Nikhil, the grumpy power forward, usually the most grounded and pragmatic dude on the Motijheel team, was the first one to actually articute the growing sense of straight-up dread that was slowly creeping through their ranks.

  He stepped forward, his burly frame all tense and rigid, his eyes narrowed, not with anger like usual, but with this weird mix of...

  awe and fear. It was unsettling to see Nikhil, of all people, looking genuinely freaked out.

  "Guys," he said, his voice low and gravelly, cutting through the thick, stunned silence like a rusty saw. "Guys, seriously, listen to me for a sec. This isn't just luck. This isn't even just amazing skill. This... this is something else entirely." He pointed a thick, beefy finger at James, who was still over there surrounded by his ridiculously happy teammates, looking like he'd just won the championship. "That guy... that guy is different. He's not pying by the same rules as the rest of us. I'm telling you."

  He paused, his gaze locked on James, a chilling realization slowly dawning in his eyes, like a lightbulb flickering on in a haunted house. "He's... he's pying a completely different game," Nikhil finished, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, but somehow, it was the loudest thing in the whole gym.

  The silence dropped again, heavier than a ton of bricks. Nikhil's words hung in the air, unspoken fears suddenly voiced out loud, the totally impossible reality crashing down on them like a tidal wave.

  They'd come here this afternoon to py a casual game of basketball, maybe trash-talk a little, show off their skills. But they were starting to realize, with a growing sense of unease, that James, this quiet, kinda unassuming newcomer from Banani, had brought something else entirely to the court. Something... extraordinary.

  Something deeply unsettling. Something that was rapidly turning their confident, chill afternoon into a slow-motion, unfolding nightmare. And the really scary part? They were only four shots into this whole thing.

  Who knew what else this dude was capable of?

  Motijheel game pn? Absolutely demolished. Like, totally shredded.

  They were clinging to the hope of maybe, just maybe, getting back some kind of grip on the situation, but honestly, it was looking grim. Three… three… three-pointers in a row had just rained down on them. Talk about a vibe kill. It was the kind of thing that made you want to just yeet your jersey into the stands and call it a day.

  The whole team gathered near their bench, forming a tight little circle. It was super intense, you could practically feel the stress radiating off them. They were whispering, but it was the kind of whispering that was loaded with frustration, punctuated by these sharp, jerky hand motions and low-key angry mumbles. You just knew things were not chill in the Motijheel camp.

  Salman, their captain and point guard, finally broke away from the huddle. His usual swagger, the kind that screamed "I'm the main character," was totally gone, repced by this weird, fake-it-till-you-make-it kind of confidence.