I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It-Chapter 160: Horizon vs. Kurotsuki : The Forgotten Fang 3

Dirga’s heart ticked once, hard.

Not fear.

Not surprise.

Recognition.

He’d seen tempo.

He’d read pressure.

But this?

This was counter-composition.

And it was winning.

...

Inbound.

Dirga took the ball up top.

Called horns.

Aizawa and Taiga lifted—shoulders tight.

Rikuya settled low post.

Kaito still off.

No chaos.

No panic.

Just system.

But something was... crooked.

Taiga’s screen came a half-beat early.

Aizawa’s cut—too shallow, angle wrong.

The motion was drifting.

Why?

Godframe showed it.

Not an error.

A shift.

Ryōta didn’t hedge.

Didn’t bump.

He just hovered—

A half-step too high, a half-second too still.

Just enough to pull Taiga out of sync,

Which dragged Sho into the wrong lane,

Which forced Dirga to pivot blind—

That was the trap.

Toshiro exploded through the passing lane.

Almost stole it.

Dirga spun sideways—barely escaped.

Pulse surging.

That’s two defenders dodged.

Ryōta flashed into view—lunging, late.

Dirga shifted—

Fake. Break. Split right.

That’s three.

[ Phantom Drive – Untouchable: ACTIVATED ]

Dirga ignited.

Past the elbow.

Aizawa flared wide.

The lane bent—like it knew what was coming.

Dirga didn’t pass.

He drew them all—

Sho, Toshiro, even Ryōta—

Into his gravity.

Then—

Snap. Wrap. Release.

A pass dropped backward, like a trapdoor opening.

Rikuya.

Unmarked.

Unseen.

Ready.

Catch. Finish.

52 – 51.

...

No fist-pump.

No shout.

Just the faint echo of Dirga’s breath catching in rhythm again.

One play survived.

But the song?

Still fraying.

The bench erupted—once.

A single flash of noise.

Gone as quickly as it came.

Dirga didn’t smile.

Didn’t glance at the scoreboard.

He turned.

Eyes already locked on Ryōta.

Their gazes met.

No words.

No smirk.

No mask.

But for the first time all game—

Ryōta sblinked.

Because he knew.

The distortion had been seen.

And now?

The vision was fighting back.

Dirga didn’t rush.

Didn’t burn forward like a comet.

Godframe wasn’t about speed.

It was about order.

He saw Ryōta now—

Not as a defender,

But as a misaligner.

A living fracture point.

A brushstroke that bent structure before it dried.

But now?

Now Dirga could see it.

Not just where Ryōta was.

But where the distortion would form—

before it ever touched the page.

...

Kurotsuki possession.

Smooth.

Eiji swung to Toshiro.

Taniguchi drifted open-side.

Sho settled into the dunker spot.

Standard.

Clean.

But Ryōta ghosted toward the top—

Just in case Horizon jumped the first pass.

Dirga saw it.

A single blue thread starting to fray.

The rhythm would collapse if Rei rotated.

So he waved him off.

No trap.

No help.

Let it come.

Taniguchi pulled up—

Clank.

Dirga boxed.

Rikuya secured the board.

Turn.

Back the other way.

Possession: Horizon.

Dirga crossed halfcourt.

Eyes scanning—

One second ahead of reality.

There it was.

Ryōta drifting into the mid-slot.

Hunting the next seam before it opened.

Dirga didn’t call a set.

Didn’t check the sideline.

He just flowed.

Rei ghosted baseline.

Dirga faked the pass—

Ryōta twitched left—

Pause.

0.3 seconds.

Snap-pass opposite.

Right wing.

Aizawa.

No defender near.

Rise. Release.

Swish.

54 – 51.

"DIRGA WITH THE LOOK-AWAY LASER!"

"HE’S BREAKING THEIR SHAPE MID-PLAY!"

Kurotsuki’s bench stayed silent.

But Coach Renji’s hands tightened behind his back.

And even Ryōta...

Shifted.

A subtle change in weight.

Adjusted his stance.

...

Kurotsuki Ball.

They descended slower this time.

Measured. Calculated.

Each step like gravity defied—intentionally.

This time, Ryōta didn’t float.

He grounded himself.

Posted near Taiga—anchoring structure into the chaos.

