I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It

The team gathered around Dirga like baby chicks around a mother hen—except instead of food, they were starving for intel. And Dirga, calm but intense, was ready to feed them.

"Alright. Here’s what I’ve got," he began, voice sharp and clear. "Let’s start with the obvious—Buzz."

All eyes zeroed in.

"He’s flashy, sure, but he’s got a scoring cap. One game it was six points, the next it was eight. That tells me one of two things—either his scoring cap rotates, or it’s randomized every match. Could be 6, 8, 10. We can’t predict it, but we know it’s there."

Kaito folded his arms. "So we can’t just let him run free, but over-committing might backfire. If he starts dishing passes..."

"It’s worse," Dirga nodded. "He’s dangerous either way."

He moved to the next.

"Masaru—their center. Big guy. He can only jump three times on defense. Once that’s done? He’s basically a statue. Attack him in the paint."

Rikuya gave a silent nod, arms crossed, eyes calm as still water.

"Renjiro. Their sniper. He only shoots threes. No drives, no cuts, nothing else. But if you give him an inch, you’re giving him a bucket."

Rei muttered, "So just camp him on the perimeter. Don’t get baited."