CHAPTER 105: HORIZON VS TOYONAKA : TEMPO WAR 1

Another inbound to Yuto.

Dirga’s eyes narrowed.

He remembered the strategy meeting clearly:

"First pass usually goes to Masaki. They’re tight. Trust that connection."

"They’ll try to bait us with the screen. Be ready."

And they were.

Dirga and Taiga locked in on that option like trained hunters.

Sure enough—Masaki moved up.

Yuto brought the ball forward slowly, calculating. Then he motioned—

Masaki stepped up for the screen.

But this wasn’t just about spacing.

It was a handoff.

Yuto passed the ball mid-screen.

Masaki caught it fluidly in motion.

Taiga switched on instinct. Shadowing tight.

Masaki didn’t flinch.

His eyes scanned, and his mind clicked into rhythm.

"They’re reading me well," Masaki whispered to himself.

"But I expected that. I’ll believe in myself—and finish it."

This was the difference.

Where Heian Gakuen underestimated him...

Horizon didn’t.

They were guarding heavy, showing full respect to Toyonaka’s ace.

But Masaki wasn’t looking for respect.

He was here for results.

He went left.

Then right.

Crossover.

Sudden snap.

Taiga stumbled.

His footing gave way.

The gym fell silent.

Ankle broken.

The crowd’s gasp sucked the air out of the arena.

Even Ayaka’s hand froze in mid-cheer.

Taiga hit the floor, arms scrambling.

Masaki took one step back—cool, calm.

Pull-up jumper.

Swish.

5 – 2.

No celebration.

Just a quiet glance at Taiga on the hardwood.

Cold. Ice cold.

Masaki’s jumper fell clean.

The crowd roared.

The bench stood.

And Taiga?

Back on his feet—jaw clenched, chest heaving, pride bruised but not broken.

Dirga caught his eye.

A nod.

A silent message:

"Shake it off. We need you."

Taiga responded with a grunt, more angry at himself than anything else.

Dirga jogged back to take the inbound pass.

Kaito slapped the ball into his hands.

Time to respond.

Dirga dribbled past half court, Yuto already glued to his hip again—relentless.

But Dirga wasn’t rattled.

He was focused.

The offense moved into position.

Rikuya set a screen.

Dirga faked using it, then slipped left—a decoy.

That created a crack.

Just a small one.

Enough.

Dirga lobbed the ball to Kaito at the top.

Kaito caught it clean.

And that’s when it started:

Aizawa cut in.

Kaito flared out to the wing.

Kaito pumped once—defender bit—then fed the ball inside.

Rikuya. The Titan.

One-on-one against Haruto.

Clash of giants.

Rikuya didn’t hesitate.

He dropped a shoulder, powered through—

Thud!

Haruto didn’t move.

Solid as a wall.

Rikuya spun back, faked once, then jumped off his right.

Hook shot.

It arced perfectly—

Then—

Ding! Off the glass. In.

7 – 2. Horizon holds.

Toyonaka’s bench barked out instructions.

Coach Reina stood, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Another inbound to Yuto.

This time—pace increased.

Fast. Aggressive.

Yuto pushed the ball up court, and Horizon scrambled back.

Masaki trailed behind, waiting for the handoff.

But this time?

No handoff.

Shunpei cut inside.

Masaki pointed.

Yuto nodded.

Dirga noticed the shift—"Mismatch?"

But it was too late.

Yuto fired a bounce pass into traffic—

Shunpei caught it mid-stride.

Right past Aizawa.

Layup.

7 – 4.

Back to Horizon.

Dirga exhaled slowly.

His fingers rolled over the ball as he passed half court again.

"Run 3B," he called.

This one was a stagger screen play for Aizawa.

Kaito and Taiga moved like magnets pulling defenders wide.

Aizawa darted past the first screen—

Then the second—

Popped out on the wing—

Dirga passed—

Aizawa caught—

Shot in motion—

THREE!

Clang!

Off the rim!

But Rikuya was already there.

He boxed Haruto out, leaped—

Tipped it back in!

9 – 4.

The crowd was boiling now.

Ayaka jumped from the Horizon stands—"LET’S GO!"

Signs flew. Drums beat. Flags waved.

On Toyonaka’s end, Masaki tightened his ponytail braid.

He gave a look to Daichi, then to Shunpei.

"Let’s raise the tempo," he muttered.

And suddenly—

Masaki brought the ball up himself.

Dirga locked in.

No more hesitation.

Masaki exploded past half court with speed and force.

Taiga stepped up early—tried to slow him down.

But this time, Masaki didn’t go flashy.

He bulldozed forward.

One bounce.

Two.

Taiga took contact.

Foul.

Whistle blew.

Masaki didn’t even blink.

Just went to the line.

The crowd started chanting:

"Black Thunder! Black Thunder!"

Masaki bounced the ball once.

Swish. First free throw in.

Bounced again.

Swish. Second one good.

9 – 6.

Dirga walked toward the ball.

He didn’t look at Masaki.

Not directly.

But in his head—he smiled.

"This is the game we wanted."

"Let’s see who breaks first."

...

Shift. Change. Adjust.

Kaito brought the ball up this time.

Dirga stepped aside—not as the conductor, but as the observer.

They needed to shake Toyonaka’s rhythm.

So Kaito, with his calm yet clinical precision, took the reins.

The court felt different now.

Tighter. Heavier.

Like gravity had increased.

Toyonaka’s defense?

It wasn’t just adapting—it was evolving.

Yuto, sharp-eyed and locked in, mirrored Kaito’s every twitch.

His feet were silent, his movement clean.

"He’s reading us," Kaito thought, tightening his grip on the ball.

Horizon flowed into motion—screens, cuts, misdirections.

But the air crackled with a new tension.

Toyonaka’s defensive aura had changed.

It was no longer just aggressive.

It was intelligent.

Yuto moved like he was inside Kaito’s head.

Each pass lane felt narrower.

Each dribble heavier.

Kaito shifted his weight, danced sideways—

But Yuto didn’t bite.

"He’s anticipating me..." Kaito’s brow twitched.

Suddenly—Taiga flashed to help, giving Kaito a sliver of an opening.

Kaito snapped a pass.

—But it never made it.

Yuto pounced.

The moment the ball left Kaito’s fingers, Yuto’s hand was there.

SNATCH.

Clean. Cold.

And in a blink—

He was gone.

Yuto exploded down the court like a bullet out of a chamber.

Taiga, caught flat, recovered—his legs burned as he pushed to catch up.

The gym roared—half from cheers, half from gasps.

Yuto didn’t run at full throttle.

No—he was playing a game within the game.

He baited Taiga.

Slowed slightly.

Waited.

Timed it perfectly.

Rondo step.

Taiga rose—instinct, not decision.

Yuto spun mid-air.

A ghost around a wall.

One motion—hook shot.

Net.

9 – 8.

The arena exploded.

Taiga landed, frozen.

His chest rose and fell like a piston.

His fists clenched.

That was twice.

Twice now he’d been made to look like a fool.

His pride?

Cracked.