CHAPTER 38: LOCK IN

The gym echoed with grunts, sneakers squeaking, and the sound of bodies hitting the hardwood. But for Dirgantara Renji, that world existed behind a closed door.

He was locked in the film room.

The system quest required 120 minutes of footage per day for 14 days, but Dirga had gone beyond that. He watched between 180 to 240 minutes a day. If it wasn’t scrims or stretching, it was tape. Sometimes, he watched the same play ten times just to see the rhythm. Other times, he’d rewind an entire quarter just to observe how the off-ball defender rotated.

He always watched from the bench or on TV before—but this? This was different.

This was studying the soul of basketball.

Even though the setup wasn’t modern—just an old TV, a tape deck, and a box of dusty VHS reels—it felt like treasure. Real treasure.

Back in his past life, he’d never been a fan of film. He played on instinct, like most young hotshots. He believed he could "feel" the game. That strategy was for coaches. Tape was for nerds.

But watching himself play, especially during Spring Tournament matches?

He cringed.

"Why did I force the shot here?" he muttered. "I had an open cut... why didn’t I pass?"

The more he watched, the more mistakes he spotted. Spaces he’d missed. Angles he never noticed. The ball moved, but he had never fully grasped why.

Until now.

The longer he sat in that film room, the slower the game became in his mind. The screen taught him to see patterns—not just plays, but rhythms. Momentum. Spacing. Timing.

He could see the difference now between a well-timed bounce pass and a forced drive. He saw how players like Yuto Kobayashi controlled tempo. How Masaki King bent the defense to his will. And most importantly—he saw how to beat them.

"Dirgaaaa!"

The door cracked open, and Kaito’s head popped in. "Practice’s over. You staying here all night?"

"Just a few more minutes," Dirga answered without looking away from the screen.

Kaito chuckled and left. The door shut, but the lessons kept flowing.

Outside that room, Horizon was evolving too.

During those two weeks, the team trained relentlessly. Morning drills, scrimmages with Osaka Zenith and other school, even private workouts in the park on weekends.

They won some, lost some—but they stayed sharp.

Dirga, meanwhile, started light physical therapy after the first week. Yoga, Pilates, controlled jogging. It wasn’t flashy, but it built the foundation. It taught him balance, flexibility, and how to land after contact.

He watched film while stretching. Did core work while rewinding three-point attempts. Even his recovery happened in rhythm.

By the second week, he was cleared for heavier activity. Carefully, he started joining his teammates again—ball-handling drills, shooting form reps, even light scrimmages.

One day, they broke off into focused one-on-one units.

Kaito worked with Hiroki on tempo control and reading defenders.

Rikuya trained Taiga in post defense, tossing elbows like it was a street brawl.

Aizawa challenged Rei to finish through contact. Again. And again.

Dirga?

He floated.

He’d move from group to group—sometimes assisting, sometimes guiding, sometimes playing dummy defense. But always learning.

His court awareness had grown terrifying.

The old him might’ve relied on speed and instinct. The new Dirga combined that with understanding.

There was just one problem.

Height.

In his past life, he stood 190 cm.

Now? He barely scratched 172 cm when the tournament began.

But that was two weeks ago.

Dirga stood by the wall with Kaito, back-to-back.

Kaito frowned. "You’ve gotta be kidding me."

"Ehh? What?"

"You’re taller than me."

Dirga laughed. "Growth spurt."

"You got injured and came back taller. That’s not fair."

Aizawa wandered over. "Hey! You’re catching up!"

Even Hiroki approached, unusually shy. "Dirga... do you drink something special? Protein? Hormones?"

"Nope. Just genetics."

He noticed Hiroki glancing at his own shoes like they betrayed him.

The teasing got worse.

Aizawa stretched dramatically. "Ugh. If I don’t hit 180 by next month, I’m putting protein powder in my shampoo."

Rei made a face. "That’s... not how it works."

Dirga laughed and escaped the chaos, ducking back into the film room for one last session.

It was the final day of the quest.

He fast-forwarded to a late-game play—Masaki running a double-screen decoy for a baseline lob. He watched it frame by frame. Then reversed it. Then again.

His eyes narrowed. He could see it.

[Quest Complete]

Watch basketball footage for 14 days (minimum 120 minutes/day)

Optional: 240 minutes/day — Completed.

[Reward: Rare Skill – Tempo Sight (Evolvable)]

[Congratulations, Host. Skill acquired and 1 injury reducer]

Skill: Tempo Sight

Type: Active

Grade: Rare

Effect:

Grants the user 30 seconds of "screen view" per quarter. During activation, the user’s perception shifts as if observing from above.

Enhances awareness of player spacing, tempo shifts, and passing windows.

Cooldown: 1 per quarter. Duration: 30 seconds.

Dirga grinned.

Only 30 seconds—but that was more than enough to change everything.

And the item, this item is the one save him. He need to collect this item

He smiled then grabbed his bag.

Just as he stepped out of the room, he stopped.

Standing under the gym’s fading lights was Ayaka.

She smiled softly. "Still here?"

"Yeah. Just finished film," he said. "You?"

"Student council stuff. But I was hoping I’d catch you."

She looked tired—but her smile was warm.

Dirga couldn’t stop himself. "Want me to walk you home?"

Ayaka blinked in surprise.

Then nodded. "Yeah. I’d like that."

They walked slowly under the streetlights. The town was quiet, peaceful. They didn’t talk much. But the silence was comforting.

By the time they reached her doorstep, the stars were out.

"Good night," Dirga said.

"Night. And..." She handed him a folded note. "In case you miss me again."

He opened it after she went inside.

It read:

Remember our next date, I will be waiting

Ganbatte, I will always support you

PS: I like bitter coffee now.

Dirga laughed.

A new skill. A healed foot. A growing heart.