One dribble.
Layup.
61 – 57.
"They're not calling plays—they're syncing minds!"
"This is Maestro's basketball. Dirga isn't leading. He's composing!"
…
"Slow it down," Gaito muttered as he crossed halfcourt.
But his voice wasn't calm anymore.
It was cracking.
Minato curled left. Haru flared out.
Riku fought for space under the rim.
But Horizon's defense?
Tight. Interlocked. Unbreaking.
Dirga didn't press Gaito.
He mirrored him.
A shadow with eyes.
Every screen?
Neutralized.
Every angle?
Cut.
Taiga hedged. Rei rotated.
They weren't defending anymore.
They were anticipating.
Gaito kept probing.
But no open lane.
No rhythm.
He passed out—reluctant.
Minato caught at the top.
Aizawa stepped up.
Their fourth one-on-one of the quarter.
Minato hesitated.
Then drove hard—right side.
Aizawa didn't yield.
Step for step.
Hip to hip.
Minato dropped his shoulder.
Aizawa absorbed it.
Minato spun—
Aizawa stayed glued.
They rose together.
Mid-air collision.
