I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It-Chapter 163: Horizon vs. Kurotsuki : The Final Verse 3

Let Kaito cook.

One bounce.

Stop.

Rise.

Fade.

Bang.

69 – 68.

"KAITO AGAIN! Fadeaway fire! This is what we waited for!"

"But there's no time to celebrate—Kurotsuki's sprinting back like wolves."

…

Kurotsuki answered.

This time, Taniguchi brought it.

Low dribble. Sharp pace.

Dirga rotated to meet him—

But it was bait.

Sho slipped in behind the play, ghost-screen low.

A blur. A flick.

Taniguchi zipped it to Toshiro at the slot.

One bounce. Pull-up.

Splash.

69 – 70.

…

Horizon possession.

Dirga walked the ball up the court like he was measuring each bounce against the clock itself.

The gym cracked open—

Not into cheers.

Into breath.

A held one.

Released.

…

Kurotsuki came fast.

Faster than before.

They were shifting tempo now.

Eiji sprinted.

Gave it up early.

Taniguchi didn't hesitate.

One bounce.

Step-back.

Kaito contested.

Still hit it.

71 – 72.

…

Back to Horizon.

Dirga didn't call a play.

He walked it.

Kaito was breathing heavy—

But steady.

Dirga waited.

Then flicked a look.

Cut.

Kaito moved—

No hesitation.

Slipped into the paint.

Taniguchi chased.

Tried to slip over the top—

Too late.

Dirga's pass?

Threaded daylight.

Kaito caught.

Turned.

Midair leaner.

Splash.

73 – 72.

…

Time Remaining: 0:31

Kurotsuki inbounded fast—

Eiji sprinted.

Passed off to Toshiro.

Dumped it inside.

Sho turned—hook shot—

Missed.

Rikuya grabbed the board.

Outlet—Dirga.

Dirga bounced it up slow.

Surgical. Controlled.

Everything felt too loud now—

Every step.

Every breath.

Every heartbeat hammering against the gym walls.

But Dirga wasn't shaken.

He was thinking.

Watching.

Folding pressure into clarity.

They're locked in on Kaito and Taniguchi now.

Not a duel anymore. A flame war.

Two sharpshooters with unfinished history.

And Kurotsuki's defense?

Watching it like fans.

He slid to the top of the arc.

Kaito broke hard to the right wing.

Taniguchi mirrored—

Instant. Relentless.

They collided.

No foul.

No space.

Only will.

Eyes blazing.

Bodies screaming: this is mine.

Dirga let it breathe.

Let the tension stack.

He knew what the crowd wanted.

He knew what Kurotsuki expected.

So he sold it.

Fake step.

Eyes right.

Body angled—like a pass was coming.

Kaito slammed his heel down.

Taniguchi reached.

Everyone leaned.

Even the cameras adjusted.

And in Dirga's mind—

A whisper:

You're all watching the fire...

So I'll be the blade in the smoke.

Snap. Crossover.

Dirga cut left.

Split the seam at the elbow.

Toshiro reacted late.

Sho stepped—

Too slow.

It wasn't a pass.

It was a pull-up.

Dirga rose.

Square. Calm.

Wrist soft.

Release. Float. Spin. Arc.

Time hiccupped—

Just for a heartbeat.

Then—

Swish.

75 – 72 .

No celebration.

Just the sound of breath being stolen from every seat in the gym.

"DIRGA DIDN'T PASS—HE STOLE THE SPOTLIGHT!"

"Kaito and Taniguchi were bait—and Dirga walked through the fire like smoke with a blade."

Dirga landed.

Backpedaled.

Not smiling.

Just breathing.

Let them chase the heat.

I'll be the checkmate.

…

Kurotsuki rushed.

Taniguchi fired a contested three—

Kaito rose with him.

Front rim.

Rikuya rebounded.

Outlet to Dirga.

Foul drawn.

Free throw one—good.

76 – 72 .

Second—good.

77 – 72 .

The last Kurotsuki have missed the rim entirely.

Buzzer.

Final score:

Toyonaka Horizon High 77 - Nagano Kurotsuki High 72

…

The buzzer faded into silence.

Dirga stood still.

Center court.

The ball no longer in his hands.

No roar.

Just rising breath.

His teammates flooded in from the sideline—

Taiga throwing a fist into the air.

Aizawa yelling something lost in the noise.

Kaito trailing, chest still burning from the duel that didn't end in a shot—

But in a pass.

And Dirga?

He didn't raise his arms.

Didn't shout.

Didn't glow.

He just whispered beneath it all:

"Second time now."

"Second time I didn't need it."

"No Flow State…"

He looked toward the rim—

Still rattling softly from his game-sealer.

Then at his teammates.

Still connected.

Still locked into rhythm.

"Which means…"

"I'm growing."

"We're all growing."

A breath.

A heartbeat.

A smile.

Not big.

But real.

"We don't need miracles anymore."

"We are the miracle."

He turned.

Walked back to the bench—

Through the pulse of stomping fans,

Trailing lights,

And flashbulbs.

No magic.

No tricks.

Just Horizon.

Still rising.