Okay, so, Kiyoshi was straight-up cheesing. His grin was so wide, you'd think his face was about to detach itself and float away like a rogue balloon animal. Inside his head? Pure chaos, but the good kind.

  Like, victory-dance-in-your-locker-room-after-winning-the-championship kind of chaos. "Dude, this is IT!" he thought, practically vibrating with excitement. "This is exactly the chaotic energy we've been missing!"

  He tried to py it cool on the outside, though. Subtle nod to Ahsan – gotta be low-key, you know? Eyes flicked over to James, just a quick gnce, like he was checking out his shoes or something. But Ahsan would get it.

  It was a silent order, a telepathic vibe only they understood after years of pying together. Give. Him.

  The. Ball. Again.

  Let the world see if that first two shots were some kind of cosmic joke, or if… nah, Kiyoshi wasn't buying the fluke thing anymore. Deep down, he had a feeling. A strong feeling.

  This wasn't luck. This was… something else entirely.

  Ahsan, being the VP of this basketball squad and basically having ESP with Kiyoshi, clocked the signal immediately.

  He's not blind, okay? He saw Kiyoshi's face practically scream "JAMES AGAIN!" even with the subtle nod. So, Ahsan started his point guard routine – bounce, bounce, ball in hand. Eyes everywhere, pretending to look for someone open.

  "Gotta sell the fake," he muttered to himself, even though everyone with half a brain knew where the ball was going. Like, duh, the new guy just nuked their opponents' will to live with that st shot.

  Everyone was thinking it.

  James. The rookie. The dude who just detonated a three-point bomb and turned the game upside down.

  Ahsan faked a left pass, real dramatic, head fake and everything. Then, wham! Whipped the ball right, a super clean, ser-focused throw right at James' chest. Textbook.

  Perfect setup. Time to see if lightning could strike thrice.

  James was still chilling in that sweet spot beyond the three-point line, like he owned the pce now.

  The pass from Ahsan? Caught it smooth as butter. King’s Palm in action, even if James wasn’t actively thinking about activating his basketball superpowers. The ball just… poof …appeared in his hands, like magic.

  No awkward fumbles, no st-minute adjustments. Just pure, effortless reception. He cradled the ball for a sec, not even bothering to dribble.

  "Dribbling is for peasants," he probably thought, but like, in a cool, confident way, not in a snobby way.

  Seriously, why waste precious seconds bouncing the ball when you've already dropped jaws with your first shot? Confidence? Dude was practically radiating it.

  It was like a force field of "Yeah, I got this." This wasn't the same James who'd stumbled onto the court a few weeks ago, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Nah, man. This was… this was James 2.0, and he was here to upgrade their game.

  Over on the Motijheel side of the court, a low-key panic was starting to bubble up. It started as a murmur, then rippled through their team like gossip in a high school hallway.