The court was still buzzing with the echo of celebration.
Taiga and Aizawa were mid-dance, sweat-soaked and shouting sothing about miracles and at toppings.
Then the gym doors swung open with a creak.
Coach Tsugawa stepped in.
Clipboard in one hand, his expression unreadable—but his voice was sharp.
"Gather up."
Instantly, the players snapped out of their chaos.
Dirga, Rikuya, Kaito, Hiroki, Rei, Aizawa, and Taiga lined up like soldiers called to the front.
In front of them stood Coach Tsugawa, and beside him—Sayaka, clipboard in hand, serious as ever.
The coach’s voice was low but heavy with aning.
"First off—good work. You all passed. That’s no small thing."
Cheers bubbled up—Taiga and Aizawa were already fist-bumping like champions of a math war.
"But that ans," Coach continued, "you’ve got sothing even bigger ahead. Nationals. Tokyo. One week minimum, maybe more. Get your stuff in order. Tell your families. Pack smart. This isn’t a school trip—it’s war."
The mood shifted.
More serious.
Real.
Aizawa leaned in to Taiga and whispered, "Does war an ran?"
Taiga grinned. "It better an ran."
Coach Tsugawa cleared his throat, smirking just a little.
"As promised," he said, "tonight—you all eat free. My shop. ’Yeahhh Ran.’ Full spread. Invite Ayaka too."
That alone nearly made Aizawa cry.
"YEAAAHHHHHH!" they both shouted, high-fiving mid-air.
Dirga just shook his head. Sohow, they were still the most chaotic duo.
Sayaka clapped her hands to cut the hype.
"Let’s move. et at the ran shop by seven sharp. And Dirga—"
She turned and gave him a sly wink.
"Your job is to get my sister. Don’t be late."
"Wha—but can’t we go toge—" Dirga started to protest.
Too late.
Sayaka was already dragging Taiga off by the collar like a stray dog, shouting sothing about not wearing flip-flops to dinner.
Dirga sighed, alone again.
"Of course they left with this mission..." he muttered.
He looked toward the school’s main hall.
Ayaka.
The na echoed like a final boss announcent in Dirga’s head.
Ti to face the most dangerous task of all:
Picking up a girl.
With permission.
...
Luckily, fate wasn’t cruel today.
He spotted her just outside the student council room, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, folders in hand. Her eyes widened slightly as Dirga approached.
"Oh? What’s up?" Ayaka tilted her head.
Dirga rubbed the back of his neck. "Coach Tsugawa invited the whole team to his ran shop. You rember? He ntioned it on the bus."
Ayaka’s face lit up. "Ahh, right! Yeah, I rember. Let’s go."
And just like that—they walked together toward the bus stop.
No pressure. No student council. No basketball court.
Just the two of them, under the soft amber sky of early evening.
Their steps sync’d, casual, close.
Dirga wasn’t used to this kind of calm.
But he liked it.
The bus ride was quiet and warm. They chatted like new couples do—awkward in the best way, laughter bubbling over even at the dumbest jokes.
Ayaka teased him for his batting cage bragging rights.
Dirga teased her back for her overly serious exam face.
Love was in the air.
And maybe a little mischief too.
You could almost see it.
Sll it.
Like fresh ran broth waiting just ahead.
They stepped off the bus and stood in front of the neon-lit shop.
"YEAHHHH Ran?" Ayaka raised an eyebrow. "Interesting na."
Dirga chuckled. "Yeahhh, Ran. Three H’s. Don’t ask."
He glanced through the shop’s foggy windows. It looked packed.
The two stepped inside, and a wave of warmth hit them—noodles, broth, soy, miso—like walking into a food hug.
The entire Horizon team was already there.
Kaito and Rikuya sat with Takeshi—Dirga’s uncle and their team’s advisor. Hiroki and Rei were arguing over spice levels. Taiga and Aizawa were already halfway through their bowls, slurping like they’d just returned from war.
