Kiyoshi, feeling the heat, manages to wiggle his way out of the double team, but suddenly finds himself trapped. Nowhere to go.

  Motijheel's defense was like a boa constrictor, tightening its grip with every dribble, every pass attempt. He whips his head around, desperately searching for an open teammate, but nope. Everyone in green was suffocated, swallowed up by those green jerseys like they were quicksand.

  Seriously custrophobic defense.

  And then, boom, he sees him. James.

  Cutting towards the basket, quick and decisive, slicing through the defense like a hot knife through butter, creating a tiny sliver of space out on the wing. It was a nano-second of opportunity, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, but Kiyoshi’s eyes were locked on it. He fires off a pass towards James, a risky cross-court rocket, but he had faith.

  Faith in James's hands, faith in his ability to turn something out of nothing.

  The pass was slightly behind James, not perfect, forcing him to adjust, to reach back and snag it. For a split second, the Motijheel defenders actually rexed.

  'Turnover!' they probably thought. 'Fumble! Easy steal!' Dribbling, they were sure, he's gonna have to dribble to gather that slightly off pass. Textbook steal opportunity, right? Wrong.

  But James? Nope. Didn't dribble. Didn't even think about dribbling.

  He snags that slightly wild pass in stride, like it was perfectly pced, his momentum carrying him forward, towards the basket like a heat-seeking missile. He gathers the ball in one smooth, fluid motion, feet set, eyes locked, loaded, and ready to fire. And then, bam, lightning-fast release, he shoots.

  No dribble. Zero. Zip.

  Nada. Just catch. And shoot.

  Pure, unadulterated shooting skill, distilled down to its purest form. It was almost… disrespectful to the art of dribbling. But in a good way.

  For Banani, anyway.

  The ball leaves his fingertips, tracing a perfect arc against the harsh gre of the gym lights. Sails through the air, silent and deadly, like a ninja star aimed directly at the hoop.

  The Motijheel defenders, caught completely off guard, frozen in pce, could only watch in slow motion as their confident smirks melted away, repced by expressions of pure, unadulterated 'wait, WHAT just happened?' stunned disbelief.

  Swish. Nothing but net.

  Clean as a whistle.

  The net ripples, that satisfying little dance it does when a three-pointer goes down. Three points on the board.

  Banani's first three points of the entire game. The scoreboard flickers, updating the grim reality: 23-5. Still a mountain to climb, a massive deficit, but… something had shifted.

  You could feel it in the air. The atmosphere in the gym, the energy on the court, it had subtly, almost invisibly, changed. Like someone had just flipped a tiny, but crucial, switch.

  The silence from the Banani bench? Gone. Repced by a collective gasp of surprise, then a hesitant cheer that quickly grew louder. "YES! JAMES! THAT'S IT!" Tahera cps her hands, a real, genuine smile finally breaking through all that earlier tension. "See? I told you!" Okay, maybe she hadn't exactly told anyone James was a three-point sniper who couldn't dribble, but still, victory p time.

  On the court, James? Still impassive. Almost… indifferent to the sudden shift in momentum.