"Dirga—focus on conducting the offense."
"Let him dance. You drive the rhythm."
He looked around again, gaze sharp.
"The rest of you—focus. And believe in yourselves."
"Yes, Coach!"
All five voices—stronger now.
Recentered.
A new note in the air. Tighter. Sharper. Like resetting the tempo on a metronome.
…
Back on the floor.
Dirga brought it up again.
Eyes locked forward.
Haruki waited.
But now?
Taiga shadowed.
No hesitation.
No delay.
Feet heavy but precise. Breathing steady in his chest.
Haruki saw the matchup instantly.
Tried to juke left, into a spin move—his signature misdirection.
Taiga didn't bite.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't even chase.
He held.
Feet planted.
Chest out.
Absorbing the motion.
Haruki shifted again—sharper this time.
A second drive attempt.
Taiga slid.
Clean. Controlled.
Shoulders square.
Contact.
And for the first time—
Haruki stumbled.
The crowd gasped.
No turnover.
No steal.
But a ripple through the gym.
Haruki passed—late.
