85 – 48.
Hyōgo scored a few in garbage time, but it didn't matter. Their flame had died somewhere in the third quarter. The rest had just been Horizon stoking their own.
Cheers rained from the stands, students shouting until their voices cracked. Fans pounded on the bleachers. Phones lit the air like fireflies.
But Horizon?
They didn't explode in celebration.
Not right away.
Because this wasn't just a win.
This was a statement.
Rikuya wiped his face with his jersey, panting. Taiga bent over at the waist, then stood tall and pounded his chest twice—once for the team, once for himself.
Dirga exhaled slowly.
He had never entered Flow State even The Maestro Pulse.
Not once.
He didn't need to.
They didn't need to.
That was the difference now.
"Nice game," Rikuya said as they approached the Takasugi twins at half-court. His voice was calm, but there was respect in it—real, earned.
