I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It-Chapter 76: Horizon VS Rakuzan : The Tempo Shift 1

Start of the Fourth Quarter

Rakuzan 57 – Horizon 55.

Once again, we huddled on the bench.

Sweat. Exhaustion. But no surrender.

Coach Tsugawa stood tall, eyes scanning us like pieces on a board. Then—without hesitation—he made the move no one expected.

"Rikuya, you’re out. Taiga, you’re playing center."

Silence.

Even the sound of the crowd faded for a moment.

2009 basketball was still about the big men. The frontcourt was the soul of the game. Centers were towers. Anchors. Taking Rikuya—our anchor—out felt like removing the heart from the team.

"We’re switching to what I call a small-ball lineup," Coach Tsugawa announced, voice steady but electric with intent. "Back when I played in Europe, one of my teammates ran it. High motion. Fast tempo. Relentless pressure on both ends of the court."

He paused, letting it sink in. Some of us blinked. A few shifted uncomfortably. This wasn’t normal. Not in 2009.

"It’s not common now..." he added, eyes narrowing. "But mark my words—this kind of lineup? It’ll define champions in the years to come."

Dirga’s eyes widened slightly.

Golden Crest Warriors... 2012...

The memory clicked into place.

He knew exactly what Coach meant.

Our eyes locked onto him.

"Dirga on point. Hiroki at shooting guard. Rei slides to small forward. Kaito, power forward. And Taiga becomes our center. Not by size—but by speed."

He looked at Dirga. Then at Kaito.

"You two are the keys. Dirga will command the backcourt. Kaito will attack mismatches in the frontcourt. We’re going to stretch the floor. Open the court. And run them ragged."

I could feel it.

The gears in Dirga’s head spinning, recalculating the rhythm of the game.

This... this is good, Dirga thought.

The future he came from? This style was everywhere. Teams evolved. The paint became a battlefield, yes—but the arc... the arc became a weapon.

Still—

Could Kaito adapt?

Could Taiga hold the paint without fouling?

Could Dirga lead a team dancing on a wire?

There was only one way to find out.

Coach clapped his hands once, sharp and loud.

"Let me hear your voice."

We shouted together, fists clenched, eyes blazing.

"YES, COACH!"

A new Chapter was beginning.

And Rakuzan had no idea what was coming.

...

"—Well, well, what do we have here?"

The commentator’s voice crackled through the gym, half-amused, half-intrigued. "Looks like Horizon is giving up the paint."

His partner responded, more measured, more tactical.

"They don’t have a choice. Rikuya’s sitting on four fouls—one more and he’s gone. Ejected. That’s their anchor. Their wall. They have to adapt."

"But can they thrive like this? Can you really play small-ball against Rakuzan of all teams?"

A pause.

And then, with the weight of realization:

"Well... after a bit of digging during halftime, we finally confirmed it."

"Confirmed what?"

"That coach. Horizon’s head coach—he’s not just anyone."

"...Wait. Are you saying—?"

"That—That’s Tsugawa Masaki?"

The commentator’s voice cracked with disbelief, as if the name had shocked the air out of his lungs.

"The first Japanese player to land a pro contract in Europe? The man who changed the tempo of European basketball in the early 2000s?"

"The very same," his partner confirmed, almost reverently.

"The playmaker who redefined pacing in the Spanish League—before that brutal knee injury cut his rise short..."

Gasps erupted in the crowd. Murmurs buzzed like static across the gym.

"How did we miss that?"

Maybe it was the years. The suit instead of a jersey. The quiet way he stood behind the clipboard. The humility that wrapped around him like a second skin.

But now that the truth had surfaced—

Now that they knew—

It was undeniable.

...

Horizon Possession – Start of the Fourth Quarter

With Aizawa and Rikuya resting on the bench, Horizon had fully committed.

Small Ball.

The tallest players on the court now? Dirga and Kaito—both just 178 cm. In this era, it was almost heresy. But necessity birthed innovation.

Dirga dribbled the ball up, eyes scanning like a machine—but his heart burned like a furnace.

This is it. Fourth quarter. No holding back. No Maestro State. But he still had the Flow state. And there is tingling in his back he felt it—something different, like his mind cracking open

He remembered watching Stephan "Snap" Curren, the future icon of basketball. The off-ball menace. The chaos conductor.

I’ll channel him. Just like in those tapes.

Suddenly—Dirga passed.

A crisp, sharp pass to Kaito.

Kaito blinked. Surprised. Dirga never gave up control this easily.

Why me?

You’re the point. You should run this—

But then he saw it.

Dirga didn’t stop.

He ran.

Zipping across the baseline, curling through a screen from Rei, bouncing back out to the wing—he didn’t stop moving.

He was pulling defenders like a gravitational force. Baiting switches. Tugging Rakuzan’s tight defense apart, one movement at a time.

Chaos. Designed chaos.

Kaito’s instincts kicked in.

If Dirga’s the spark, I’m the fire.

He dribbled to the top of the arc, using Dirga’s trail of mayhem as a smokescreen. The defenders hesitated—who was the threat?

Kaito attacked.

He slashed into the paint. Fast. Sharp. Aggressive.

Rakuzan panicked.

Two collapsed on him. A third rotated late.

But Kaito wasn’t the finisher this time.

In one final twist, he turned mid-air—a behind-the-head dish to Rei.

Wide open. Right corner.

Rei rose.

Release.

Swish.

57 – 58.

Horizon led again.

The gym exploded. Horizon’s bench stood, fists raised. Coach Tsugawa didn’t speak. He just smirked—like a man who’d seen the future, and was finally watching it arrive.

Dirga slowed his jog, chest heaving, sweat dripping—

—but his eyes?

Still sharp. Still burning.

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t taunt.

He just looked at them.

Like he could see through them.

Like he was already there, three seconds into the future, waiting.

From Rakuzan’s side, whispers broke through the tension.

Tsukasa’s voice low, uneasy.

"What is that?"

He wasn’t talking about Dirga’s speed.

Not his moves.

Not even his confidence.

It was something else.

A presence.

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."

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