Mid-range.
No gather.
No arc.
Just release.
Like slipping a knife between pages.
Swish.
23 – 17.
…
Horizon possession.
Dirga brought it up—fast, but never loose.
Each step measured.
Each breath drawn like a chess clock ticking down.
Left—Aizawa.
Right—Taiga.
Eyes scanned.
He saw it:
Kurotsuki's defense curling inward around Kaito.
A trap forming before the ball even touched him.
But this play?
This wasn't about a hero moment.
It was about reclaiming order.
Kaito floated off-ball.
No flash.
No call.
Just drifted into gravity's blind spot.
Dirga saw it—instinct firing faster than words.
Snap pass to Taiga.
Elbow screen.
Contact like a whisper.
Quick handoff.
Kaito caught it mid-stride—
Slashed down the left seam—
One dribble.
Two.
Sho rotated.
Of course he did.
But Kaito didn't blink.
Didn't challenge.
Didn't force.
Bounce pass—perfect weight—
threaded behind the shifting help.
Aizawa.
Baseline cut—timed like music.
Caught it.
Reverse lay.