"Dirgaaaa~" Sayaka called out, her voice sing-song as she spotted the pair. She gave Ayaka a very unsubtle wink.
Ayaka rolled her eyes but winked right back.
Sohow... this all felt orchestrated.
And then—the kitchen curtain flapped open.
Out ca Coach Tsugawa, no longer the sweatpants-wearing basketball tactician.
Now he was Chef Tsugawa: black apron, rolled sleeves, ladle like a sword in hand.
"Alright! Everyone’s here?" His voice bood. "Then no holding back—order anything you want. It’s all on tonight!"
A chorus of cheers broke out.
Everyone ordered.
Noodles. Gyoza. Karaage.
Second bowls. Third bowls.
No sha, no calories counted.
The shop buzzed with life. Steam from ran bowls curled into the air, thick with the scent of pork broth, garlic, soy. Laughter cracked louder than the sizzling oil from the open kitchen.
They argued over who could handle the spiciest bowl—Taiga’s face was already red, Hiroki fanned his tongue like a cartoon character.
They roasted Taiga for barely passing the exam.
"You were one na away from the grave," Rei jabbed with a grin.
"Still passed," Taiga fired back, voice muffled behind noodles.
Even Rikuya... the cold, sharp Rikuya... cracked a smile when Aizawa accidentally snorted chili oil.
For one night—
No drills.
No mock exams.
No strategies or lectures.
Just them. A team. Laughing, warm, full.
A family.
...
Then Saturday Ca.
The sun hadn’t risen high yet when Dirga stood outside the school gates, wearing Horizon’s black-and-red tracksuit. His duffel bag hung from one shoulder, but his hand gripped sothing small, sothing precious:
A wristband, and hanging from his bag, a tiny keychain—an amulet from Ayaka.
For luck.
He’d need it.
One by one, the others arrived.
Kaito, confident as ever.
Rikuya, stoic, head held high.
Taiga, half-asleep, hoodie up, dragging his bag like it owed him money.
Rei and Hiroki, chatting, wired with nervous energy.
Aizawa, bouncing in place, headphones on, already hyped.
All of them dressed the sa.
All of them carrying that sa look in their eyes.
Ready.
Sayaka arrived last, lugging a massive silver suitcase.
"Don’t say a word," she said, before anyone could comnt. "A girl’s gotta be prepared."
A few chuckles.
Then the sound of a bus engine pulling in. The team turned as the white-and-red charter ca into view.
Coach Tsugawa stepped out.
No ran apron now. No laid-back expression.
Today, he was sothing else.
He raised his hand. The team instinctively gathered. Silence fell.
And then—
Coach looked at them one by one. His voice, when it ca, was calm. Heavy. Like a storm building.
"One week. That’s all it took for you boys to survive hell."
He glanced at each of their faces.
"You ran until your legs failed. You drilled plays until your lungs scread. You studied film. Took notes. Bled on that court."
He paused. The silence felt sacred.
"Now, you’re ready."
He turned and pointed at the bus.
"That bus isn’t just going to Tokyo. It’s going to war. Every damn school there thinks they’re the next kings. Tokyo Kousei. Kanazawa Sekiryuu. Sendai Seiryu. Champions from the last three years."
Coach’s voice dropped lower—like fire crackling just before it explodes.
"Let them be champions. Let them walk in with pride. Because when they see us—Toyonaka Horizon—they’ll see what it ans to fight with hunger."
"They’ll see a team that trained like they had nothing left to lose. A team that burned their weakness in fire."
"I don’t care what city they co from. What record they carry. This isn’t their tournant."
He stepped forward, close now. His voice thundered.
"This. Is. Ours."
The boys clenched their fists.
Coach raised his hand again, holding it out.
"So I’m asking you—are you ready to fight?"
The answer ca without hesitation. One voice, one will:
"YES, COACH!!"
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