Kiyoshi took a deep breath, trying to channel his inner zen master, which was proving difficult when your team was getting demolished. "Stick to the pn, Kiyoshi," he muttered to himself like a mantra. "Stick. To. The. Pn." That's what he'd told Tahera, right? That's what he'd told the team, even though they probably thought he was losing it. Wait till the end of the first quarter. Let Motijheel think they’re the kings of the court.

  Let them get all comfy and confident, maybe even a little cocky. And then… then they unleash James. Boom.

  The logic was there, at least in Kiyoshi’s very stressed brain. Throwing James in now, when Motijheel was riding this crazy wave of momentum, felt like sending him straight to the wolves, or maybe worse, to a trending dance-off he wasn't prepared for. They’d be expecting something, a reaction from Banani.

  But if they waited, if they let Motijheel keep basking in their false sense of security, James’s entrance would be like a plot twist no one saw coming. A total disruption. A potential game-changer.

  Hopefully. Please, basketball gods, let it be a game-changer.

  But yeah, doubt was creeping in like that one annoying song that gets stuck in your head and you can't get rid of it.

  Ten points down was a massive hole. Each basket Motijheel scored felt like they were just digging that hole deeper and deeper, maybe even to the Earth’s core. What if they waited too long? What if the hole became too deep to climb out of, even if James was, like, basketball Jesus? What if his genius pn totally backfired and they ended up even more demoralized and meme-worthy? The pressure was building, and Kiyoshi was starting to feel it crack.

  He shoved those negative vibes to the side, like blocking unwanted notifications. He had to focus on the now, on this possession, on not making things even worse. He was the captain, after all.

  He had to lead, even when they were getting absolutely hammered. He had to show them he still had hope, even when his own hope was flickering like a dying phone battery at 1%.

  He signaled for a py, a cssic pick-and-roll with Robi.

  Simple, basic, but maybe enough to create a little space, some movement, anything to break free from Motijheel’s suffocating defense. Robi, bless his sturdy frame, lumbered into position to set the screen. Kiyoshi dribbled around him, trying to drive towards the basket, but nope.

  Green shirts swarmed him again, cutting off every possible route, anticipating his moves like they were reading his mind. Or maybe just his very predictable basketball pybook.

  He was trapped.

  Seriously, nowhere to go. He could force a pass, which would probably just result in another turnover and more meme-able moments for Banani. Or… or… he could try something totally desperate, something that had about a 0.001% chance of working. He took a step back, creating a sliver of space, like a magician pulling space out of thin air, and unched a three-pointer. A total prayer, flung up in the face of overwhelming odds, and probably terrible defense.