The ball slapped into Lucas's hands off the inbound.
He didn't rush.
His dribble was slow, rhythmic—like a ticking clock.
Eyes flicking, scanning, measuring.
Ahead stood Micah Vale.
Stance pristine. Arms low, wide. Knees bent just enough for balance but tight enough to strike.
(Strong base. Fast reaction time. Reads eyes, not shoulders.)
Lucas's dribble slowed… then stopped altogether.
For a second, silence.
Then—
He moved.
Exactly like Micah.
The same starting step.
The same lean.
The same deceptive misdirection with his eyes.
Micah's expression flickered.
A microsecond too late.
"What—?"
Lucas exploded past him.
Crossover. Crisp and low.
Spin. Fluid, tight, never losing momentum.
Drive. Sharp, sudden, downhill.
Ayden Liu stepped in.
The paint guardian.
Forest's wall.
Chest out. Arms ready.
Lucas didn't hesitate.
His body shifted in the air—
Kael's explosive foot plant.
Elijah's levitating hang-time.
