The days leading up to the tournament had grown more intense. Every training session was a gauntlet, a mix of endurance and precision. We began with brutal physical conditioning—laps, sprints, resistance work—before splitting into focused training groups tailored to each of our weaknesses.
For me, it was scoring. I spent hours drilling my shooting form and practicing finishes through contact. Layups, floaters, euro steps, pump fakes, and even reverse layups—I pushed through them all. Every day, I chased that perfect motion.
Rei had locked himself into playmaking and ball-handling drills. His dribbles grew tighter, faster. He practiced deceptive hesitations and no-look passes, sometimes staying after hours with a cone and a mirror just to refine his angles.
Hiroki paired with Aizawa, focusing on foundational work—footwork, off-ball movement, and defensive stances. Since the practice match, Aizawa had been dialed in. Something about that game must've lit a fire in him. Whatever had been bothering him before, it was gone—replaced by a silent, focused edge. Maybe it was his growing synchronization with Taiga that helped steady him.
Taiga had become a sponge, absorbing every defensive drill Coach Tsugawa threw at him. He worked with Rikuya daily, trying to match the center's footwork and interior defense. His fundamentals improved noticeably, and with Kaito's calm presence and textbook techniques, our frontcourt rotation was starting to feel like a wall.
Behind the scenes, Sayaka supported us in ways we never expected. She managed logistics, coordinated meal plans, and even designed custom Horizon gym jackets and matching training pants for us. We didn't have a sponsor, but somehow, she made us look like one of the big-name schools.
Takeshi-sensei would drop by sometimes, observing with a quiet smile, offering minor pointers like a proud uncle. Meanwhile, Coach Tsugawa had gone full throttle—his knowledge, experience, and strategic vision poured into each session. He wasn't just coaching us; he was building us.
And then, I used another Training Booster.
The result?
Physical: B- → B
Inside Scoring: C- → C
Playmaking: B → B+
Shooting: C+ → B-
I asked Echo why the boost had such a significant impact, especially in just a few days.
"By enhancing your physical stats, the disconnect between your experience and your body is shrinking," Echo explained. "Your muscle memory, court vision, and instincts are from your previous life—but your body was too weak to keep up. Now that it's catching up, everything is syncing."
It made sense. My old self was a grown pro, but this body was still a teenager. The gap between my mind and physique had always created friction—now that gap was narrowing.
It also meant one thing:
I need to keep pushing. If I improve my physical stats further, all my other attributes will naturally rise.
…
One week before the tournament, Coach Tsugawa called us in for a strategy meeting.
We all gathered around the whiteboard in the clubroom. He tapped his marker against the surface, then wrote two words in bold:
"Osaka Meisei."
"Our first opponent," he began, "is no joke. Osaka Meisei has a long history. Last year, they made it to the quarterfinals. This year, they're hungry to go further."
He drew a simple bracket structure on the board, showing the path we'd need to take in the Osaka Prefecture Qualifiers.
"Their system is old-school," he continued. "They run a slow-paced, inside-out offense built around their center—Shohei Mizuno. Third-year. 186 cm . Big frame. Strong footwork. He's the anchor on both ends."
I leaned in. That name sounded familiar.
"They call him the 'Wall of Osaka,'" Coach said. "He's not flashy, but he dominates the paint and sets bone-breaking screens. Most teams crumble just trying to get around him."
Coach circled Mizuno's name.
"They run triangle sets and high-low actions through him. Their offense is deliberate. No wasted movement. They'll grind you down with possessions that last twenty, even thirty seconds."
Rei let out a low whistle. "So they're a tempo-killer."
"Exactly," Coach nodded. "They want to suck the energy out of the game. Make you play their pace. If we fall into their rhythm, we're done."
He flipped to the next page of his notes.
"Defensively, they run a textbook 2-3 zone. Tight rotations, strong communication, and excellent rebounding. They bait you into mid-range shots and clamp the paint. You won't get easy drives or second-chance points."
I glanced at Rikuya. His arms were crossed, expression calm as always, but I knew he was taking mental notes.
Coach continued, "That said, we have the tools to break them. Rikuya, this is your matchup. You'll be the one clashing with Mizuno inside."
"Understood," Rikuya said simply.
"Taiga, your role is just as important. You'll need to be aggressive on help defense and be ready to rotate fast. Rei, I want you to dissect their zone with your shooting—probe, collapse, kick. Hiroki, be confident when you shoot. They'll dare you. Make them pay."
Then Coach turned to me.
"Dirga. You'll lead the charge. They'll try to throw you off by limiting your touches and crowding the middle. But this is your kind of fight—high stakes, physical, cerebral. I trust you to guide this team."
I nodded, heart pounding.
This was it.
Our first official tournament game as Horizon.
…
After the meeting, the tension in the air was thick, but so was the excitement. We stayed behind for extra shooting reps, working on our threes, our cuts, our communication.
"Yo, Dirga," Rei said, tossing me the ball. "Think we can shock Osaka?"
"We're not here to shock," I said, launching a jumper. Swish. "We're here to win."
He grinned. "Damn right."
From across the court, Rikuya and Taiga were locked in a one-on-one post drill. Each possession was a war. Elbows, pivots, shoves—but never dirty. Just raw intensity.
Sayaka sat on the bleachers, sketching something in her notebook. Probably a new warm-up outfit or hydration plan.
We were still just a bunch of rookies.
But we had purpose now.
We weren't just some after-school club anymore. We were Horizon, and our journey was just beginning.
And first on our list?
Cracking the Wall of Osaka.