Dirga reset. Jogged to the inbound line, hand raised.
Eyes scanning.
One by one.
He would dismantle them.
Reiji.
Then Tsukasa.
And yes—Asahi too.
Dirga took the inbound pass.
His fingers curled around the leather like it was glass.
Control. That was the mission.
No more running to Rakuzan's beat.
This was his tempo now.
Slow. Sharp. Calculated.
He walked it up—each bounce echoing with intent.
Rakuzan didn't press. They didn't have to.
They were predators. They preferred the slow bleed.
But Dirga wasn't bleeding.
He was pacing. Measuring. Tightening the reins.
Kaito shifted right—just a shadow, dragging Tsukasa out of the lane.
Rei drifted baseline, subtle motion, tugging Reiji's attention toward the corner.
Aizawa flared high, setting a soft ghost screen at the arc
Rakuzan's eyes followed all of it.
Except Rikuya.
Dirga glanced—subtle. Rikuya caught it.
Flash-cut. Misdirection.
