The scoreboard flashed 29–21, glowing red like a challenge. The ball found its way back into Ethan Albarado's hands as the Wildcats jogged back on defense. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his breathing sharp and rhythmic, but his eyes those calm, focused blue eyes didn't waver.
"Eight-point lead isn't enough," he thought. "Not against Miho."
Across the court, Miho stood still, almost motionless, his hands in his pockets and that same bored smile curving on his lips. The rest of his team spread out like a web, eyes locked onto Ethan.
The crowd had grown louder now chants of "Vorpal! Vorpal!" echoing through the stands but underneath that noise, the tension was razor-thin.
Ethan raised his hand and called, "Formation Delta."
