K-Vibe's squad had the ball. Ryan brought it up, crossing half court at a steady pace.
Waiting for him was The Guillotine, who grinned and beckoned him forward with a cocky little finger wave—classic streetball challenge.
Come get some.
On the blacktop, you don't back down from a dare. That's a one-way ticket to being labeled soft, and Carver Park didn't forgive cowards.
Ryan grinned. With K-Vibe on the bench, he didn't have to force-feed passes anymore. Mano-a-mano? Bet.
The court cleared out, everyone stepping back to give Ryan and The Guillotine their stage. Streetball lived for these moments—one-on-one, no help, just heart and skill.
The Guillotine crouched low, clapping his hands hard, ready to lock up.
Ryan started his move, his crossover growing wider, flashier, the ball snapping between his legs like a metronome. Then, boom—he broke left, only to whip the ball right with a vicious change-of-direction.
Guillotine bit, lunging a step too far.
