I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It
Chapter 161: Horizon vs. Kurotsuki : The Final Verse 1

Chapter 161: Horizon vs. Kurotsuki : The Final Verse 1

And Ryōta?

Jogged too.

Same form.

Same calm.

But the rhythm?

No longer solo.

Dirga was now playing

the counter-melody.

...

Next Kurotsuki Possession.

They tried again.

Same formation. Same hope, rethreaded.

Toshiro broke early—cutting sharp.

Sho sealed tight inside.

Taniguchi curled wide—late, but clean.

And Ryōta?

He floated.

Ghostlike. Evasive.

But this time—

He was ignored.

Dirga didn’t glance.

Didn’t adjust.

He simply called a soft shift right.

Rei moved—

Half a second early.

Not reacting. Anticipating.

The trap Ryōta had been baiting?

Never came.

The pattern shattered.

Kurotsuki paused.

Hesitated.

Stalled.

Taniguchi forced a fading jumper—

Off-balance.

Clank.

Sho grabbed the rebound—

Solid hands. Good position.

But then—

He froze.

No outlet.

No angle.

No rhythm.

Because now even he knew:

Ryōta couldn’t touch them.

Not unless they played his song.

And Dirga?

Dirga had already taken the sheet music.

Burned it.

TWEEEEET.

Timeout: Kurotsuki.

...

Coach Renji raised a hand—

Sharp. Decisive.

Cutting off the next play before it could form.

There was no panic on his face.

But there was a pivot.

Sho walked to the bench first—

Slow. Deliberate.

Each step heavy, as if absorbing weight not from the court, but from the silence.

Toshiro followed,

Wiping his hands with a towel he hadn’t asked for.

Taniguchi came last.

Back straight.

Eyes forward.

Sweat trailing behind his ears like a second pulse.

Ryōta didn’t move at first.

He stood.

Still watching Dirga.

Still flickering—

Like a glitch in a looped frame.

Until—

Coach Renji’s voice cracked the quiet.

"We’re done with the fog."

Heads lifted.

Sho didn’t blink.

Toshiro stilled.

Ryōta exhaled—slow, steady.

But said nothing.

Coach Renji paced once—tight, purposeful.

Then turned.

"Ryōta. You’re not the shadow anymore."

"You’re the signal."

No nod.

No smirk.

Just a pulse of understanding.

Message received.

He turned next to Toshiro.

"No more hesitation. When you screen, you hit. When you rotate, you break."

To Sho:

"You don’t hold the paint. You lock it down."

And then—

To Taniguchi.

Expressionless.

Unflinching.

"You lead the pattern."

"Not to react. Not to float."

"But to take."

Taniguchi met his gaze—finally.

One second.

One nod.

No words needed.

Coach Renji stepped back.

Looked at all five.

"Five."

"Not one."

"No ghosts."

No cheer.

No chant.

Just movement.

Five players stood—

Aligned. In rhythm.

Not scattered. Not seeking.

A formation.

Not pieces.

Instruments.

And they were about to play

their sharpest composition yet.

...

On the other end of the court,

Dirga wiped his face with a towel.

Not from exhaustion—

From focus.

Precision sweating out of skin.

He watched them stand.

Not in silence.

In unity.

Five silhouettes aligned in rhythm, no longer flickering between roles.

"They’re done hiding," he muttered.

Coach Tsugawa stood just behind—arms crossed, unreadable.

The kind of stillness that came with trust, not control.

"Then finish what you started," he said.

...

Kurotsuki Ball.

This time,

Taniguchi moved early.

Slipped from corner to slot—

Then flared out.

Not for the ball.

For the space.

Toshiro dragged Rei on a ghost screen—

More feint than force.

But just enough.

Sho hovered in the middle.

Didn’t seal.

Didn’t need to.

He held tension—like a string stretched but unplayed.

And Ryōta?

Barely moved.

A flicker.

A breath.

But that was the trick.

Because Horizon shifted—

A beat too late.

The rhythm they thought they’d rewritten?

It had already changed.

