CHAPTER 65: A NEW THREAT: RAKUZAN

85 – 48.

Hyōgo scored a few in garbage time, but it didn’t matter. Their flame had died somewhere in the third quarter. The rest had just been Horizon stoking their own.

Cheers rained from the stands, students shouting until their voices cracked. Fans pounded on the bleachers. Phones lit the air like fireflies.

But Horizon?

They didn’t explode in celebration.

Not right away.

Because this wasn’t just a win.

This was a statement.

Rikuya wiped his face with his jersey, panting. Taiga bent over at the waist, then stood tall and pounded his chest twice—once for the team, once for himself.

Dirga exhaled slowly.

He had never entered Flow State even The Maestro Pulse.

Not once.

He didn’t need to.

They didn’t need to.

That was the difference now.

"Nice game," Rikuya said as they approached the Takasugi twins at half-court. His voice was calm, but there was respect in it—real, earned.

"You’re strong," Kenta replied, shaking his hand. "Both of you. And you," he looked to Taiga, "first-year, right?"

Taiga gave a crooked grin. "Of course. But Rikuya-senpai is my mentor."

Kenta laughed softly and bowed.

Rikuya and Taiga returned the gesture, bowing deeply. The crowd noticed—an ovation followed. The fans knew: they weren’t just watching a team.

They were watching something greater.

Unity. Growth. Evolution.

Dirga lingered at the edge of the handshake line, letting his eyes scan the court one last time.

He knew this version of Horizon... wasn’t the final form.

But it was the clearest sign of progress yet.

The pieces were no longer raw.

They were clicking.

The gears weren’t just turning.

They were grinding.

Together.

And that mattered.

Even without Flow... even without tapping into the Maestro state...

They had crushed a top-seeded regional team by nearly 40.

Ding.

[System Quest Alert]

Regional Championship: Horizon’s Campaign

Win the First Round (OK)

Win the Quarter Final

Win the Semi Final

Win the Final

Reward: Skills and items based on host’s performance.

[Accept Quest?]

[YES] [NO]

Dirga blinked at the overlay in his vision, lips tightening.

Why hadn’t this appeared before?

[We had to confirm you’d win the opener. No rewards for losing, remember?]

He smirked.

Fair enough.

Winning changes everything.

[YES]

A soft chime echoed through his mind. Something unlocked—he didn’t know what yet. But it didn’t matter.

This wasn’t about the system anymore.

It was about the team.

Dirga turned back to his teammates.

Rikuya and Taiga walking side by side, already analyzing plays. Rei joking with Aizawa, towel around his neck. Hiroki clapping hands with the bench, laughing.

They were smiling.

Not because they blew Hyōgo out.

But because now... they believed it too.

They belonged.

As they left the court, Coach Tsugawa gave them all a nod—not one of approval, but recognition.

Like he’d expected this all along

...

The Horizon team walked off the court, sweat still clinging to their bodies, but their steps were light—almost weightless.

Victory had that effect.

The locker room door swung open, and the moment they stepped inside, the energy exploded.

Laughter. Breathless cheers. A chorus of slaps on backs and tangled high-fives.

The fourth quarter hadn’t drained them like the first half did. With the lead so dominant, they’d been able to conserve energy, and now that extra fuel turned into something else—pure joy.

Coach Tsugawa entered last, arms crossed, but even his strict expression couldn’t hide the curve of pride tugging at his mouth.

"Alright," he said, voice raised over the chatter. "Nice game. Every one of you."

They quieted, turning toward him.

"You showed growth. Real growth. That camp wasn’t for nothing."

There was a murmur of agreement. The kind that rumbled low, like the echo of confidence building.

Aizawa raised two fingers like pistols, grinning wildly. "Bang bang! Taiga-kun! Hiroki-kun!"

He fake-fired at both of them.

Hiroki, predictably, turned beet red and looked down, scratching the back of his neck.

