The whistle blows, right? Not just any whistle, but like, screaming whistle. The kind that makes you jump even if you're expecting it. It sliced through the air, basically announcing, "Second quarter, let's GOOOO!" Kiyoshi, man, his face was all kinds of serious business. Like, ser-focused determination, you know? He locks eyes with James, and it's this super subtle nod, blink and you'd miss it. But they knew.

  It was the signal. The moment they'd been waiting for, probably strategizing about since, like, breakfast. This was it.

  "Yo, James, you're up for Arshad," Kiyoshi says, voice suddenly all business. You could practically hear the shift in tone, like he just flipped a switch from 'chill captain' to 'game-time commander'.

  Arshad, poor dude, was still gasping for air like he'd just run a marathon uphill.

  First quarter will do that to you, especially with these guys. He nods, heads straight for the bench, already picturing that sweet, sweet water break. As he passes James, he gives him a pat on the shoulder, kind of a "you're gonna need this" pat. "Good luck, man," Arshad wheezes, "They're… intense out there." Like, 'intense' in the way that facing a swarm of angry bees is 'intense'.

  James just gives this totally chill smile, the kind that says, "Intense? Please, I eat intense for breakfast." "Intense is good," he replies, all nonchant. "Keeps things… spicy." Dude didn't even look stressed. No nervous leg bouncing, no fidgeting with his jersey, nada. Just pure, unadulterated calm.

  He peels off his warm-up jacket like it's no big deal, revealing that Banani jersey – BAM! – and walks towards the court like he's just strolling to grab a snack. Confidence level: expert.

  Okay, so James makes his entrance, right? And it's… anticlimactic.

  For the Motijheel squad, anyway. They're all exchanging these 'who IS this guy?' looks, mixed with a healthy dose of 'seriously?' Like, they were expecting, I don't know, maybe a superhero to fly in and save the day. Instead, they get James.

  Another fresh body to, in their minds, just become another speed bump in their path to victory. He definitely didn't have the 'intimidating presence' vibe going on, not like Robi, who was built like a brick wall. James was leaner, almost kinda… wiry.

  Quiet intensity in his eyes, sure, but physically? He wasn't exactly screaming "game-changer" from the rooftops. More like whispering it, maybe.

  The Motijheel coach, this dude looked like he permanently smelled something bad.

  Like, someone repced his morning coffee with lemon juice, and he's been stuck with that face ever since. He barely even gnces at James walking onto the court. Too busy yelling at his own pyers, probably reminding them they were basically basketball gods and needed to keep dominating.

  "Don't. Let. UP!" he barks, veins popping in his neck. "Keep the pressure ON! Forty minutes of pure, unadulterated pressure, that's what we need!" Forty minutes of pressure? Dude was acting like they were defusing a bomb, not pying a basketball game. Rex, coach, it's just hoops.

  Meanwhile, on the Banani bench, James's arrival was met with… well, let's call it 'cautious optimism' mixed with a whole lotta 'skepticism'.