I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It-Chapter 152: Horizon VS Kurotsuki : The Overture 3

Finally—Renji spoke.

"This isn’t collapse."

"It’s contamination."

"Scrub it clean."

...

The buzzer sounded.

They rose.

Not shaken.

Not cracked.

But—

Shifted.

Five quiet pieces of a breaking pattern.

Still composed.

Still clean in silhouette—

But inside?

The fog wasn’t theirs anymore.

...

Game resumed.

But this time—

Kurotsuki didn’t drift.

They stepped back onto the court with full awareness.

Spacing crisp.

Movement tighter.

Eyes locked—not on the play, but on its echo.

They were adjusting.

Unfreezing.

Dirga saw it.

And he didn’t like it.

He didn’t want them steady.

Didn’t want them balanced.

Didn’t want them grounded.

He wanted them drowning.

Maestro State—gone.

The pulse, the rhythm sync—faded.

But he had one more gear.

The last gear.

Dirga closed his eyes—

Just for half a breath.

Then—

[Tempo Sight – Active Trigger: Godframe – 45 seconds]

The fog didn’t clear.

It bloomed.

Reality fractured.

Not into chaos—

Into threads.

Color. Rhythm. Light.

Lines curled across the hardwood like veins of lightning.

Passing lanes shimmered—liquid silver over blacktop.

Defenders burned red—twitching, alert, volatile.

Teammates pulsed blue—heartbeat-matched.

Everything moved in tempo.

Kurotsuki’s formation fractured into timing maps.

Screen setups.

Recovery pockets.

Zone gaps breathing open, then collapsing again.

But Dirga—

Didn’t see where they were.

He saw—

Where they’d break.

Kurotsuki ball.

Eiji set the action.

His crossover?

Not just a fake—

A key.

Toshiro’s drag screen?

Camouflage.

For a delayed lift on the weakside.

Taniguchi hadn’t moved yet.

Still in shadow.

Still silent.

But he would.

Dirga dropped low.

Breath steady.

Vision blazing.

Eiji drove—

Fast. Controlled. Surgical.

Dirga didn’t meet him.

He didn’t need to.

He slid into the lane—

not to stop the driver—

to cut the release.

Just like Godframe told him.

Eiji’s pass went up—

Left wing.

Taniguchi. Curling. Clean look.

Perfect...

If Dirga hadn’t already shifted.

He launched—

Not for the ball.

For the space.

Hand cut through the air—

Sharp. Timed. Precise.

Intercept.

Ball snapped into his palm like it belonged there.

"DIRGA STEALS IT MID-PLAY!"

"He didn’t just read the pass—

He stole the future!"

Fast break.

Dirga exploded forward—

Each step snapping the floor like it owed him speed.

Aizawa filled left lane—

Long strides. Ready hands.

Rei trailed wide—

Measured. Balanced. Lethal.

Taiga and Rikuya pushed late—

A second wave of pressure.

But Dirga didn’t pass.

Not yet.

He wanted the gravity.

The defenders’ eyes.

The weight of all five on him.

Then—

No-look. Corner.

Rei.

Catch.

Rise.

Release.

Bang.

15 – 9.

"HORIZON OPENS THE FLOODGATES!"

"That wasn’t luck—

That was surgical dissection!"

Kurotsuki scrambled back.

Formation reforming—but not resetting.

They weren’t grounded.

They were tilting.

And Dirga—

Was still burning.

Godframe pulsed behind his eyes.

Colors. Motion. Intent.

The map wasn’t gone—

It was peaking.

Toshiro flashed high—

But Taiga rotated early.

Cut the lane before it opened.

Sho sealed inside—

But Rikuya fought back with low hips and locked wrists.

No entry pass.

Eiji—

Desperate.

Tried the skip pass—

A reach to the opposite wing.

Dirga was already moving.

Not reacting.

Predicting.

Flowing.

Interception.

Clean. Clinical.

No celebration.

