I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It
Chapter 86: Horizon VS Seiryuu : Exploding The Dam 2

Chapter 86: Horizon VS Seiryuu : Exploding The Dam 2

The bench didn’t fidget. Didn’t slouch. They sat like coiled springs.

A storm waiting for its next strike.

...

In contrast, Seiryuu’s bench felt colder. Not in defeat—but calculation.

The overhead lights cast a sterile glow on their metallic water bottles, on the rows of digits sketched faintly on laminated play sheets. It was like stepping into a lab mid-experiment.

Coach Renjirō Tsukinomiya leaned forward. His voice wasn’t loud, but it sliced through doubt.

"They’re good. Smart. But this? This isn’t new. We’ve been preparing for this."

The players didn’t respond immediately—processing, absorbing.

Teshima, the captain, finally nodded.

"Yes, Coach."

Seta’s brow was furrowed, his fingers tapping against the bench like he was typing data in midair.

"We can’t let them keep this up. It’ll spiral. Fast."

Renjirō raised one hand.

"I know. That’s why we use it now."

"Use what?" Mikami asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

Renjirō’s eyes gleamed. Cold fire.

"The stored data. Not just from this game. From before. From every possibility."

"The projections..." Mikami whispered.

"Exactly," Renjirō said. "This team? They were never a mystery. The chaos? The press? The fast pace? Our model predicted something close to this. So we don’t play Horizon’s game. We drag them into ours."

"Yes, Coach."

They weren’t fired up like Horizon. They weren’t shouting or slapping each other on the back.

They sat like chess pieces waiting to be moved.

But the board was tilting.

And Seiryuu was about to adjust the gravity.

...

Buzzer.

The timeout was over.

The air inside the arena changed.

No more shouting.

No more cheers.

Just pressure—heavy and humming—like the moment before a lightning strike.

Fans leaned forward, breath held.

The lights felt brighter. Hotter. The floor gleamed like a battlefield under glass.

On the sidelines, the coaches stood tall.

Coach Tsugawa was still. Watching.

Coach Renjirō Tsukinomiya didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

The players stepped onto the court—not walking. Marching.

Feet tapped the hardwood like triggers being cocked.

Clack. Thump. Silence. Click.

Another inbound pass to Seta.

Only now—everything was different.

No more forced delay. No more stalling.

This wasn’t them buying time. This was them executing code.

Seta dribbled forward, but his eyes—sharp, glassy, computing—were already scanning dozens of pathways.

A flick of his fingers.

A signal.

And in a breath, Seiryuu moved.

Not like players.

Like subroutines activating.

Mikami and Jinbo snapped into motion, shifting with eerie synchronization—a double screen, fluid, deliberate, machine-like.

Seta darted left—used the first screen.

Then rejected the second in a heartbeat, cutting sharply into a sliver of space between defenders.

"He’s not just playing—he’s processing in real time!"

"That’s a radical entry—he split Horizon’s formation before they could react!"

He sliced through the gap toward the paint.

Horizon’s defense crashed in.

Like water surging back to seal the break.

Kaito stepped in.

Aizawa rotated down.

Taiga flared wide to cover the short pass angle.

Seta didn’t panic.

Didn’t blink.

A no-look pass fired cleanly to the left wing—

—Teshima.

Already posted up.

Already braced against Taiga.

The captain didn’t hesitate. He lowered his center of gravity, shoulders rolled, a battering ram with a polished finish.

Taiga fought. Braced. Held on.

But Teshima spun, shifted weight to his off-foot—

And rose.

A hook shot arcing toward the rafters.

Soft. Clean. Deadly.

Swish.

7 – 2.

The scoreboard blinked. The crowd settled. For a second.

Then chaos resumed.

The next few minutes weren’t clean.

They weren’t graceful.

They were calculated violence—a collision between instinct and algorithm.

Seiryuu began to click.

Their screens became sharper. Cuts tighter. Off-ball movement, fast and looping. They started scoring again—not through flash, but through design.

One backdoor cut.

One swing pass to Mikami.

A floater from Seta off a high pick.

7 – 6.

Just like that.

"They’re downloading Horizon’s rhythm!"

"It’s the algorithm at work—Renjirō’s team is adapting!"

But Horizon wasn’t rattled.

Coach Tsugawa stood, calm. A single hand signal—and Horizon shifted gears.

Full court pressure.

The entire court warped.

Rei and Hiroki were subbed in.

Kaito, who had been breathing hard and clutching his chest lightly, nodded toward the bench. He knew. His heart couldn’t keep up with that breakneck pace for a full quarter.

As Sayaka rushed toward him with a towel and water, he gave a small smile.

"It’s your turn, Rei. Break the chain."

Aizawa also stepped off, giving Hiroki a quick nod.

"Stay sharp. They’re fast—but not unpredictable."

Now, the formation was:

Dirga – PG

Rei – SG

Hiroki – SF

Taiga – PF

Rikuya – C

A fresh engine.

A leaner, more aggressive press unit.

And they came out biting.

Seiryuu tried to restart their sequence—but Rei was already there, dancing around screens.

Dirga didn’t just press Seta—he mirrored him.

Taiga bodied Teshima again and again, making each screen feel like a collision.

Hiroki—slippery and unpredictable—closed passing lanes like a ghost.

BAM!

A steal.

Dirga poked the ball free from Seta’s blind side, and the ball popped loose—Rei snatched it, feet already moving.

Fast break.

Rei to Hiroki—and a slick bounce pass between defenders.

Layup.

9 – 6.

Seiryuu tried again.

Mikami ran a stagger screen for Jinbo—but Hiroki read it, sliding under before the second screen could land.

Jinbo caught the ball—but Taiga hedged hard.

Panic.

A bad pass.

Out of bounds.

"The algorithm is powerful, but it’s not real-time perfect—not yet!"

"Horizon’s pressure defense is forcing corrupted data!"

The next few possessions were brutal.

Rikuya locked down the paint.

Even when Teshima managed to get position, Rikuya’s physical presence disrupted the timing of every shot.

Dirga kept pressing Seta.

Mentality vs. Mentality.

Two S-tier brains crashing.

But Dirga wasn’t a computer.

He was emotion, instinct, and chaos.

And Seiryuu hadn’t coded that yet.

Another play—Seta tried a quick drive.

Dirga cut it off.

Forced a pass to Mikami.

Rei was already in the air.

A steal.

Another fast break.

This time—Rei took it all the way.

Pull-up jumper.

11 – 6.

By the final minute of the first quarter, the rhythm was clear.

Seiryuu was adapting. But too slowly.

Every time their algorithm updated, Horizon broke it again.

With unpredictability.

With emotional momentum.

With sheer pressure and rotation.

Coach Renjirō folded his arms on the sideline. His face unreadable—but his eyes narrow.

"They’re playing like they’re three quarters ahead..."

"No. They’re playing like they’re trying to kill the game early."

The first quarter buzzer echoed.

Horizon: 22 – Seiryuu: 12

Ten points up. But more importantly—

Seiryuu wasn’t in control.