Salman's full-on sprint suddenly looked like one of those awkward, slow-motion jogs you see in bad comedies.

  Saim's powerful strides, the ones that were pounding the court a second ago, turned into this super deliberate, almost ceremonial march. It was bizarre. The basketball in James’ hands felt totally normal, his own body movements felt completely fine, but the rest of the world? Dude, the world was moving in freaking mosses.

  Like, someone had swapped out real air for thick, sticky syrup.

  "Sloth View."

  It was straight up like watching a movie in slow motion, but here's the crazy part: he, James, was the only one operating at normal speed. Everyone else was stuck in this weird, slow-motion dreamscape. The frantic shouts of Salman and Saim? They stretched out into these long, drawn-out, distorted sounds, like someone was messing with a record pyer and slowing it down to a crawl.

  Even the squeak of sneakers on the court, usually sharp and quick, became this low, elongated groan, like a rusty door hinge protesting. It was surreal.

  James could see Salman’s face, all scrunched up and contorted with effort, his mouth wide open in what was probably supposed to be a terrifying yell, but in slow-mo, it was just... goofy.

  He saw Saim’s eyes, wide open, locked in on him with intense concentration, his arms reaching out in slow motion, like branches swaying super gently in a nonexistent breeze. It was totally surreal. And honestly? Kinda comical.

  These two guys who were just moments ago trying to intimidate him now looked like they were stuck in a bad mime performance, moving with agonizing slowness.

  "This is... weirdly rexing," James thought to himself, a tiny smile starting to creep onto his face. A flicker of amusement actually broke through that weird calm he was feeling. Like, who knew slow motion could be so... chill?

  In this bizarre, slow-motion universe he was now inhabiting, James suddenly had all the time in the world.

  Seriously, all of it. He casually took a step back, then another, effortlessly creating space between himself and the two slow-motion defenders. To him, it just felt like he was moving at his normal pace, but to Salman and Saim, stuck in their mosses world, it must have looked like he was straight-up teleporting away from them.

  Poof! Gone!

  He raised the ball again, the familiar weight feeling comforting in his hands. It was like greeting an old friend. He lined up the shot, taking his sweet time.

  His movements were deliberate, super precise, but still felt completely natural, like breathing. No rush. Zero pressure.

  Just...time. An insane, almost comical amount of time to get this shot off. It was kinda luxurious, actually.

  Salman and Saim, still desperately trying to rush him, still yelling in their drawn-out, slow-motion voices, were completely and utterly helpless. They were basically frozen in time, their frantic attempt to double-team him rendered ughably ineffective by this crazy distortion of reality. It was like trying to catch a hummingbird with a giant fishing net... in slow motion.

  Just totally, ridiculously futile. They were putting in maximum effort, but in this warped reality, it was achieving absolutely nothing.

  With all the time in the world, James just... released the ball.

  Smooth as butter.