Taiga, on the other hand, leaned into it—grinning, staggering backward with exaggerated flair like he’d been shot.

"Hehehe, o-of course," he laughed, cheeks flushing slightly as he tried to stay cool.

Then, as if cued by invisible music, the dance began.

Taiga and Aizawa broke into their ridiculous celebratory routine—shoulder shimmies, spinning feet, overly serious expressions masking their goofy moves.

But this time?

Rikuya joined in.

And that changed everything.

The usually silent, towering center didn’t smile much, didn’t talk much—but right now? He was dancing. Badly. But dancing.

Even Coach Tsugawa let out a rare chuckle.

Because this game, more than any other, had tested Rikuya. And he’d delivered.

"Alright, alright," Coach clapped once, pulling the energy back in. His voice dropped into something firmer.

"You all deserved that. But."

Everyone stilled at the shift in tone.

Coach turned to Sayaka.

"Sayaka."

Sayaka stepped forward from the back of the room, holding a manila folder stacked with paper reports and photo-copied stat sheets . Just ink, sweat, and old-school scouting.

"Our next opponent," she said crisply, "is from Kyoto. A team you may have heard of—Rakuzan Institute."

The name alone made the air colder.

Kaito frowned. "Isn’t that an elite school?"

"Yes," Sayaka replied, nodding. "Elite in name. But their basketball team is... something else entirely."

She flipped open her binder, revealing a neatly organized stack of printed photos and scouting notes. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small portable DVD player, the kind with the tiny fold-up screen.

She popped in a disc, and the grainy footage flickered to life.

We all leaned in as she pressed play.

. Fouls. Flops. Elbows thrown in traffic. Players screaming with exaggerated gestures after barely being touched.

"They play dirty," Sayaka continued, voice steady but sharp. "They bait fouls. Dive. Exaggerate contact. And worse... it’s widely rumored that they bribe referees."

Gasps. Whispers.

"What?" Kaito’s voice cut through, disbelieving.

Dirga’s stomach turned. He remembered this.

From his past life—Rakuzan Institute wasn’t just any team.

They were the scandal.

The infamous name whispered in corners of the basketball community.

And their ace, Asahi Tenma—

Dirga’s eyes narrowed.

Asahi wasn’t just talented. He was protected.

The son of Goro Tenma—a former professional basketball star turned political figure in Japan’s basketball association.

And worse?

Director of Rakuzan Institute.

A man who had used influence, connections, and desperation to try to force his son’s team to glory.

Even if it meant poisoning the sport.

"The school hasn’t won anything in years," Sayaka said. "Despite being a top athletic institution. They’re desperate. And they’ve shown they’ll do anything to win."

"Great," Rei muttered. "So what, now we fight politics too?"

Sayaka nodded grimly. "This battle won’t be just on the court. It’s about pressure. Mind games. Corruption. You’ll need more than skill."

Kaito’s jaw tightened.

"Then we score more," he said. "If they want to cheat, let them. We’ll just bury them in points."

"But..." Sayaka hesitated, concern clouding her usually composed eyes. "Even if we play perfectly, one bad call could—"

"We’ll win," Dirga interrupted.

His voice wasn’t loud.

But it carried weight.

Everyone turned to him.

His eyes were calm. Focused. Not burning with rage—burning with clarity.

"I’ve seen this before," he said. "And I don’t care how dirty they play."

"We beat them by making their tricks meaningless."

"They want chaos? We bring order."

"They want fouls? We don’t give them the chance."

"They want to manipulate the system?"

Dirga smirked.

"Then we break it."

Silence. Then—

Taiga stepped forward. "Let’s end their story."

Hiroki followed. "Let’s write our own."

Rikuya clenched a fist. Aizawa cracked his neck. Rei tied his headband tighter.

Kaito grinned. "Let’s burn their playbook."

Coach Tsugawa crossed his arms.

"Good," he said.

Then he gave a rare, satisfied smile.

"Then let’s get to work."