Salman, their point guard, whipped his head around to Lut, the shooting guard, eyes wide and kinda gzed over. "Dude… this guy is smooth?" Salman mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. He sounded like he'd just seen a ghost, or maybe a really impressive magic trick gone wrong.

  Lut just slowly shook his head, brow furrowed like he was trying to solve a really hard math problem, but the problem was a basketball pyer who defied physics.

  "Yeah… I saw it," he finally managed, voice shaky. "Beginner's luck, right? Has to be?" He tried to sound convincing, but even to his own ears, it sounded weak.

  Like, "maybe the Earth is ft?" level of conviction. Lut had seen enough hoops in his life to know what luck looked like. And whatever that was? That wasn't luck.

  That was… that was some next-level stuff.

  Saim, Motijheel's resident giant and center, snorted, trying to sound all tough and in charge again. "Luck? Seriously, Lut? Twice from downtown? Give me a break." He rolled his eyes, but even that looked forced. His bravado was cracking faster than cheap phone screen protector. 'Cause his eyes? They were glued to James, no matter how much he tried to act cool.

  And in those eyes? Definitely not confidence. More like a tiny, panicked hamster running on a wheel of "uh oh, we're in trouble."

  Anderson, the small forward, jumped in, trying to sound all chill and strategic, but it came out kinda… fake. Like when your mom says "I'm not mad, just disappointed." "Okay, okay, maybe he got lucky once, and now he's just trying to, like, relive the glory or whatever," Anderson said, waving his hand dismissively.

  "But we're not gonna let him. Pressure him! No more free real estate this time, got it?" He pointed at Nikhil, their power forward, who looked like he was born grumpy. "Nikhil, dude, get in his face. Make him feel the heat. Make him sweat glitter."

  Nikhil, who was basically a human brick wall with a permanent scowl, just grunted, low and menacing. "Got it," he rumbled, like a garbage truck starting up. "No more freebies for pretty boy." He lumbered towards James, less like a graceful athlete and more like a disgruntled bear waking up from hibernation. But hey, intimidating? Absolutely.

  He parked himself a few feet from James, arms out wide, trying to look like a human stop sign.

  "Shooting ne? Closed for business," Nikhil's stance screamed.

  James? Didn't even flinch. Barely gnced at Nikhil, like he was a particurly uninteresting piece of furniture.

  His focus was locked on the basket, tunnel vision activated. Brain was already doing calcutions at lightning speed – trajectory, angle, power, wind resistance from that rogue leaf blowing by… kidding, but you get the idea. Bullseye was humming beneath the surface, a low, confident thrum.

  Target locked. Accuracy guaranteed. It wasn't just a skill, it was a promise.

  James started his shooting motion, smooth and efficient. No extra flourishes, no wasted energy. Just pure, ser-focused intention.