I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It
Chapter 88: Horizon VS Seiryuu : Lines of Code, Beats of Chaos 2
CHAPTER 88: HORIZON VS SEIRYUU : LINES OF CODE, BEATS OF CHAOS 2
26 – 14.
The arena roared—not in chaos, but in awe.
Like they knew: this wasn’t showboating.
It was a message.
Coach Tsugawa stood on the sideline like a weathered mountain.
Unmoving.
Eyes locked.
Only nodding.
No clipboard.
No frenzied yelling.
Just those two words after every make:
"Keep pressing."
Because he knew something even the scoreboard didn’t show yet.
Seiryuu was downloading.
Once complete, they wouldn’t be reactive.
They would be perfect.
They always were.
So Horizon had one strategy:
Stay ahead.
Run faster than the data.
Drown the system in tempo.
Seiryuu tried to respond again.
This time, Seta called for a double off-ball screen.
Renji looped around the curl, caught it on the wing—fired.
Clang. Rim out.
Rikuya gobbled the rebound, flicked it to Dirga.
They were running again.
Dirga up the sideline.
Rei wide.
Taiga trailing.
Hiroki cutting baseline.
But Dirga didn’t pass.
He stopped.
Mid-transition.
The defense was still shifting—but he didn’t care.
Stop.
Rise.
Pull-up jumper from the left elbow.
Swish.
28 – 16.
Backpedaling now, eyes already fixed on Seta Naoto.
Not with ego.
Not with anger.
But with something sharper.
A challenge.
"Still with your data?"
Seta didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
But his eyes narrowed.
And he whispered just loud enough for himself, for the tension between them, and for fate to hear:
"We’re almost there."
...
Second Quarter – 5:03 remaining
The scoreboard blinked red.
Not from pressure.
But from confusion.
To Seiryuu, this shouldn’t have been happening. They were behind schedule.
The code was running.
The data was syncing.
But Horizon—Horizon wasn’t stalling.
They were accelerating.
And Dirga?
He was the bug in the code they couldn’t squash.
Seiryuu Possession
Coach Tsukinomiya adjusted the sliders on his Laptop. Behind him, three assistant analysts updated the models, each one murmuring adjustments like engineers tuning a spacecraft mid-launch.
"Route Delta-7," he said quietly.
Seta nodded. No words needed. That was all he needed.
Cut—flare—screen—handoff.
Mikami emerged, caught the pass, launched.
Swish.
28 – 19.
The sound of progress.
But no celebration followed.
Because the data still lagged 0.7 seconds behind real-time.
And against Horizon?
That was fatal.
Dirga’s Turn
He walked the ball up this time.
No speed. No misdirection.
Just eye contact with Seta, daring him to predict.
Behind Dirga, motion churned like a whirlpool.
Rei darted. Hiroki flared. Rikuya posted.
Dirga did nothing.
Then everything.
Hesitation.
Cross.
Stepback—
No.
Crossover again—his foot brushing the arc like a match across a striker.
Step in.
Float pass.
Rei—cutting baseline.
Layup.
30 – 19.
On the Seiryuu bench, Coach Tsukinomiya flinched.
That wasn’t the set they ran before.
It was similar—but altered.
"Horizon is... mutating," whispered one assistant.
"No," Tsukinomiya said. "Dirga is."
Seiryuu Response, Now the calls grew sharper. The actions—cleaner. Their movement tightened like a gear system finally aligning.
Seta to Mikami—back to Teshima.
Triple screen. Skip pass.
Jinbo cut across the paint at a perfect 45° angle—barely a sliver of light.
Caught.
Jump-stop. Pump-fake. Leaner.
Bucket.
30 – 21.
Seiryuu was closing in.
But that was the trap.
Horizon didn’t care.
Dirga Again, Coach Tsugawa said no timeouts. No pauses. Let them feel the current.
Dirga called no plays.
Instead, he passed to Hiroki and sprinted behind him.
A dribble-handoff?
No. He faked it, reversed course, and sprinted out to the wing.
Catch. Set. Rise.
A triple?
No—he caught it mid-air, dropped it behind to Taiga.
Cutting. Unseen.
Scoop layup.
32 – 21.
It wasn’t a play.
It was jazz again.
And Seiryuu?
Their code couldn’t parse art.
..
Timeout – Seiryuu
Coach Tsukinomiya’s jaw clenched as he stared at the visual readout.
Enemy Data Completion: 88.4%
Target: 95% for full predictive sync.
"We’re almost synced. Another 3 minutes. That’s all I need," he muttered.
Teshima stood, arms folded, sweat streaming.
"Three minutes," he repeated. "Then what?"
"Then we erase them."
..
Final Minute of 2nd Quarter, Seta initiated with speed this time.
Pin-down. Handoff. Backdoor.
Reversal pass—no bounce.
It sliced Horizon’s defense open like a scalpel.
Fujisawa caught it and flushed it.
32 – 23.
No noise from Seiryuu.
Just progress.
Just precision.
Just... time.
Dirga exhaled.
Slow.
Centered.
And then he activated.
The gym didn’t feel like a gym anymore.
The lights were too sharp. The air too still.
Time bent.
The edges of everything blurred.
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t tell his teammates.
He just flipped the switch inside.
[Maestro State: Activated]
[Flow State: 200% Boost | Duration: 3:00]
[Tempo Sight: Godframe Activated – 45 seconds]
From the outside, nothing had changed.
But inside Dirga’s body—everything did.
Pulse: slowed.
Vision: widened.
Instinct: sharpened.
Like a maestro returning to his orchestra, like a hacker sliding into perfect code, he aligned.
He wasn’t just reading the court.
He was absorbing it.
It unshackled.it is the first the dirga use the godframe
Dirga’s perception detached from his body—lifted, ascended—until it hovered like an unseen spirit above the court. He was no longer in the game.
He was watching it unfold from the sky.
From this elevated view, the court was a digital battlefield. Players no longer wore faces—just forms. Glowing outlines of movement, rhythm, and decision.
Teammates glowed blue. Calm, flowing.
Opponents glowed red. Fast, reactive. Predictable.
Behind every player trailed motion arcs—light like comet tails. These weren’t just streaks. They told stories. Hiroki sprint flared hot, but tightened at each footfall—he was about to pull up. Taiga’s bounce shifted jaggedly—he was bracing for a seal. Teshima’s red aura had a rhythm to it—three steps, hesitation, jab... crossover incoming.
And the floor itself wasn’t just wood anymore.
It was mapped.
Grids flickered alive beneath the surface, shifting with every breath of momentum. Scoring zones pulsed in soft gold. Passing lanes glowed green—then closed red, like doors slamming shut. Trap zones crackled orange—areas where double-teams were likely to collapse.
And above it all, thin white prediction threads hovered—spaghetti lines of future action, based on pressure points, angles, muscle tension.
Dirga didn’t just see the now.
He saw the next. Dirga become player like seiyuu wanted a computer but it just 45 seconds so dirga better make it full time
Teshima called for a stagger screen at the top of the arc.
Dirga watched it unfold from above.
But something in the line of movement glitched.
A hesitation. A muscle twitch. A slight deceleration.
"He’s not using the screen."
"He’s faking."
Dirga didn’t wait.
He moved before the pass left the hand.
From the stands, it looked impossible.
Like he teleported.
STEAL.
And before the arena could even gasp—
he was gone.
Exploded out the other side.
Blurred. Untouchable.
Rei saw the silhouette—a flash of blue motion—and instinctively hurled the ball.
Pass.
Catch.
One step.
Rise.
Dirga’s form twisted in the air.
Perfect. Effortless.
THREE.
BOOM.
35 – 23.