I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It
Chapter 58: Horizon VS Hyōgo Iron Giants : The Clash

Chapter 58: Horizon VS Hyōgo Iron Giants : The Clash

The buzz of the crowd was still echoing in their minds as Horizon High watched Toyonaka close out their match against a tough Nara team.

And at the center of it all—like a storm wrapped in human skin—was Misaki.

The court had become his stage. Every possession ran through him. He dribbled through double-teams like they weren’t even there, slashed through the defense with explosive speed, and scored over hands in his face like gravity didn’t exist.

"They’re calling him Black Thunder now," Kaito muttered as they walked to the loker room

"Not surprised," Dirga said, eyes fixed on the screen. "He didn’t pass once in the second half. Just... devoured them."

It was like watching a man possessed. Something had changed in Misaki since the camp. Maybe that match with Buzz had flipped a switch inside him. Maybe he was tired of being underestimated.

Whatever it was—he was more terrifying now.

"Still can’t believe Toyonaka didn’t get a nickname squad," Taiga added, tying his shoes with a smirk. "We’ve got The Titan, The General, and The Maestro. They’ve got—Black Thunder. That’s it?"

"Honestly, I’d be fine if no one named us anything," Hiroki laughed nervously. "It just adds pressure."

Dirga stayed quiet.

He could feel it in the air—the shift. From camp camaraderie to battlefield silence.

This was it. Their turn.

They were gathered in the locker room now. Every player changing into their uniforms, lacing up shoes, tightening wristbands. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, but the real hum came from the tension in the air.

No more warmups.

No more scrimmages.

The first regional match was here.

Coach Tsugawa stood at the front of the room, his clipboard in hand, but his eyes fixed on one man.

"Alright. Listen up."

The locker room stilled. All ears.

"They’re going to suffocate the paint. That’s their plan. Collapse everything inside and dare us to shoot." He turned to Rikuya—The Titan—with a gravity that was almost tangible. "You need to hold that paint like it’s your life. Rebounds. Second chances. You secure them. We don’t survive this if they dominate the boards."

Rikuya nodded slowly, his voice deep and calm. "It’s mine."

Coach looked at each one of them.

"It’s not easy being here. But you earned this. Every suicide drill. Every practice. Every loss. You know what it feels like to fall short."

He stepped back, giving them space.

"We don’t get extra lives here. One loss and we’re out. So don’t think of this as just a game—it’s the only shot you’ve got."

The silence was deafening.

Until Kaito stepped forward.

Their captain. The General.

His voice was clear, steady—burning with quiet fire.

"We’ve bled for this. You all remember how that loss felt at the start of the year. The shame. The emptiness. We’re not feeling that again."

He extended his hand forward.

"Win. Or go home."

One by one, hands met his.

Taiga.

Aizawa

Rikuya.

Hiroki.

Rei.

Kaito.

And finally Dirgantara Renji.

All together now.

A single chant rising from their lungs.

"Horizon!"

...

We walk out of the tunnel and into the blinding glare of the arena lights. For a second, it’s like stepping into another world—everything else fades. The smell of sweat, rubber, and freshly waxed court hits like a wave. The hardwood shines like a mirror beneath our feet.

The arena isn’t packed. But that doesn’t mean it’s quiet.

There’s a buzz. A hum. A tension.

Not noise from the crowd—but the low murmur of expectation. Of nerves. Of pressure.

"And here they come... the finalist from Osaka—Horizon High!"

"We’ve already seen Toyonaka take their win earlier today, led by the explosive Black Thunder—Masaki. The question now is, can Horizon follow in their footsteps and survive the first round?"

"They lost to Toyonaka by just one possession in the finals, so make no mistake—they’re strong. But can they beat the giants?"

From the opposite end, the Iron Giants enter.

Their steps are heavy. Their presence alone makes the gym feel smaller. The Takasugi twins—Renji and Kenta—lead them, a pair of mountains in blue and black jerseys. One a bruiser at power forward, the other a full-on wall at center. Together, they tower over everyone else.

We split into lines, and the rhythm of our pre-game warm-up begins like a silent drumbeat. A ritual we’ve done a thousand times—but never with stakes this high.

Layup line first. Taiga leads it, of course. He rockets into a reverse off the glass, lands with a grin and a spin, feeding off the spotlight already. Behind him, Aizawa goes for a smooth finger roll, light on his feet like he’s skating on air.

Rei doesn’t waste time. Just a quick jab-step and clean mid-range jumper that snaps the net. Pure. Efficient.

He doesn’t play for flash. He plays for impact.

I hit my layup next—soft off the glass, then circle back to the top of the arc. Ball returns to me. I fire a three.

Swish.

The sound gets swallowed by the lights, the court, the nerves. But I feel it. That click. That rhythm.

Across the court, the Iron Giants are warming up too—but their drills are mechanical. Brutal. Precise.

Kenta Takasugi—200 centimeters, 100 kilos—moves like a tank doing laybacks. No wasted motion. His twin, Renji, is less hulking, more dangerous. A blur in the post with polished footwork and terrifying control.

They don’t jump.

They drop.

Like stone statues that decided to move.

Big. Strong. Unified. But not invincible.

Hiroki jogs by me, whispering under his breath, "They look like they bench-press trucks."

I smirk. "Then we just need to move faster than trucks."

No Ayaka today. I already knew—she’s caught up in a student council event. Still, part of me had hoped she’d be here. The thought fades as the whistle blows.

"Both teams, center court!"

The referee’s voice cuts through the noise.

We line up—starting five vs starting five.

The Iron Giants step forward.

[ Echo Scans it]

Takeru Ishigami (PG)

Age: 16

Height: 175 cm

Weight: 68 kg

Attributes:

Inside Scoring: B

Shooting: B

Playmaking: A+

Defense: B

Physical: A

Mentality: A

Shoji Endo (SG)

Age: 17

Height: 180 cm

Weight: 72 kg

Attributes:

Inside Scoring: B

Shooting: A

Playmaking: B

Defense: C+

Physical: A

Mentality: B

Hiroki Maeda (SF)

Age: 17

Height: 185 cm

Weight: 78 kg

Attributes:

Inside Scoring: B

Shooting: C +

Playmaking: C

Defense: A

Physical: A

Mentality: A

Renji Takasugi (PF)

Age: 17

Height: 198 cm

Weight: 92 kg

Attributes:

Inside Scoring: A+

Shooting: B

Playmaking: A

Defense: A +

Physical: S

Mentality: A

Kenta Takasugi (C)

Age: 17

Height: 200 cm

Weight: 100 kg

Attributes:

Inside Scoring: A+

Shooting: C

Playmaking: C

Defense: S

Physical: S+

Mentality: B

"Sportsmanship, both teams," the ref says. "Shake hands and take your positions."

We step forward and extend our hands. Brief nods. Gripped palms. A flash of eyes meeting eyes.

I glance at Kenta again.

Big. Solid. But just because he’s 200 cm doesn’t make him stronger than Rikuya. Our "Titan" may be a few centimeters shorter, but his strength, agility, and explosiveness? His SS+ physical rating isn’t for nothing.

Both teams take their positions. The ball goes to center court.

Jump ball. Rikuya vs. Kenta.

The ref raises the ball. Time feels like it slows.

Then—

Toss. Jump. Collision of Titans.

Rikuya launches into the air—higher than I’ve ever seen him jump. Kenta is massive, sure, but our Titan moves like a coiled spring unbound.

Tap. Horizon ball.

"And here we go! Horizon gets first possession!"

I catch the inbound and set the tempo.

The game begins.