The gym was still warm with echoes.
The court stood empty now.
Paint still slick from battle.
The last shoe squeak long faded.
The overhead lights buzzed softly, casting shadows like ghosts across the hardwood.
The scoreboard had gone dark.
The fans had filtered out.
But the air still hummed.
A silent pulse that hadn’t stopped beating since the final whistle.
Like smoke after lightning.
Toyonaka Horizon 66 – Sapporo North Wolves 58
The numbers weren’t a fluke.
The win wasn’t just real—
It didn’t feel like a celebration.
It felt like something else entirely.
"And that’s the first game wrapped here on Court One!"
"The underdogs—Toyonaka Horizon, first-timers in Nationals—have just taken down the Sapporo North Wolves!"
"Scouts better move fast. This squad’s young, but they’re dangerous."
"Mostly first- and second-years too. Their only senior is the center—Titan Rikuya."
Both teams gathered at center court for the final show of respect.
No trash talk. No drama.
Just warriors—acknowledging the end.
Back on the Horizon bench, the noise had softened to background hum.
Dirga stood in the far corner, still mid-interview with a glossy sports magazine, sweat clinging to his jawline.
Sayaka weaved between bodies, handing out towels and water bottles like post-battle triage.
Rei was loudly recounting a backdoor cut no one remembered.
Taiga was yelling at no one in particular about how he "baited Riku twice."
He stood near the sideline, stretching slowly, rolling out his shoulders.
His breathing was steady now. Controlled.
His face held no triumph. No flash. Just calm.
The sweat had dried, but something heavier still clung to his chest.
That’s when he heard it.
He didn’t look like the version from the game.
No predator’s energy in his step.
Just a water bottle in one hand—
And a stillness in his eyes.
He stopped beside Aizawa.
Aizawa exhaled through his nose.
"I don’t really know."
Minato smirked—soft, not sharp.
"That means you’re breaking the mold."
Aizawa turned toward him.
And for a moment, it all came back—
The nights watching him shoot in the driveway.
The silence at the dinner table.
The praise that never landed on him.
He had always been there.
"...You didn’t hold back, right?"
Minato laughed—low, tired, real.
"Of course not, you idiot."
Aizawa’s voice dropped. No armor. No edge.
"I meant what I said."
"You’re not me. You never were."
Aizawa gave a quiet shrug.
"Still spent half my life trying to be."
Minato looked out toward the court—now empty, still glowing faintly under the overhead lights.
"Then the other half’s yours now."
Meanwhile—back near the baseline.
Dirga stood under the still-buzzing arena lights, towel draped around his shoulders, sweat still streaking his brow.
A handheld camera hovered in front of him.
A magazine reporter held a mic toward his chest, voice polished and eager.
"Dirga . First game at Nationals. First win. How’s it feel?"
Dirga’s lips curved into a half-smile.
He glanced at the scoreboard—even though it was already off.
"Feels good," he said.
"But winning one match?"
"That’s just a step."
He turned slightly, eyes scanning toward the Horizon bench.
The reporter nodded, flipping to his next cue.
"And how about Sapporo North Wolves High? One of the best passing teams in the country. Was it as tough as it looked?"
Dirga chuckled softly, brushing sweat from his temple.
"They’re the best, yeah."
His voice sharpened a little.
The reporter raised an eyebrow. "What made the difference?"
Dirga met his gaze directly, tone calm—but weighty.
"We didn’t try to stop them."
"We matched their rhythm."
The reporter leaned back slightly.
That wasn’t an answer—it was a challenge.
He flipped to the final question.
"And what is Toyonaka Horizon trying to accomplish this tournament?"
Dirga’s expression cooled.
He paused—long enough for the camera to tighten.
"We don’t lose a single game in this group stage."
The reporter blinked.
The crew fell silent for a beat too long.
Even the mic tilted slightly lower—caught by the weight of the words.
"That’s... bold," the reporter muttered.
Dirga just nodded once.
The reporter finally regained his rhythm.
"Thank you for the brief, Dirga."
Dirga handed back the mic, already turning toward his team.
"Yeah. You’re welcome."
He jogged off toward the bench.
Sayaka tossed him a water bottle without looking.
Rei was halfway through retelling a cut that hadn’t happened.
Taiga had pulled off his jersey and was flexing at his reflection in a plastic Gatorade cooler.
Still near the sideline.
Dirga cracked open the bottle and took one long sip.
The fire was still in his chest.
This was just the ignition.
Nationals – Day 1 Recap
Toyonaka High vs. Naha Southern Drakes High
Naha brought flair, improvisation, and streetball rhythm—
But they lacked the defensive backbone to contain Masaki’s
Horizon punished every gap.
Final: Toyonaka dominates.
Tokyo Kousei Academy vs. Nagano Kurotsuki High
Tokyo Kousei showed why they’re title favorites.
Rotations ran like a machine. Their bench? Just as deadly as their starters.
Kurotsuki had no chance.
Final: Blowout. Pure class.
Sendai Seiryuu High vs. Okayama Ironcrest High
Seiryuu lived up to their name—
The dragon devoured the fortress.
Offensive fireworks shattered Okayama’s famed defense.
Final: Seiryuu wins big.
Nagoya Raijin High vs. Kanazawa Sekiryuu High
Kanazawa—former champions—came in with pride.
But Nagoya’s sharpshooters rained fire from every angle.
Their playstyle? Years ahead of 2009.
Final: Nagoya by a narrow edge. Upset complete.
Takamatsu Wavefront High vs. Fukuoka Yamabane High
A calm, clinical match. No flash. No wild turns.
Fukuoka’s discipline edged out Takamatsu.
Final: Yamabane advances.
Back in the stands, Horizon watched every second of Court 1’s action.
Eyes locked. Notes taken.
Scouting wasn’t optional.
Tomorrow, their next opponent steps forward—
Nagano Kurotsuki High.