"Keep trying, little bro."
Aizawa’s fists clenched.
But he didn’t say a word.
Dirga glanced at Aizawa—eyes alert.
The fire was starting.
Just getting warmed up.
Haru stepped up again—tight stance, arms out, that same focused look. But Dirga saw the gap in his footwork.
This kid still doesn’t get it.
They’re underestimating me.
He’d make them regret it.
Dirga brought the ball up, slow at first. Then—
A hand signal. A jab.
Rikuya stepped in for the screen.
A clean angle, set left. Haru readied himself to fight through it.
Except—Dirga rejected it.
Explosive first step.
A blur past the screen.
Dirga cut right—open.
But he didn’t go all the way in.
Riku, North Wolves’ towering center, was waiting in the paint. Lurking. Ready to leap.
So instead—Dirga lifted.
At the last second, the ball left his fingertips—a laser off the hip to Aizawa, who came cutting in from the baseline like a shadow through a storm.
The brothers met in motion.
Aizawa didn’t stop—he spun.
Smooth. Sharp. A pirouette in chaos.
A glimpse of daylight.
A shot—awkward angle. Mid-spin. Off-balance.
But Minato Haruto wasn’t a normal defender.
A clean swat in mid-air.
The ball went flying—ricocheting like a pinball across the floor.
Tomoya lunged for it.
But Taiga, in the chaos, slapped it loose.
In the middle of the mayhem.
As if gravity itself bent toward him.
Eyes locked. Pulse steady.
North Wolves pounced.
Like real wolves. All teeth and speed.
But Dirga didn’t flinch.
Gaito was there—but half a second late.
Release—high arc—clean motion.
The ball bounced hard—high.
Aizawa was still under the rim.
But Minato was already there.
The rebound snapped into Minato’s hands—clean, two-handed, high above the pack.
No hesitation. No delay.
Just a sharp pivot—and a crisp outlet pass to Gaito, who had just start running.
Simple. Efficient. Ordinary.
But what happened next... wasn’t.
Minato exploded down the right sideline.
Eyes locked forward. No dribble. No slowdown.
Just pure velocity—cutting through the court like a jet slicing low over water.
That familiar pattern.
His fingers tightened around the ball.
Just past the midline—
A straight-line missile.
The ball cut the air like it had a mind of its own.
Minato was already mid-air when it arrived.
The net flared white.
A silence fell over Horizon’s bench.
Even Kaito and Hiroki looked stunned.
The gym was still echoing from that slam.
Back on defense, Aizawa’s teeth clenched.
His fingers twitched.
Minato passed by on his jog back.
Didn’t even glance his way.
He whispered just loud enough.
"Two for me, little bro."
Aizawa didn’t answer.
But his jaw tightened.
Something inside him had been lit.
Something that wasn’t going out easily.
Dirga took the ball again—same position, same setup.
Haru still guarding him.
But Dirga was done playing gently.
He knew what this was now.
"They’re keeping Haru on me so Gaito doesn’t get exhausted chasing,"
"They want me to pass... not create."
Dirga’s foot sliced across the hardwood.
Dirga stepped into a mid-range jumper.
Release. Flick. Pure.
Always the shepherd with the ball.
And this time, he really showed why he was called that.
He didn’t just pass—he threaded the court like a composer.
Cross-court bounce pass behind his back.
Quick touch to Minato.
Then a no-look laser to Haru on the cut.
Dirga narrowed his eyes.
His playmaking is insane... he sees the whole court two steps ahead.
Horizon came right back.
Dirga walked it up, then dribbled hard left.
Haru tried to angle him off—this time, Tomoya stepped up to help.
Perfect. Exactly what Dirga wanted.
He kicked it quickly to Taiga—wide open on the right elbow.
One bounce. EURO STEP.
Clean move into the lane.
The clock ticked down.
Last minute of the quarter.
Dirga’s system pulsed.
[Echo: Activating Tempo Sight – Godframe]
The world around him flattened into layers of color and motion.
Teammates glowed blue. Opponents burned red.
Like watching a game unfold from a satellite camera in his brain.
Gaito crossed half-court again, unaware.
Dirga tapped his chest—a signal.
Gaito flinched—just a breath.
Still, Gaito kept calm and tried to fire a pass to the sideline.
Dirga’s hand was already there.
Scramble. Skid. Grit.
Aizawa was already sprinting ahead.
A flash of red and black cutting through the chaos.
Fast break. One-two pass.
Dirga → Aizawa → Dirga → back to Aizawa.
Like music. Like instinct.
Body angled mid-air, defenders trailing—
And kissed it off the glass.
But the Wolves didn’t flinch.
They didn’t even slow down.
Gaito stormed the ball back up the court.
Like he was angry the score changed at all.
Haru moved early—setting up beyond the arc in case Horizon pressed again.
Dirga saw Gaito’s hand twitch. A signal.
Haru and Minato stepped up in tandem.
Precision. Practice. Punishment.
Gaito slithered between them—
Dirga followed, but the screens were tight.
Haru curved inside. Minato flared out.
"No... that was never the plan..."
The ball snapped across the hardwood.
But it wasn’t meant for a shot.
Minato was already rotating behind him.
His form? Perfect. Smooth. Balanced.
A shadow rose in front of him.
Faster than instinct.
From the weak side. From hell itself.
Clean. Loud. Like a gunshot in a church.
The ball ricocheted up—a perfect arc born from chaos.
And Dirga’s system pulsed:
[GodFrame Active: Trajectory Analysis Engaged.]
Lines of motion flickered into his vision like a tactical display.
Dirga’s feet were already moving—
He didn’t think. He didn’t decide.
Past the top of the key.
Past the halfway line.
Scouts up in the rafters leaned forward. Cameras zoomed.
Dirga arrived at the exact point. No bobble. No fumble.
Dirga didn’t hesitate.
Momentum carrying him off balance.
The ball cut the air—
End of the first quarter.
Commentators shouted over each other.
"What a quarter from the underdog—Toyonaka Horizon showing no fear!!"
"That kid—Dirgantara Renji—is a problem!"
"And Aizawa with the block of the tournament already!"
The players returned to the benches, gasping, buzzing.
He turned his head—caught Minato’s eye across the court.
And slowly, one corner of his mouth curled.
Was leading the pack.