He locked eyes with James, squinting slightly, trying to project this vibe of 'I'm not impressed, you gotta do better,' even though his stomach was doing Olympic-level gymnastics with confusion and creeping dread. Can he even shoot like he did first one, though? he thought, the question was ced with a desperate, almost pathetic, hope that the answer would be a big, fat 'no.'

  Please, universe, let this 'inhuman speedy catch' thing be just a one-time glitch in the matrix, a random spectacle, and let James be just the awkward, ball-fumbling pyer he looked like at first gnce. Give me a break here!

  And wouldn't you know it, as if the universe was some kind of cosmic troll reading Number 9’s mind and actively trying to mess with him, James decided right then and there to answer his unspoken question. Like, immediately.

  It was almost comical, if it wasn't so utterly terrifying. And he didn't just answer it with a 'yes' or a 'maybe' or even a 'kinda-sorta.' Nope.

  He answered it with a full-blown, capital-Y-E-S, resounding, unequivocal, and frankly, pretty darn scary yes. It was the kind of 'yes' that made you want to double-check if you were still in Kansas.

  Kiyoshi throws the ball again toward James and he uses King's Palm again to catch the ball, as number 9 tries to intercept.

  James, having snagged the ball with that freaky reach of his – seriously, how long are his arms? – just skipped all the usual basketball warm-up stuff. No dribbling to get his rhythm, no fake-out move to create space, no bouncing the ball like he was trying to find his inner zen. Nah, he just… lifted the ball up.

  That was it.

  It was the most casual move ever, seriously, almost zy, like he was just reaching for his phone to scroll through memes instead of getting ready to unch a ball across the court. His feet were pnted firmly, shoulder-width apart, posture totally rexed, practically horizontal.

  No tense muscles popping, no furrowed brow like he was solving a Rubik's Cube, no sign at all that he was putting in any effort or even trying that hard. It was like he was about to do something totally mundane, like grabbing the TV remote or scratching an itch on his nose. Just completely, utterly, nonchant.

  And then, without any fanfare, he just… shot it. Like, bam, ball's gone.

  The ball zipped out of his hands with a speed that was genuinely surprising, especially considering how little effort he seemed to put into the whole setup.

  It wasn't some beefy, power shot where he threw his whole body into it. It was smooth, like butter smooth, a totally fluid release, and the ball was spinning backwards with this perfect, hypnotizing rotation. It arced through the air, tracing this path that was instantly, unsettlingly… fwless.

  Like, computer-generated perfect. You could practically hear the collective gasp of everyone in the gym, even if they were too shocked to actually make a sound.

  There wasn't a single wobble in its flight, no weird sideways drift, no hint of imperfection whatsoever in the ball’s trajectory.