When the halftime break ended, the arena felt different.
Not louder.
Not quieter.
Heavier.
Both teams emerged from their locker rooms, but only one carried an unmistakable shift in energy. The Komodo Dragons walked back onto the floor with faces carved from stone. No laughter. No casual glances at the crowd. No loose shoulders.
They looked like a team that had been challenged—and didn't like it.
On the Buffalo bench, Assistant Coach Ben leaned closer to Coach Ed, eyes fixed on the opposing players as they stretched and exchanged brief, sharp words.
"Coach," Ben said quietly, "I think they're more serious now."
Coach Ed didn't answer right away. He studied Komodo the way a storm watcher studies the horizon—not for beauty, but for danger. Then he nodded once.
"Good," he said. "That's what champions do."
He turned to his players. "Be ready. This isn't the same half."
The referee's whistle sliced through the tension.
Second half.
Lineups Tell the Story
Komodo sent out a statement lineup:
George — now running the point
John Cruz — scorer, former brother
Diwa — energy forward
Misajon — enforcer
Jimmy — the mountain in the middle
Buffalo countered with youth and balance:
Victor
John Paul
Justine
Raymond
Tony
Elias remained seated.
And Komodo noticed.
George's eyes flicked toward the Buffalo bench. No Elias. No Santino. No Cholo.
His jaw tightened.
Now, he thought.
Komodo Strikes First.
The ball was inbounded cleanly.
George took control immediately—head up, voice loud, hands directing traffic like a general on the move. Komodo passed with urgency, snapping the ball side to side, screens set with purpose instead of force.
One perfect rotation.
Diwa slipped behind his defender.
Two points.
No celebration. Just a nod.
Next possession, Victor brought the ball down—but George was waiting. His defense was suffocating now, chest low, hands active. He anticipated the crossover, lunged—
Steal.
George sprinted the floor and finished with an easy layup.
The crowd erupted.
Raymond inbounded quickly, trying to steady the moment. Victor received the ball again—but this time the trap came instantly.
George. Cruz.
Victor turned, searching for daylight. He spotted Raymond and tried to force the pass—
Intercepted.
Diwa again.
Two steps, one look—
Cruz on the break.
Another two points.
In less than a minute, Komodo had unleashed a 6–0 run.
Coach Ed's arm shot up.
Timeout.
Buffalo Under Fire
In the huddle, Coach Ed spoke fast but controlled.
"They're speeding us up," he said. "Meet force with spacing. Protect the ball."
The players nodded, but the moment lingered heavy in their chests.
Back on the court, Komodo didn't slow.
They pressed harder.
They moved faster.
They hit first.
A quick bucket inside.
A free throw.
Another forced turnover.
Buffalo answered with a single point—scraped, earned, almost desperate.
12–1 run.
The scoreboard flipped.
Komodo up by six.
The Komodo bench exploded, fists pumping, voices roaring. George clapped hard, shouting orders. Cruz slapped hands with Misajon, fire in his eyes.
On the Buffalo bench, Coach Ed stood.
His gaze shifted to Elias.
"Get ready."
He tapped Elias, Santino, and Cholo.
But before the substitutions could be made, Komodo struck again.
A quick three.
A transition bucket.
Buffalo answered with two—but the damage was done.
17–2 run.
Komodo had seized control.
Finally, the horn sounded.
Substitution.
Elias rose.
The crowd felt it before they saw it.
As he stepped toward the scorer's table, the noise dipped—anticipation replacing chaos.
This wasn't just a change of players.
This was a change of tone.
Elias checked in.
Santino followed.
Cholo bounced on his toes, eyes sharp.
Komodo had made their statement.
Now, it was Buffalo's turn to respond.