But Dirga read it. Instantly.

The thread shimmered—

Too precise.

Too predictable.

A glance, a whisper of motion—

A finger brushing air.

"Don’t follow."

They held the zone.

Flexible. Tense. Waiting.

Sho hesitated.

Caught it a beat too late.

Forced it.

Contested jumper.

Clang.

Aizawa—always alert—snatched the long rebound.

Momentum shifted.

He pushed.

Dirga didn’t call for it.

Didn’t need to.

He let it run—like a conductor easing into tempo.

Rei exploded wide.

Rikuya ghosted through the middle.

Taiga flared to the right wing.

Dirga?

Jogged down the center lane.

Unhurried. Loose.

Casual... deceptively so.

Ryōta stayed near the nail.

Eyes sharp.

Waiting to trigger hesitation—

One mistake. One slip.

Dirga met his gaze.

Then dismissed it.

Look-off. Fire. Baseline zip.

Rei.

Corner.

Three.

Bang.

57 – 51.

And Ryōta?

Still frozen.

Not a twitch.

But something had changed.

The illusion cracked.

Because this time—

He’d pulled the thread too tight.

And it snapped back.

"Dirga’s orchestrating this offense like a string section—each cut, each pass, a perfect note!"

"And Rei with the finish! No wasted motion—just surgical timing!"

...

Godframe ticked down—10 seconds. Then 6.

Dirga’s vision receded—back to real-time clarity.

But his perception?

Sharper. Deeper.

This wasn’t improvisation anymore.

This was a duel in rhythm.

Not about control—

About timing.

The pulse faded.

The court dimmed.

[GODFRAME DEACTIVATED]

Lines vanished.

Threads snapped back into the messy chaos of human motion.

Color. Pressure. Rhythm—

All dissolved into sweat and breath.

But Dirga didn’t flinch.

Didn’t panic.

Because Godframe didn’t just show patterns—

It taught them.

Embedded them.

It gave him intuition.

He had seen Ryōta.

Now?

He could feel him.

...

Kurotsuki Ball.

Eiji walked it upcourt—measured.

Toshiro lingered weak side.

Sho posted shallow.

Taniguchi drifted into the corner shadows.

And Ryōta?

Drifted too.

Same as always.

Floating, quiet, effortless—

A ghost in the architecture.

Seemingly harmless.

A non-threat in constant motion.

But Dirga moved first.

Subtle. Decisive.

He stepped off the script.

Not to trap.

To flatten distortion.

He held the middle half a beat longer—

Delaying Aizawa’s shift.

A shoulder twitch—barely visible—

"Don’t chase the ghost."

Ryōta glided into the slot.

But Dirga was already there.

Not guarding the man.

Guarding the space.

Blocking the breath Ryōta needed.

Eiji scanned—

No seam.

Taniguchi flashed. Rei stuck to him like shadow.

Sho surfaced—Rikuya sealed it early.

High pass.

Toshiro grabbed late.

Shot clock dying.

Contested pull-up.

Miss.

Aizawa snared the board.

Pushed—deliberate.

Transition tempo, throttled low.

Dirga had broken the echo.

...

Horizon Possession.

Dirga raised a hand—

Waved off the first cut.

Called for two-man tempo.

Simple. Intentional. Grounded.

Not to score.

To control.

Taiga approached.

Fake DRIBBLE HANDOFF—Dirga kept it.

Quick left cross. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

Kurotsuki rotated—delayed.

But Ryōta?

Too late.

His drift—his signature float—

No longer disrupted the rhythm.

Because Dirga had pulled the gravity line away from him.

Control had changed hands.

Snap pass.

Laser to Rei.

Baseline flash.

Catch. Shot.

Swish.

59 – 51.

Finally—

Kurotsuki’s bench stirred.

Coach Renji blinked.

Because Ryōta...

Wasn’t isolated.

Wasn’t attacked.

He was made irrelevant.

Dirga jogged back—slow, measured.

No celebration.

But his shoulders?

Lighter.

Under his breath—barely audible:

"You’re not invisible anymore."

And Ryōta?

Jogged too.

Same form.

Same calm.

But the rhythm?

No longer solo.

Dirga was now playing

the counter-melody.

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