Toyonaka's transition game now unstoppable.
And Masaki?
He was a demon unleashed.
Another drive.
A mid-air adjustment.
Contact.
Still finished.
24 – 32.
Coach Tsugawa stood—his voice cutting through the chaos.
"Timeout!"
The whistle blew.
The gym trembled.
And Horizon—
was down eight.
With three minutes left in the second quarter.
…
And Horizon—
was down by eight.
The gym was buzzing, but to Horizon's bench, it felt muted.
Dull. Like the hum of defeat trying to sink its teeth in.
Dirga walked off the court slowly, towel draped over his shoulders, sweat dripping down his jaw like the remnants of a storm that had failed to bring the rain.
His vision was sharp.
His mind, even sharper.
But his grip on the game?
Slipping.
Toyonaka was adapting.
Yuto was reading.
Masaki—was tearing them apart.
And it wasn't just him.
Rikuya sat with his head lowered, towel over his face. Taiga leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, knuckles white. Their bodies were fine.
