Chapter 112: Chapter 112

And then he was gone.

What is dirga need to realize

And then he peeled off.

Kaito wasn’t freezing him out.

"I can handle the offense. I can run the system."

"You... fix what’s breaking."

Dirga’s eyes locked on the far end of the court.

That monster. That machine.

That blade slicing through Horizon’s defense like it was paper.

He knew Masaki’s tempo.

He knew Masaki’s tendencies.

He knew Masaki’s breath—the beat between hesitation and execution.

The Flow wasn’t just an offensive buff.

Speed. Reflexes. Perception.

Now it was time to use it on defense.

He’d been fighting the wrong battle.

This wasn’t about scoring.

This was about stopping the fire.

His body lowered into a stance.

"Let’s see if I can cut thunder."

Yuto had the ball in his hands again—his eyes scanning the court with quiet calculation.

"Let’s switch," Dirga said, voice low, calm, controlled.

"Let me try to guard Masaki."

Taiga raised an eyebrow, sweat glistening on his brow.

"Hmph. Alright. Let’s try it."

And the thunder returned to Masaki’s hands.

Close. Tight. Breathing the same air.

Activating: GodFrame.

once again 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.

Every twitch of Masaki’s fingers.

Every shift in his heel.

Every ghost-step or hesitation.

Masaki went into his arsenal.

Crossover. Left. Snapback. Hezi. Right again.

Masaki’s red trail lines—normally a blur—were now like threads in a web Dirga had already woven.

Alone. Against the storm.

Masaki’s brows furrowed.

The weight. The mirror. The wall.

And frustration boiled over.

He drove—hard, shoulder-first, trying to force space where there was none.

Grounded like a mountain.

"Offensive foul! Masaki!"

Gasps. Cheers. A roar.

Dirga’s stance didn’t break.

Masaki blinked in disbelief.

As if thunder had hit steel and finally... cracked.

Ayaka stood, fists raised high.

"LET’S GO, DIRGA! THAT’S HOW YOU FIGHT!!"

Ayaka’s voice cut through the static of the gym like lightning splitting the sky.

Sharp. Raw. Full of fire.

The crowd, stunned moments before, erupted.

Feet stomped. Hands clapped. Voices rose into a unified wave.

It rippled across the bench, through the players—

and finally reached Horizon’s hearts.

For the first time in the game—

Kaito, still calm under pressure, commanded the court like a chess master.

His eyes flicked—left, right—reading, mapping, weaving the threads of the game.

He didn’t just use Dirga.

Rikuya on short rolls.

Taiga stretching weakside defenders.

Aizawa slashing from the corners.

Kaito was the conductor now—

And Dirga had become the anchor on defense.

Stamina Booster pulsing.

Dirga didn’t chase Masaki—he hunted him.

His body moved faster than his own thoughts, instincts sharpened to the edge of a blade.

Not without paying the price.

Toyonaka’s offense, once thunder, was now flickering under the strain.

They thrived on that tension.

30 seconds left in the second quarter.

Toyonaka leading by one.

Dirga’s vision blurred for half a second.

His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest, and his muscles screamed in protest.

But the tank wasn’t empty yet.

The booster kept the fire alive.

Ball in Kaito’s hands.

Yuto stepped up to guard him.

Tight. Hungry. Desperate.

Rikuya came to screen.

Defenders collapsed on Kaito—three bodies shifting toward the point.

A pass—sharp and fast.

Rikuya caught, rose, and released.

The rebound was chaos—

Haruto and Taiga leapt, arms tangling.

The ball ricocheted off Haruto’s fingertips.

Body crashing into the hardwood like a cannonball.

He caught it like a spark catching flame.

Real, blistering thunder.

The court screamed beneath his shoes as he tore past halfcourt.

Taiga and Aizawa trailing like storm shadows.

Legs burning. Breath ragged. Every step like dragging chains through mud.

He rose like a bolt released from a bowstring.

Masaki twisted midair, body contorting like a dancer.

Aizawa came from behind—

But Masaki, still rising in the air, changed again.

Graceful. Perfect. Lethal.

It floated over Aizawa’s reach like a drifting flame.

The ball hit Taiga’s fingertips.

And at that same second—

Masaki landed and turned.

Expression unreadable.

Taiga exhaled, chest heaving.

The block wasn’t just luck—

It was desperation refined into perfect execution.

Dirga finally caught up.

The sounds of sneakers sliding, coaches shouting, and the crowd’s scattered cheers all blurred into a single roar in his ears. His vision pulsed at the edges.

But the scoreboard didn’t lie.

Horizon 36 – Toyonaka 37. Half Time

The storm hadn’t ended.

It hadn’t swallowed them whole.

Dirga didn’t run the offense this quarter.

He didn’t orchestrate like a maestro.

He didn’t pull strings or call plays.

But he became something else.

Unmoving. Unflinching.

Forged in fire, placed in the path of thunder.

Masaki had been a force—

Pure momentum, pure instinct, pure aggression.

But Dirga stood in his path,

And for the first time in the game...

Not because Dirga was faster.

Not because he was stronger.

But because he refused to yield.

Gave Horizon something they hadn’t had since tipoff.

As the players trudged toward the locker rooms,

As sweat dripped and jerseys clung and lungs cried for air—

But he didn’t drop his eyes either.

Masaki glanced at him once.

And for just a second—