James lifted the ball, his movement smooth as butter, effortless as breathing. You could practically see the ser focus in his eyes, bullseye locked on the basket like it personally offended him. He released the shot. Here we go again.

  The ball traced that now-familiar arc, that perfect, textbook trajectory. It was like watching a repy in slow motion, except it was real life and happening for the nth time. The Motijheel pyers just watched, their faces a masterpiece of mixed emotions: dread, resignation, maybe a hint of morbid curiosity. They knew what was coming. They always knew what was coming. It was like watching a horror movie where you know the jump scare is about to happen, but you still flinch every time. And they were utterly, completely, powerless to stop it.

  Swish. Clean. Perfect. Inevitably.

  Another three-pointer. Number five. The scoreboard ticked down again, the gap shrinking faster than your bank account after online shopping.

  The Banani Bench went absolutely bonkers. The roar was deafening, like a stadium full of people all just won the lottery at the same time. Pure, unadulterated hype.

  Meanwhile, the Motijheel crowd, who were just moments ago loud and cocky, had gone completely silent. Stunned silence. Like someone had hit the mute button on their entire section. Their home court advantage? Poof. Evaporating faster than morning dew in summer. Their supposed dominance? Crumbling like a cheap cookie in milk, right before their very eyes. It was a massacre of morale, happening in real time.

  Point by point, like a digital download bar slowly inching its way to 100%, Banani was cwing back that massive 30-point gap. James was a legit scoring machine – points just seemed to materialize whenever he touched the ball. He was a defensive wall, blocking shots and stealing balls like it was his part-time job. And a passing wizard? Seriously. The dude was dishing out assists that were straight out of a highlight reel.

  His teammates, fueled by James's insane performance, were pying like they’d just leveled up in real life. Confidence and intensity were pumping through their veins. Sajid was cutting to the basket like a hot knife through butter, scoring easy yups off James's mind-blowing passes. Robi was owning the rebounds, dominating the boards like a king on his throne. Ahsan and Kiyoshi were running the offense with a new sense of urgency and purpose, basically just getting the ball to James and letting him do his impossible thing. At this point, trusting in James wasn't even faith; it was just pin logic.

  Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock kept winding down, the end of the second quarter looming closer. The tension in the gym was thick. Like, you could scoop it up with a spoon and spread it on toast thick. Every single possession felt like it weighed a ton, every point was magnified, crucial, game-changing. The pressure was immense, you could practically taste it in the air.

  With just seconds left on the clock, Banani had possession – clutch time. The score was nail-bitingly close: 32-29, Motijheel still barely hanging onto a two-point lead by their fingernails. Kiyoshi immediately called a timeout, like hitting the pause button on all the chaos. He gathered his team in a tight huddle near the bench, time for a st-minute strategy session.