I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It
Chapter 77: Horizon VS Rakuzan : The Tempo Shift 2

Chapter 77: Horizon VS Rakuzan : The Tempo Shift 2

Asahi’s eyes narrowed. The usual cold calculation flickered with something new—

A chill.

Doubt.

He looked across the court, then back toward the Horizon bench.

To Coach Tsugawa Masaki.

To the man who changed Europe’s tempo years ago.

Who now stood still, arms crossed, watching like a conductor listening to a symphony reaching crescendo.

Then back to Dirga, now standing just beyond the arc, hands relaxed, but legs twitching with kinetic energy.

Asahi exhaled.

"We answer it. We hit the paint. Target the mismatch."

Tsukasa nodded.

"Got it. They don’t have a center anymore."

"Exactly," Asahi said. "No Rikuya. No rim protection. We punish that. Again and again."

...

Time remaining: 6:43

Rakuzan Ball.

Asahi brought it up, steady and cold.

No panic.

Just calculation.

Their target was clear.

Taiga.

The makeshift center. 175 centimeters of grit, standing in for the 189cm Rikuya.

Undersized.

Overmatched.

And right where Rakuzan wanted to go.

Kido slammed into a screen, Tsukasa curled hard to the block.

Ball fed in low.

Taiga braced—

BOOM.

Contact. Hard.

Tsukasa tried to push through him.

No whistle.

Taiga held ground.

A small win.

Tsukasa spun off—kick out to Reiji in the corner.

He launched.

Clang.

Missed.

Rebound—Kaito.

Horizon Ball.

Fast.

Dirga grabbed the outlet pass on the fly—eyes scanning.

He didn’t dribble yet.

Just ran, waiting to feel the rhythm, watching the floor shape around him.

Tempo Sight may have faded,

but the echoes of it remained.

A residue.

A shadow of vision.

"Move it!" Dirga barked.

Aizawa set a slip screen on the wing.

Hiroki flared wide.

Kaito cut inside.

The ball snapped through hands like lightning.

Back to Dirga.

He pump-faked.

Reiji bit—

Drive.

Dirga sliced inside—

Asahi jumped the lane—no!

Kick out.

Kaito at the top of the arc.

Open look.

Too open.

He paused—

Just enough to bait a late contest—

Swish.

57 – 61.

A silence, just for a second—

Then the gym erupted.

But for Rakuzan?

It was a gut-punch.

They couldn’t believe it.

A small-ball Horizon had cut through their defense like a knife through silk.

And worse—they weren’t cracking.

Kido barreled toward the paint again, fists clenched, shoulders low.

They had one plan now:

Punish Taiga.

Break him.

Bury him.

But Taiga—

175cm of stubborn will—stood tall.

He threw his entire weight into the clash.

Not elegance.

Not grace.

Just raw, desperate defense.

The thud echoed as chest met shoulder—

Kido staggered.

No whistle.

The rebound bounced.

Scramble—

Dirga came flying from the weak side to secure it.

As the players jogged back, sweat dripping like rain from their chins, Rakuzan gathered for a whisper.

"Asahi," Tsukasa hissed, catching his breath. "They’re holding... we can’t break them with the paint alone."

Asahi’s eyes locked onto one man.

Kaito.

"...Then we don’t go through the paint," Asahi said coldly. "We go through him."

He looked up the court, watching Kaito retreat.

The boy was focused, but his movements were tight.

His footwork clean, but—

Not sharp.

"We press Kaito. Full court." Asahi ordered.

"We suffocate him."

"Make him run. Make him think."

Tsukasa raised a brow. "Same as before?"

Asahi’s smile was razor thin. "Exactly. He’s got a weak heart. They’ll have to sub him out."

Dirga brought it up, quick but steady.

Rakuzan didn’t wait.

Double pressure.

One on Dirga.

One on Kaito.

Hard contact.

Quick reaches.

Subtle nudges just beneath the whistle.

Kaito caught the ball on the wing—

WHAM.

Pressure.

Reiji closed fast. Too fast.

Kaito stumbled—regained control.

Sweat beaded on his brow.

Dirga barked out: "Swing it!"

Kaito passed—then immediately cut.

Rakuzan followed.

Two defenders on him now without the ball.

They wanted to wear him down.

But Dirga saw it.

He always saw it.

He shifted the formation, delayed just half a beat—

Enough time for Hiroki to get open.

Pass.

Cut.

Drive.

Back to Kaito.

He had no choice.

Open look.

Pull-up three—

Clang.

Miss.

Rakuzan board.

But they’d spent energy. Chased shadows.

And though Kaito missed—

He didn’t fold.

He held his chest, steadying his breath, but he didn’t look to the bench.

He wasn’t done yet.

Rakuzan Ball

Asahi walked it up.

No flash. No panic.

But with every step forward, the trap moved with him—coiled, coiled...

Then snap.

He called for the switch.

Taiga.

Exactly who they wanted.

Tsukasa dragged him to the wing. Big vs small.

No screen needed. Just speed and space.

One dribble—two—

Bang.

Contact.

Taiga stood his ground.

No whistle.

But just barely.

Coach Tsugawa clenched his jaw from the sideline.

"He’s walking a tightrope," the commentator whispered.

"One wrong move, and Horizon’s paint is done."

Rebound Horizon.

Dirga caught the outlet. He scanned—eyes twitching side to side.

"Kaito!" he barked.

Kaito sprinted. Hands up. Caught the pass—

Pressed. Immediately.

Reiji and Kido crashed on him like wolves.

One reached in. The other bumped his hip.

No call.

Kaito passed—

But coughed out a wheeze after the hit.

Still moving. Still upright.

But the press was getting to him.

Asahi again. Slow. Measured.

He was orchestrating like a surgeon.

"Attack Taiga."

This time a quick slip pass into the paint.

Kido rose—

Taiga jumped with him—

SLAM! But—

Foul.

Whistle.

Taiga landed hard.

First foul of the quarter.

4th personal.

One more Foul at it ended

The crowd murmured.

And Asahi smirked.

Next Horizon Possession

Kaito got the inbound.

The Rakuzan bench yelled, "PRESS!"

Again—two defenders.

"Back! Back!" Dirga shouted, swinging behind to help.

Kaito made the pass but his steps slowed.

His face tightened.

Hands on hips.

He was tiring.

But Dirga—

Wasn’t.

Dirga got the ball, reversed to Hiroki.

Backdoor cut.

No shot. Reset.

They were patient.

Rakuzan tried to bait contact again—

But Horizon avoided it like a dance.

Clean movement. Measured rhythm.

Every foul Rakuzan wanted to fish—was a ghost in their hands.

The game is electrifying—Rakuzan’s relentless press is suffocating, while Horizon fights desperately to break through and score. Every possession is a war, with Rakuzan crashing the paint like a storm, determined to dominate.