The scoreboard glared down like an unblinking eye: 115–115.
The gym shook under the roar of the crowd, bleachers trembling as though they might collapse at any moment. The sound wasn't cheering anymore it was a living thing, a storm of its own, pressing on every player's chest, rattling their bones. The air wasn't just heavy it was electric, humming so violently it felt like the lights themselves buzzed under the pressure.
And then he walked in.
The King of the Court.
Except "king" wasn't the right word. Not for him. Kings carried a regal weight, a solemn presence, a crown invisible yet suffocating. But this? This was no monarch.
He wasn't calm. He wasn't poised.
He was laughing.
His grin split his face ear to ear, eyes wide and wild, his entire body vibrating with reckless energy like a beast caged too long and finally unchained. He didn't walk onto the hardwood he stormed onto it, as if the court was his battlefield and he'd been starving for the fight.
