That was a first—
Rikuya lost the jump ball.
But this was Nationals.
It wasn't just about skill anymore.
There were centers out here with monstrous frames, bodies built to dominate.
Strength. Reach. Presence.
A different breed entirely.
…
Horizon Inbound
Dirga raised a hand. Called the set.
A sharp breath. Focus.
Hiroki jogged into position—
His first starting minutes of the tournament.
No nerves.
Just clean, fluid motion.
Like he belonged.
Aizawa flared out to the perimeter.
Taiga crashed into the high screen.
Dirga drove forward, slicing through open space.
Eyes up. Scanning.
Haruki stayed back—hovering, reading the play.
He didn't press.
He waited—like a coiled trap.
Dirga swung it to Hiroki on the wing.
One quick step—
Masato mirrored instantly, low and wide.
Hiroki rose for the mid-range pull-up—
But Joji rotated in—fast.
Too fast.
He didn't just contest the shot—
He devoured the air around it.
Clank.
Rim.
Rebound—Daisuke.
And then chaos.
