I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It
Chapter 66: Do or Die: The Final Strategy

Chapter 66: Do or Die: The Final Strategy

The days blur together—classrooms humming with bored chatter, the thud of basketballs echoing through the gym, the sharp sting of sweat in our eyes. School. Training. Sleep. Over and over, like clockwork. But when Friday comes, the air shifts. The team gathers under the pale gym lights, the wooden floor creaking beneath our sneakers. We don’t just meet to talk. We prepare—for the final battle that’s waiting for us just beyond the horizon.

"So, we’ll talk about our final strategy," Coach Tsugawa said, his voice steady, his eyes scanning each of us with quiet intensity.

We were gathered again in the gym—the same place we laughed, trained, and nearly collapsed from exhaustion during camp. But tonight? The air was different. Tighter. Heavier. Like the floor itself was holding its breath.

"The core of our plan is simple," he continued. "Don’t get agitated. Don’t get provoked."

His tone sharpened, slicing through the warm silence like a blade.

"Because the moment we take the bait, we open the door for them to win this game."

We knew who "they" were. We didn’t need to say it out loud.

All week, we’d drilled responses to dirty plays. Cheap elbows, fake flops, sneaky fouls behind the ref’s back. We’d practiced keeping our cool, even when it felt impossible.

Because if we get surprised on the court tomorrow? That’s on us.

Sayaka stepped forward, flipping through her clipboard, her expression as composed as ever.

"And not just that," she added, voice firm. "We play tomorrow... and again on Sunday. It’s another back-to-back. Just like the prefecture finals."

Dirga flinched slightly—no one else noticed, but he remembered. We all did.

Kaito had taken that hard fall in the first game, and we had to fight like hell just to stand in the second. That kind of exhaustion didn’t fade—it lived in your bones.

"For our next opponent," Sayaka continued, "we still don’t know who it is. It’ll be either Wakayama Seiryuu Institute or Kōbe Minami Tech."

She tapped the page, and her brows furrowed slightly.

"Wakayama Seiryuu is... special. It’s an engineering-focused school. They’ve integrated tech into their basketball program—live data tracking, predictive movement algorithms, you name it. Rumor has it they bring laptops to every match to analyze data mid-game."

A few of us blinked. What?

"And Kōbe Minami Tech," she said, shifting to the next page, "they’re the opposite. Wild. Unpredictable. Their team is led by a first-year—an instinctive player who runs the court like it’s his playground. They rely on impulse, momentum, raw feel."

We looked at each other.

Two potential enemies. One built like a machine. The other like a storm.

Sayaka looked up from her notes. "Either way, it won’t be easy."

Coach Tsugawa nodded, folding his arms.

"But we’re ready," he said. "We’ve trained for this. We’ve been broken down, rebuilt, tested."

" yes coach"

After the strategy briefing, no one left right away.

We stayed in the gym, sitting on benches or sprawled across the polished floor, the echo of bouncing balls and distant sneakers long gone. The overhead lights hummed softly, casting a golden glow over our sweat-dried jerseys and half-empty water bottles. The mood had shifted—still serious, but lighter. Like tension giving way to thought.

"So," Hiroki asked, his voice breaking the silence, "what do you think? Who are we going to face?"

"Hmm... I kinda hope it’s Wakayama Seiryuu," Rei replied, stretching his legs out. "All that tech and data? We can beat it. How can you measure a person with numbers? Can’t chart heart."

Dirga approached, towel draped around his neck. "We’ll think about that after we get through Rakuzan," he said simply, grounding everyone again.

Kaito nodded, arms crossed. "Yeah. One step at a time. Rakuzan first."

"True," Hiroki and Rei echoed.

"But whoever we face..." Taiga leaned back, grinning. "We’re winning."

"Damn right we are!" Aizawa shouted, throwing a fist in the air.

Rikuya didn’t say a word—just smiled quietly, like a proud father watching his kids grow up right in front of him.

Dirga didn’t join the debate.

He already knew who he’d rather face.

Kōbe Minami Tech.

He remembered them—vividly—from his past life. Their ace was explosive, unpredictable, but still a first-year. Talented, yes. But raw. Too raw. The kind of player who burned hot... and sometimes burned out.

Wakayama Seiryuu, though?

That was different.

They weren’t flashy. Weren’t physically dominant. But their data system... that was no joke. It wasn’t just good—it was international level. Their coach was a cold tactician, a man who ran numbers like gears in a clock. Their key player, a guard with eyes like steel, read offenses like open books.

No wasted movement. No emotion. Just calculation.

Dirga could almost feel that pressure already—the kind that made every pass feel exposed.

He didn’t say any of that out loud.

Instead, he just leaned back against the wall, watching his teammates joke and argue and dream.

Whoever the opponent was... they’d be ready.

...

Saturday. Match Day.

Horizon drew the opening game.

The Kyo Arena buzzed with energy—four matches scheduled, two courts running side by side. The day was packed, the stakes higher than ever. In the halls, teams crossed paths like shifting tides—some tense, some loud, some already in the zone.

And among them, their brothers-in-arms arrived.

Toyonaka.

Dirga spotted Masaki across the arena corridor, dressed in Toyonaka red, walking with that same calm swagger. Horizon noticed them too. No words exchanged. Just a shared glance.

Then a nod.

It said everything.

"We’ll see each other in the final."

That was the promise.

But nothing was guaranteed.

Toyonaka’s path was brutal. After their first game today, they were almost certain to face Heian Gakuen tomorrow—a clash of giants, a death match. One team would fall. One team would go home. No redemption. No second chances.

Do or die.

Meanwhile, Horizon’s game would begin soon. They gathered early in the locker room, their focus already shifting into place.

No more joking. No dancing this time.

Just silence.

Just breath.

Just the beat of the game coming closer.