Just a breath—

And a jog.

Not rushed.

Not showy.

Just precise.

He walked into the arc.

Slowed.

Dragged both top defenders with him like anchors.

Aizawa saw it.

Instantly.

Slip cut.

No call. No hand signal.

Just synced timing.

Dirga dropped it behind the step—

A lead pass that curved like a thread through air.

Catch.

Stride.

Finger roll—

Soft as silk.

17 – 9.

Final seconds of Godframe ticking down.

Dirga exhaled slow.

One more stop. Just one.

Kurotsuki inbounded.

Taniguchi moved—

Not a drift. A cut.

Sharp. Real.

There was weight behind it now.

Corner catch.

Rei stuck to him, no daylight.

Dirga saw the setup.

Fadeaway incoming.

Not yet.

Now.

He broke.

Closed in.

Taniguchi rose—

Dirga was already there.

Smothered. Blocked.

Aizawa pounced on the loose ball.

Turned. Fired ahead.

Rei streaked baseline—

No hesitation. No fake.

Aizawa lobbed it.

Rei soared—

Twist in the air—

Layup. Clean.

19 – 9.

A ten-point gap.

But the crowd didn’t roar.

It held its breath.

Because this wasn’t a blowout.

It was a system unraveling.

Kurotsuki inbounded—fast.

No eye contact. Just motion.

But even their urgency...

Moved to Horizon’s rhythm.

Eiji crossed halfcourt.

Tried a zipper cut for Taniguchi—

Rei slipped the screen.

No opening.

Toshiro rotated up, called for a handoff—

Taiga stepped out early.

Denied.

Eiji drove—

Sho flashed to the block—

But Dirga was already there.

He didn’t reach.

He just stood.

In the exact right place—

At the exact wrong time for them.

Kick-out.

Shot clock 3.

Taniguchi forced a three over Rei—

Contested.

Short.

Rikuya hauled in the board.

Dirga raised a hand.

Calm.

Control.

Godframe fading.

His pulse still buzzed—

But the court was normal again.

And now?

He didn’t need the system to see.

Last play.

Dirga jogged it forward.

Clock ticking.

Aizawa held top-left.

Rei backcut.

Rikuya posted weak block.

No chaos.

Just silence and sync.

Dirga fed Taiga at the elbow—

Then darted hard to the right.

Kurotsuki overplayed—too far.

Backdoor.

Aizawa saw it.

Bounce pass.

Dirga caught in stride—

Step. Float.

In.

21 – 9.

The buzzer echoed—

Not like a bell.

Like a breath held too long finally breaking free.

Scoreboard:

Horizon 21 – Kurotsuki 9.

No chest-beating.

No shouts of triumph.

Just the quiet, coiled tension of a team that knew—

This was only the beginning.

Dirga walked to the bench.

Not smiling.

Still burning.

The Godframe had faded,

But its imprint lingered behind his eyes.

Rei slapped palms silently with Aizawa.

Kaito leaned forward, elbows on knees.

Watching.

Listening.

Waiting for his moment.

The fire hadn’t left.

It had simply narrowed.

Across the court, Kurotsuki sat in stillness.

Shoulders straight.

Eyes locked forward.

But their silence had changed.

It wasn’t structure anymore.

It was strain.

Coach Renji didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

They knew.

They were no longer chasing a lead.

They were chasing rhythm itself.

Above it all—

The arena settled into that rarest of tensions:

Not noise.

Not cheers.

But anticipation.

A sense that something more than basketball was unfolding.

Who would’ve guessed—

That the team who started down 0 – 7

Would take control of everything that followed?

From midgame to endgame, it would all belong to Horizon.

Not by accident.

Not by momentum.

But by design.

Because Dirga didn’t just want to catch up.

He wanted to break it early.

To shatter the rhythm.

To tilt the court.

And in that first quarter—

He did.

With every cut, every read, every beat—

He composed the collapse.

This wasn’t a comeback.

It was the overture.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