Score: Horizon 62 – Zenith 58
Start of the 4th Quarter
The gym was electric. The kind of silence that hums—thick with tension. You could hear sneakers squeaking, the dull thud of basketballs hitting the hardwood, and the crowd holding its collective breath.
Four quarters. One dream. Five minutes to survive.
We were leading—barely. 62–58. But there were no smiles. No fist bumps. Just eyes locked on the court and lungs drawing heavy breaths.
Kaito was still out. He hadn't recovered since his all-out effort in the first half. I glanced at the bench—he was sitting, drenched in sweat, trying to keep calm. His hand clenched his shirt over his chest. He gave me a nod.
I nodded back.
Coach Tsugawa stood, clipboard in hand, his voice calm and low. "They're going to come out swinging. This isn't about speed anymore. It's about control."
He looked at me. "Dirga. Run the show. You've got three eyes on you every time you touch the ball. Use it. Turn that pressure into chaos."
I took a deep breath, wiped my palms on my shorts, and stepped onto the court.
Our five: Me, Rei, Aizawa, Taiga, and Rikuya.
Their five: The nightmare lineup.
Isaiah Dumont stood like a sentinel at the top. Towering. Focused. No wasted energy. The kind of presence that didn't need to speak—he just was. The physical embodiment of control.
The whistle blew.
Zenith possession.
Isaiah brought it up, calm as ever. He didn't call a play—he didn't have to. His eyes scanned, his body already calculating. Then—snap. A hard jab step. A crossover. Kick-out to Ryoga Tanikawa in the corner.
Catch. Release.
Splash.
62–61.
Their bench erupted. Ours fell quiet.
"Don't let them get hot!" I yelled.
I caught the inbound—and just like that, Isaiah was on me. Arms wide. Steps precise. Like trying to dribble through a cage.
But I'd been waiting for this.
One jab. He leaned.
Tap. A one-touch flick—just like in training.
The ball skipped past Isaiah's foot and straight into Rei's chest. He didn't even need to dribble—just redirected it to Aizawa on the cut.
Layup.
64–61.
The crowd roared. We weren't surviving the pressure anymore—we were weaving through it.
Zenith came right back.
Their center Emir powered through Rikuya. A shoulder, a step, and a soft left-handed hook off the glass.
64–63.
We moved in rhythm now. Every possession a storm. Fast passes. Cuts. Screens. The ball zipped—Hiroki in for Taiga gave us speed, and I was the conductor.
I flicked a behind-the-back no-look to Rikuya trailing the break.
Dunk.
66–63.
But Zenith didn't flinch.
Isaiah answered with a cross-court zip to Kazuma. Mid-range fade.
66–65.
Then a trap on the inbound. I hesitated—too long.
Stolen.
Fast break.
Dunk.
66–67.
They took the lead.
Coach Tsugawa didn't call timeout.
We didn't need it.
Because I wasn't done.
[Echo: Activating Flow – 200% Boost – Duration: 4 Minutes.]
Heat surged through my veins.
My legs—lighter.
My breath—calmer.
The court slowed down.
Let's end this.
I called for the ball, nodded to Rei. A screen came. Isaiah stepped up—
I paused.
Then exploded through the gap.
Two defenders shifted—too late. I floated the ball backward—blind, pure instinct.
Rei caught it in rhythm.
Shot.
69–67.
"Maestro!" the crowd chanted. "Maestro!"
Isaiah raised his eyebrows—then smirked.
"I like this tempo," he muttered.
Then punished us.
Step-back three.
69–70.
Back and forth.
I weaved through defenders, collapsed the defense, and whipped it to Hiroki in the corner.
Hesitation. Then release.
Swish.
72–70.
Isaiah responded instantly.
Quick drive. Pass to Ryoga.
Tie.
72–72.
Rei ran off two screens. I fed him on the curl. Shot.
74–72.
They went inside to Emir. Spin. Layup.
Tie again.
74–74.
I passed to Aizawa on the short roll. He drew a foul. Hit both.
76–74.
Isaiah. Jab. Crossover. Three.
76–77.
Rei missed the next shot. They came down and got a putback.
76–79.
We were losing air.
One minute left.
Down three.
I looked at the bench—Coach Tsugawa signaled to trust the play.
I nodded.
We inbounded.
I slowed things down.
We set a staggered double screen—Aizawa and Rikuya. I went right. Isaiah fought through it like smoke through cracks.
Still on me.
I drove baseline. He slid with me.
I pump-faked. He didn't jump.
I pivoted. Kicked it out to Hiroki.
Contested. No shot.
Back to me.
8 seconds.
I reset.
I jabbed left.
Crossed right.
He mirrored me.
I took one step inside.
Stopped.
He leaned—
I spun.
Slipped through.
Launched the floater off one leg.
Isaiah trailing behind me.
Kazuma rotating.
Contact.
Buzzer.
Ball in the air.
Everyone froze.
It spun—
And dropped.
78–78. Tie game.
The whistle blew.
Overtime.
The gym erupted.
"DIRGAAAAAA!" Rei tackled me with a hug.
Rikuya screamed into the rafters.
Coach Tsugawa punched the air.
Across the court, Isaiah straightened up, hands on his hips.
He looked at me.
And smiled.