I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It-Chapter 150: Horizon VS Kurotsuki : The Overture 1

0 – 7

The air in the gym was thick.

Not with noise—

With pressure.

Dirga clenched his jaw, his breath shallow, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Three possessions behind.

No rhythm. No traction.

Not outplayed.

Erased.

Every play Kurotsuki made felt like a blade—precise, cold, merciless.

He couldn’t let this spiral.

He had to shatter it. Now.

Dirga barked the call—

Short. Sharp. Final.

Like a command on the battlefield.

Aizawa darted in—

Quick pin on the wing, tight and low.

Taiga curled up to the elbow, footwork clean, cutting space.

Rikuya dragged his defender, scraping through the baseline shadows to pull Sho with him.

No feints. No misdirection.

This wasn’t a trick play.

It was war.

Dirga accelerated—

Left side, explosive.

Toshiro read it.

Stepped up.

The trap formed—

A perfect vice.

As expected.

But Dirga didn’t flinch.

Didn’t dump the ball.

He stopped. Dead.

Shoes screeched.

Bodies tensed.

Time snapped taut like a bowstring.

Pivot.

Then—

Skip pass.

A lightning bolt whipped across the hardwood—

Straight into Kaito’s pocket.

Catch. Rise.

The crowd sucked in air.

No hesitation.

Form perfect.

Release clean.

A flash of motion.

A whisper of net.

Swish.

The silence cracked—

Then roared.

3 – 7.

Kaito backpedalled—

Eyes locked on Taniguchi.

Just a glance—

A spark, a dare.

But the shadow shooter didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even breathe.

He stood still.

Calm.

Unmoved.

Like the shot had passed through him without heat.

Untouched.

Untouchable.

The fog doesn’t flinch.

You can’t catch what you can’t see.

Kurotsuki possession.

Eiji brought it up—

Low shoulders, slow bounce, predator calm.

Scanning.

Reading.

Taniguchi drifted left.

Then stopped.

Abrupt. Intentional.

Aizawa twitched—bit on it.

Decoy set.

Ryōta dragged Aizawa across the arc, relentless, tireless.

A grind to blur Horizon’s shape.

Meanwhile—

Toshiro ghosted into the corner.

No call. No ball. No screen.

Dirga squinted.

Heart thudding.

Where’s the real play?

Then it snapped.

A blur.

Eiji drove—midline pressure—then whipped a no-look.

Ball already gone.

And there—rising like a phantom from the weak side—

Taniguchi.

Eyes dead.

Hands sure.

Catch.

Twist.

Fire.

Net.

3 – 9.

No celebration.

No reaction.

Just the silence that follows a kill shot.

Timeout.

Coach Tsugawa raised a single hand—calm, deliberate.

The whistle cut through the air.

The ref signaled.

Horizon jogged back—not broken.

But unsteady.

As if they’d stepped into something they couldn’t name.

Dirga dropped into his seat, jaw tight, towel already over his head.

No words.

Aizawa slumped beside him, elbows on knees, eyes staring at the floor like it held answers.

Taiga and Rei leaned in, shoulders rising and falling with every breath.

And Kaito?

Still standing.

Still locked in.

Eyes tracking Taniguchi, who drifted—like always—back toward Kurotsuki’s huddle.

Unbothered. Unhurried.

Untouched.

Kaito didn’t say a word.

Not until the whiteboard snapped into view.

Tsugawa moved quick.

Marker strokes—fluid, clean. Surgical.

In seconds, Kurotsuki’s zone defense was exposed like a rigged game:

Slow weak-side rotation. Overcommitting to the middle. False closes on the wings.

One name underlined.

Taniguchi.

"He’s not a shooter," Coach Tsugawa said quietly.

Heads turned. Eyes lifted.

"He’s a shadow. He moves where your eyes don’t."

A silence followed.

Not hesitation—comprehension.

Coach pointed to the board again.

"Which means," he said, tapping once, "you stop following the ball."

Dirga nodded.

"Tag the movement, not the pass."

Coach’s gaze shifted.

"Kaito."

Kaito looked up.

"You’re on him."

A crack of the neck.

Not cocky—measured.

"I know."

Tsugawa raised an eyebrow.

"Zone disruptor assignment."

Kaito nodded again.

No hesitation this time.

"I know." freeweɓnovel-cøm

The huddle broke.

Shoes scuffed. Voices murmured. Horizon stood.

But Kaito lingered.

Just one second longer.

Eyes scanned the far corner.

There he was.

Taniguchi.

Not sprinting.

Not calling for the ball.

Just gliding.

A soft drift.

Like a shadow cast by someone else’s light.

Kaito’s jaw tensed.

Eyes sharp.

Focused.

"You’re not gonna vanish again," he muttered.

"Not with me watching."

...

Next possession.

Kurotsuki set the action.

High screen—tight, efficient.

Slippery post flash from Ryōta, brushing the edge of legality.

The ball swung.

One pass. Two. Quick rhythm.

Then—

Stopped.

Because Taniguchi wasn’t open.

Kaito was already there.

Low stance.

Quiet feet.

Eyes not on the ball—

But on the rhythm beneath it.

The breathing of the play.

Taniguchi curved out.

Tried to ghost away—like always.

But Kaito didn’t chase.

He tracked.

No wasted motion.

No bites at shadows.

Just angles.

Just breath.

The ball came anyway—

Late. Hesitant.

Too late.

Kaito was in his jersey.

A hand flared.

Deflection.

Taniguchi snatched it back—but the illusion was gone.

He was forced to pass.

Out.

The crowd murmured.

No roar.

Just the shift—

A subtle tilt in the air.

Something broke.

Horizon’s bench rose—just an inch.

Energy coiling.

Kurotsuki scrambled.

Eiji clapped for a reset—recentered the formation.

Tried to punch it back inside—

Ryōta flashing baseline.

Aizawa read it.

Slid hard. Closed the window.

Denied.

No second layer.

No bailout.

No misdirection left.

Just...

drift.

The rhythm had snapped.

Shot clock: 4

Toshiro had to rise.

From deep.

Off balance.

Rushed.

Clang.

Rebound—Rikuya.

Hands sure. Elbows wide.

He secured it and snapped the outlet.

Dirga caught it.

Eyes up.

Head down.

Tempo rising.

"Now."

The call cut through the air like a blade.

Flare.

Aizawa dragged wide—left wing, hard angle.

Taiga held the screen—set deep, legs braced.

Kaito looped—baseline cut.

His defender hesitated—

Split between instinct and scouting.

Too slow.

Catch. Rise. Fire.

Bang.

5 – 9.

"KAITO AGAIN!"

"They finally shut down Taniguchi—and Kaito makes them pay on the other end!"

"You can feel the rhythm tipping now—one beat at a time!"

The gym shifted.

Not loud—

But charged.

Like something had been set in motion beneath the floorboards.

Dirga saw it.

Not in the cut.

Not in the screen.

Not even in the shot.

He saw it in the air—

Between them.

Kaito.

Taniguchi.

This wasn’t rivalry.

This wasn’t grudge.

It was something older.

Quieter.

Recognition.

Two players shaped not by noise—

But by the silence between shots.

The tension that exists in the seconds no one claps for.

Dirga narrowed his eyes.

A thought surfaced—

Unwelcome.

But impossible to shake.

"Is this just defense..."

"...or something deeper?"

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