Break time never felt so short.
The Horizon team huddled around their water bottles, breaths heavy, shirts clinging to their backs with sweat. They had won the first game, but they all knew—Kurama wasn't going down easily.
Dirga leaned against the bench, staring across the court. His eyes locked on Sota Enami.
"I need to figure him out," he muttered.
…
Game 3
As Game 3 was called to start, Dirga activated his Tempo Sight.
A rush of light flooded his senses. The court shifted, warping into a top-down screen view. Time slowed—just a little—and he could see it. Not just the movements, but the pattern.
One. Two. Three. Four—pass.
One. Two. Three. Four—cut.
One. Two. Three. Four—shoot.
It was there. A rhythm. A musical beat underlying everything Sota did. A four-count tempo.
"He's a metronome," Dirga whispered. "He's locked to a rhythm."
Now that he saw it, he could break it.
The game tipped off. This time, Dirga led.
No set plays. No formations. No patterns.
