tied. steady and grounding.

Today was warm-up day.

They would step onto the legendary battlefield of Yoyogi National Gymnasium.

And for the first time, they’d feel the gravity of where they stood.

Seven courts.

Six side courts. One center court.

All carved into this coliseum of glass, steel, and legacy.

With twelve national teams, that meant court-sharing. Two teams per court.

Breakfast would decide who trained where.

Dirga stepped out of his room. The hallway was buzzing already—muted voices, zipped bags, footsteps against tile.

The Horizon team, all dressed in their matching tracksuits, moved as one into the cafeteria.

But this time—unlike last night—it wasn’t quiet.

Laughter. Clinking silverware. Teasing. Chatter. Rival energy in the air.

Like the first spark before a storm.

Teams were already mingling. Some sat tight, bonded in years of friendship or rivalry. Others floated, testing the waters.

But two teams stood out as the rookies—Toyonaka High and Horizon.

Unpolished. Untested.

Hungry.

The two rookie squads found themselves naturally drawn to the same empty table.

Sayaka gave a friendly nod to Aoi, Toyonaka’s manager.

Coach Tsugawa and Takeshi-sensei exchanged polite greetings with Coach Reina, the steely-eyed leader of Toyonaka.

Meanwhile, Dirga dropped his tray and sat beside him.

Masaki.

Teammate from his previous life. Now a rival again.

"So, you guys won it, huh?" Dirga started, voice low and casual.

Masaki grinned without looking up. "Of course. We’ll top the group, too."

"Better be ready." That came from Yuto, leaning over with a sly smirk.

Still, the mood was good. Tense—but not hostile. Like two packs of wolves sniffing at the same meat.

"You guys one of the openers, right?" Daichi asked between bites.

"Yeah, guess we’re the famous ones now." Taiga chuckled, shoulders loose.

"Yeah, yeah—headliner material. First act of destiny." Aizawa added with mock drama.

Everyone laughed.

Tomorrow’s format had already been shared:

Opening CeremonyThen: Three matches per groupSplit between Court 1 and Court 2That meant: Six matches in totalEvery team had their first national appearance that day.

"So who’re you guys facing?" Kaito asked Masaki.

"Naha Southern Drakes High." Yuto said it like the name was a challenge.

Dirga leaned back, folding his arms. "I heard they play wild. Street-style. Unpredictable."

"Doesn’t matter." Masaki shot back. "We’ll win. No matter the style."

Confidence. No hesitation.

After breakfast, teams were allowed to choose who they’d share warm-up space with.

Horizon made the obvious choice.

Toyonaka.

And just like that—gear packed, shoes laced—they left the cafeteria behind.

Two rookie teams.

Walking toward the gym.

Where nerves would become motion.

And motion would become momentum.

And momentum... could rewrite everything.

...

As they stepped into the gym, Dirga paused.

Even though he’d been here before—in another life—the feeling hit him again.

Massive. Timeless. Alive.

The polished floors. The high arched ceiling with beams of light pouring through. The echoes of bouncing balls.

This was more than a gym.

It was a cathedral for warriors.

He closed his eyes for a second. Let it soak in.

I’m back.

Horizon stretched, jogged, and lined up.

Beside them—Toyonaka mirrored the routine.

Old training partners. Familiar faces.

Just like the mountain camp... except now, the stakes were real.

"Shit... I forgot about coach Tsugawa’s training," Yuto muttered under his breath, already stretching his quads.

Dirga smirked. "You thought he’d go easy the day before nationals?"

Then it began.

The Warmup from Hell

Coach Tsugawa’s "warmup" was anything but.

It was a baptism by fire.

Sprints. Ladders. Suicide runs. Core circuits.

No shortcuts. No rest.

The sounds of breathless lungs, feet pounding, bodies collapsing echoed across the court.

A symphony of exhaustion.

Even Toyonaka—who’d survived it once before—were getting steamrolled by it again.

Thud. A player dropped to his knees.

Gasp. Another hunched over the bench.

Sweat hit the hardwood like rain.

And still, Tsugawa’s whistle screamed: "Again!"

There was no mercy.

This was how Horizon built themselves—with fire, sweat, and broken limits.

They transitioned into tactical drills.

Pick-and-roll rotations. Switch coverages. Full-court press traps.

Even with burning legs, their minds stayed sharp.

Coach Reina from Toyonaka joined in too, running a scrimmage drill that blended both squads.

Dirga loved it.

The feel of pressure, reading movement, syncing with teammates—even Masaki and Yuto, briefly on his side again during drills.

Warriors sharpening each other.

By the end, their bodies ached, but something else lingered beneath it:

Readiness.

The final whistle blew.

Everyone—Horizon and Toyonaka alike—hit the ground.

Flat on their backs. Arms spread.

Gasping for air.

Lungs scorched.

But smiling.

The gym lights still beamed down, casting long shadows over exhausted warriors.

This is what it takes, Dirga thought. To win. To survive nationals. To claim it all.

They packed up in silence, rolling tape from ankles, peeling sweat-soaked shirts off their backs.

No trash talk. No banter.

Just the quiet pride of those who’d bled in the same furnace.

Tomorrow, they would be rivals again.

But today?

They were survivors of the same war.