The scoreboard burned bright over the roaring gym:
VORPAL 41 – WILDCATS 27.
The air felt like the final moments of a championship game.
Ethan's chest rose and fell with controlled intensity, sweat carving thin trails along his jawline.
Lucas's fingers curled around the ball as they transitioned, but the Wildcats' defensive shape compressed like a metal jaw.
Miho didn't sprint to join the trap.
He walked.
Each step a verdict.
Each breath a sentence.
And with every slow stride, Vorpal felt the court shrink.
Miho's dribble began the moment he crossed half-court, quiet, soft, minimal.
But the effect?
Like gravity twisted around him.
A perfect center of rhythm.
Ethan spotted it instantly. He felt the shift, like the air dropped ten degrees.
Ryan's sneakers skidded as the Wildcats formed a four-man trap on Lucas, the angles fartoo clean to be random.
Brandon braced, but Davis Conner's mass pressed him back with brutal precision.