Taniguchi cut in sharp—like a blade.

Sho saw it—

Fed him with touch, not speed.

Soft. Perfect.

Floater.

High arc.

Off two feet.

Drifted.

Splash.

59 – 53.

...

Dirga didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

But his mind turned.

There’s no more ghost.

He’d meant it as closure.

But now—

He felt it.

Something else.

Worse.

The ghost was gone.

But what replaced it?

A signal.

Clear. Directed. Intentional.

This wasn’t Ryōta playing misdirection anymore.

This was Kurotsuki executing a score.

No fog. No solo.

The change of plan...?

Dirga’s breath slowed.

Not panic—

Adjustment.

He’d burned their sheet music once.

But now?

They were composing their own.

And he was no longer playing against shadows.

He was playing against clarity.

...

Horizon ball.

Dirga walked it up—slow, steady.

No Godframe.

No pulses.

No glowing threads.

Just instinct.

And the memory of rhythm.

Aizawa floated high.

Taiga stepped into a screen—

Not hard. Just enough to misdirect.

Dirga faked the DRIBBLE HANDOFF.

Swung left.

Rei dragged his defender baseline—

The whole defense followed the motion.

Except—

Taniguchi.

He didn’t bite.

Stayed planted.

Aizawa curled weak side.

Dirga saw the angle.

Quick give.

Aizawa pump—step-through—

Reverse lay.

61 – 53.

"BEAUTIFUL two-man finish—Dirga and Aizawa playing on intuition now!"

The Horizon bench clapped.

Momentum, they thought.

Control.

But Dirga?

Dirga turned.

And Kurotsuki was already set.

Back in formation.

No scramble. No chatter.

Just a pressurized calm—

like something about to break.

...

Kurotsuki responded.

No rush.

No panic.

Just execution.

Toshiro set the screen—solid this time.

Dirga felt it—deep in his ribs.

Sho posted early, dragging Rikuya across the lane.

Taniguchi curled up—threatening mid-range again.

Rei stepped high to help—

But the pass didn’t go to him.

It went underneath.

To the one they’d forgotten.

The one now standing in the center of it all.

Ryōta.

Catch.

Lay.

61 – 55.

...

Horizon Ball.

Dirga kept control.

No rush.

He slowed the push.

Waved off Taiga’s early screen—

Tapped his hip.

A signal, not just a call.

Aizawa stayed parked in the corner.

Rei lifted—faint, timed.

Ball came back to Dirga—who waited.

Patience, not hesitation.

Then—

Drive left.

Sho stepped up.

Help defense came late, heavy.

Dirga read it—

Baseline dump.

Rei—backdoor cut—perfect angle.

Open look.

Corner three.

Clang.

Miss.

Too clean. Too quick.

Rebound Rikuya

...

Horizon Ball

Dirga brought it up.

He didn’t look at Kaito.

But he felt him.

Burning behind the bench.

Burning through the glass.

Aizawa flashed up top.

Taiga set a soft rub screen.

Rei lifted corner.

Dirga waited.

Passed.

Aizawa attacked.

Cut through.

Sho stepped early—swallowed the lane.

Kickout to Rei.

Three.

Clang.

Loose ball—

Rikuya flew in.

Timed.

Violent.

Precise.

Tip-in.

63 – 55

...

Kurotsuki Ball

No hesitation.

Eiji didn’t even look to the sideline.

They were in it now.

Toshiro initiated.

Ryōta floated right—held just long enough to drag the zone.

Sho stepped into the paint.

The pass should have gone to him.

But it went to Taniguchi.

Corner.

Catch.

No dribble.

Just release.

Swish.

63 – 58

Three straight.

Three cuts.

Three different tempos.

Same result.

...

On the sideline, Kaito stepped forward.

Didn’t ask this time.

Didn’t clench his fists.

He just said it.

"Three minutes."

Coach Tsugawa turned to him.

The crowd behind them didn’t exist.

Only the silence between words.

"Two minutes thirty."

"Don’t break."

Kaito nodded.