53 – 53.
No celebration.
No bark.
Minato jogged back, chest rising with slow control.
Aizawa followed.
Their eyes met briefly at halfcourt.
Minato didn't smirk.
Aizawa didn't flinch.
…
Dirga brought the ball up.
No shake. No flash.
Just rhythm.
The way he moved—the way the floor moved with him—was music in motion.
Rei circled right.
Taiga posted mid.
Aizawa drifted toward the short corner, drawing Minato off-balance just enough.
Across from him, Gaito didn't lunge.
Didn't overplay.
He waited. Calculated.
The Shepherd still watching the field like it was his to command.
Playmaker vs. Playmaker.
Dirga tapped his wristband. Once.
A signal.
Barely more than a heartbeat.
Rikuya shifted—subtle angle.
Backscreen.
Rei flared out—cutting wide like a thread pulled taut.
Dirga approached—
Pump-faked a handoff.
Gaito twitched.
That single misstep was enough.
Dirga didn't hesitate.
Step-back.
No-pass hesitation.
Then—burst.
He drove hard inside.
