Hiro looked at him like a chess master studying the pieces on a board—calculating, detached, already several moves ahead.
Their gazes locked for a brief moment before Yang swept his leg to win the ball. For the past few seconds, Hiro had stood motionless, almost like a statue. His expression was unreadable, and his body language betrayed nothing.
Despite that, Yang relied on his instincts to predict his move.
He had watched Hiro's dribbles countless times, studied the footage, and analyzed the patterns. He had identified a somewhat usable rhythm in his movements.
And now, he trusted that analysis.
While relying on those patterns, he lunged—convinced, for a fleeting moment, that he had finally conquered Hiro. That he had decoded the enigma.
I've got you.
But just as he swept his leg—
The ball vanished.
It happened so fast that it left him startled. Even before panic settled in, desperation clutched his heart as he scrambled to trace Hiro's presence.
