[ Active Skill Flow State: ACTIVATED ]
[ Pressure Detected: MAXIMUM ]
[ Attribute Boost: 300% ]
[ Timer: 3 Minutes Remaining ]
A pulse cracked through Dirga’s core.
The court blurred—then sharpened.
Every outline, every bead of sweat, every twitching muscle on the opposing side came into razor clarity.
Lungs no longer choking.
Muscles tightened and responsive, ready to detonate at his command.
It felt like stepping back into divinity.
But with intent—like a hunter stalking prey.
Toyonaka set up their defense.
He noticed it immediately—
His shoulders tensed.
Dirga wasn’t just fast now.
He nodded once to Aizawa.
Another time to Taiga.
Rikuya moved up from the paint,
Set a ghost screen on the right.
Dirga stopped mid-step—hesi.
Dirga ghosted past him, slicing between Daichi and Shunpei.
Dirga was already airborne.
But for a high-arching floater that kissed the sky.
He felt the wind across his wrist.
The light from the gym ceiling like stars above a battlefield.
Dirga landed like a shadow.
No celebration. No grin.
Just fire in his eyes—focused and unblinking.
The kill wasn’t over.
Toyonaka’s offense returned like a machine.
The rhythm was broken.
Their confidence was cracked.
Masaki took the ball, and as always—he led the charge.
But Dirga was already there.
"Taiga, switch. I got him."
Taiga nodded and slid back into the post.
Two flames clashing in the open.
The other trying not to fall.
He snapped his wrist—crossed left.
Eyes burning holes into Dirga’s chest, looking for the crack.
The Flow State flooded his instincts.
He didn’t react late.
He anticipated early.
Dirga was already there.
The ball popped loose.
And like a bullet from a gun,
Rei sprinted up the right wing.
Rikuya and Taiga thundered behind like heavy artillery.
Defensive lines shattered, falling back in desperation.
Masaki turned—chasing from behind like a storm refusing to die.
Rikuya filling the paint.
"They think I’ll take the easy two."
Masaki slid past, caught in the momentum.
The gym fell into slow motion—
More than one possession.
A dagger through the rhythm.
The Horizon bench leapt to their feet—
Takeshi-sensei roaring with a fist in the air.
Coach Tsugawa clapped so hard it echoed.
Sayaka dropped her water bottles screaming.
"HORIZON! HORIZON! HORIZON!"
Ayaka’s voice rose above them all, hands cupped around her mouth, leading the chant like a general on the hill.
The stands were a sea of black and gold thunder.
The gravity pulling away from them.
Masaki’s face as he walked back to inbound?
Eyes lost somewhere between rage and fear.
Dirga had seized the court.
Possession after possession—
Dirga didn’t just lead.
He wasn’t just the point guard.
He was the conductor.
The offense bent to his will. The rhythm pulsed to his beat.
Every player moved as if hearing a silent music only Dirga could hear.
Tap. Pass. Slide. Cut.
Rei floated along the three-point line—ready. Always ready.
Aizawa carved lanes through the wing like a blade through cloth.
Taiga ghosted behind screens—flashing into open gaps.
Rikuya anchored the paint—shoulders wide, timing perfect.
Dirga didn’t just pass the ball.
He passed with purpose.
Laser bounce pass to Aizawa slicing through the lane—score.
No-look dish to Rikuya rolling—slam.
Quick swing to Rei in the corner—swish.
When defenders blitzed him, he passed.
When they sagged off, he pulled up.
He punished them for guessing.
He was unpredictable.
But more than that—he was untouchable.
And on the other end?
The shine in his eyes was fading, the glow dulled by fatigue, frustration, and Dirga’s shadow.
Because Dirga wasn’t just leading Horizon’s offense.
He was locking down Toyonaka’s ace.
One man, both swords.
Masaki tried to shake him.
Spin. Hesitate. Cross.
But every move found Dirga still there—a phantom that wouldn’t fall.
He looked at the scoreboard—
The number hit like a slap.
A one-possession game had become a chasm.
The arena boiled with energy.
The chant for Horizon now felt inevitable.
Ayaka screamed so hard her voice cracked.
The stands were fists in the air. Feet stomping. Rhythm pounding.
Dirga stood at midcourt, breathing fire.
Dirga stood tall, chest rising slow.
Because this court was his.
The huddle was quiet—too quiet.
No one was breathing easy.
Masaki sat, towel over his head, steam rising from his shoulders.
Drops of sweat fell like rain from his chin to the polished wood.
His chest pumped like an engine, but his eyes...
Coach Reina’s voice cut through the fog.
"Focus. Listen. We shut down Dirga—we win.
He’s the maestro. The rhythm of Horizon runs through him."
Her finger jabbed the clipboard so hard the marker tip snapped.
"Yuto, you’re our lock. Full press. Face-guard. No air. No daylight."
"Masaki—offense runs through you. You bring us back."
The team nodded, but doubt hung like a curtain.
Masaki dropped the towel.
His eyes pierced through the noise.
His voice was calm. Cold. Sharp.
"No," he said. "We’re not here to shut him down.
I’m going to destroy him."