It was on Dirga—the one carrying Horizon's pulse, the one standing between Toyonaka and collapse.
She could feel it.
He was holding back a storm behind those calm eyes.
…
On the court, Yuto stood still for a second too long.
Masaki jogged back, expression cool, eyes burning like coals.
He was doing everything.
He was the offense right now.
Scoring. Slashing. Shooting.
Keeping them in this.
But me?
"I'm the point guard."
"I'm supposed to control the rhythm… to conduct."
But right now—Dirga had the baton.
And he was playing Toyonaka like a broken instrument.
"Every time I move, he's already there."
Yuto's eyes narrowed as he looked across at his former brother-in-arms.
Dirga doesn't just guard me. He reads me.
Like he knows me from the inside out.
Like he remembers things I don't.
His fists clenched tighter, knuckles whitening under the sweat.
This rhythm—Dirga's rhythm—has to break.
I have to be the one to crack it.
Even if I can't score… I'll silence him.
