I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It-Chapter 139: Horizon VS North Wolves : Break the Shepherd 1

The Horizon bench buzzed with raw energy.

"You saw that block, right?" Aizawa grinned like a kid on Christmas morning, sweat still clinging to his forehead. "That was a straight-up PAKK!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Taiga mimicked the moment with both arms, hands stretched wide. "You flew up and just—plak! Shut him down!"

Dirga sat beside them, breathing steady. His chest rose and fell with adrenaline—not exhaustion. His wristband from Ayaka clung to his arm, damp from the tempo, but the fire in his eyes was unwavering.

The momentum was theirs. For now.

Coach Tsugawa walked toward them, arms folded, face calm but sharp.

"Alright. Good quarter. Aizawa—excellent read on that block. Dirga, that steal and score? Clean. You’ve put pressure on their tempo." His voice lowered a pitch. "But it’s not done. They’re adjusting. We don’t lose focus."

The team nodded as one.

"Yes, Coach."

...

Across the court—

The North Wolves bench was a different story.

Quiet.

Controlled.

Like the calm before the avalanche.

Gaito wiped sweat from his temple, face tight. "Sorry... I let them read me too fast."

"You don’t need to apologize," Minato said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His tone wasn’t cold—but measured. Confident. "That Dirga kid’s not normal."

Gaito nodded, fingers twitching slightly as he clutched the towel on his lap.

"But..." Minato turned, meeting Gaito’s eyes directly. "You can take him, right?"

Gaito exhaled slowly, a flicker of resolve lighting behind his eyes.

"...Yeah. I’ll dismantle him this quarter."

The buzzer sounded.

Time to prove it.

...

Second Quarter Begins

Toyonaka Horizon High – 13 Sapporo North Wolves – 7

North Wolves’ possession.

The ball found its way to Gaito.

He brought it up with calm, steady steps—

Each bounce of the ball deliberate, smooth, and controlled.

Like a shepherd guiding his pack.

He wasn’t just moving—he was orchestrating. Watching. Waiting.

Dirga met him just beyond the arc. No pressure this time—just locked-in eyes and low stance, reading every twitch of Gaito’s shoulder.

Then—

[Echo: Tempo Sight – GodFrame: ACTIVE]

The world peeled open.

Lines lit up.

Movement paths sharpened.

Opponents glowed red. Teammates flared blue.

He saw everything.

Tomoya stepped up to screen.

Dirga slipped under it, trailing just behind.

Gaito accelerated—cutting through the edge of the paint like a wolf darting through open snow.

Dirga jumped with him. Rikuya stepped up to contest. Taiga braced, eyes locked.

It looked like a drive.

It felt like a drive.

And then—Gaito shifted.

Eyes flicked toward the corner. A shooter ready.

The defenders bit.

Rei slid.

Taiga leaned.

Aizawa flared wide.

But Gaito—

He never intended to pass wide.

He snapped his wrist backward.

Not a pass over the shoulder—

A flick, blind, sharp, and perfectly timed, behind his head.

The Wolves knew.

Minato was already cutting.

The flock followed its shepherd’s silent signal.

Caught it midair—

Rising over the rim—

BOOM.

Dunk.

13 – 9.

The sound of the slam echoed like a thunderclap across the stadium.

The rim quaked. The crowd rose.

Gasps and camera flashes.

Commentators erupted.

"That’s the Shepherd’s vision right there—he didn’t just call that play, he led it."

"Minato followed the scent before the pass even left Gaito’s hand!"

"This is what makes the North Wolves dangerous. They don’t run plays—they run together."

On the floor, Dirga landed—eyes narrowing.

It wasn’t just a highlight.

It was a message.

The hunt had begun.

...

Dirga caught the inbound pass and began his approach—calm on the outside, fire inside.

He dribbled across half court, eyes locked ahead, heartbeat syncing with the echo of the ball.

Haru stepped up.

Sapporo’s perimeter defense had one thing in common: they were disciplined. The Wolves prided themselves on team defense—an overall grade of A.

But Dirga knew.

Just "A" wasn’t enough to cage him.

Not without an S.

Taiga came to his side, planting a screen with wide shoulders.

But Dirga, still in GodFrame, saw the trap laid behind it.

Tomoya was already trailing the screen—like a shadow waiting to pounce.

A classic bait.

Dirga hesitated—then rejected the screen with a sharp shoulder feint and burst left instead.

Speed. Precision. Clarity.

And in that flash of motion, he saw it—

Aizawa, already cutting through the paint. A blur of red and black slicing the lane.

Minato moved to meet him—instinctive, fast.

But Dirga’s pass came faster.

Aizawa caught it mid-stride.

Jumped.

Minato met him in the air.

Brother versus brother. Again.

But Aizawa didn’t force the shot.

He adjusted.

Twisted mid-air, leaning in—

Trying to draw contact.

Bodies collided.

The ref’s whistle screamed.

"Foul—, blue!"

The arena rippled.

Free throws.

Aizawa walked to the line slowly, his chest rising and falling. Sweat trailed down the side of his jaw. Minato stood just inside the arc, arms crossed, unreadable.

But his stare—

Cold. Piercing. Like a wolf baring fangs.

Aizawa bounced the ball once.

Twice.

Shot.

CLANK.

Off the rim.

Taiga and Rikuya stepped up. No words—just a quick slap on the back. Solidarity.

Aizawa took the second ball.

Minato hadn’t looked away.

North Wolves possession.

Gaito took the inbound, walking the ball up slowly.

Dirga’s GodFrame faded. The colors vanished, replaced by the raw feel of instinct.

But his eyes?

Still sharp.

Still locked on Gaito.

The Shepherd approached with fluid footwork—calm, deliberate.

Dirga met him near the arc, body low, hand extended.

Gaito didn’t rush. He started to back Dirga down.

A post move.

One arm nudging into Dirga’s shoulder. Testing his balance. Trying to feel the edge.

Dirga held strong.

No overcommitment. No panic.

His right arm kept distance. His feet shifted with each grind of Gaito’s heels.

This wasn’t a duel of speed—it was a war of tension.

Behind them, Minato darted across the baseline.

Aizawa gave chase.

Like a wolf hunting another in its own pack.

Gaito’s eyes flicked for a moment.

A jab pass—

Faked to the corner where Minato flared.

Dirga didn’t bite.

He stayed.

Then came the real attack.

Spin.

Gaito turned hard left—Dirga followed—read it clean.

But in mid-spin, Gaito’s hand whipped around—

Behind-the-back pass.

A blur.

Minato caught it mid-stride, already streaking past Aizawa.

Too late.

Layup. Glass. In.

14 – 11.

Dirga’s jaw tightened.

So that’s the power of a maximum playmaking attribute.

It wasn’t just the numbers.

It was the illusion of options. freewёbnoνel.com

Every movement baited defenders into the wrong choice.

Every step... rewrote the script.

This chapt𝒆r is updated by free(w)ebnovel(.)com