The third quarter buzzer rang out loudly. The score showed on the board: 98–82, Blacklist leading by 16.
The gap had grown wide, and now it felt like a wall Baby-Boom couldn't climb. Both teams trudged off the court exhausted, sweat running down their necks and soaking their jerseys.
Fans roared on both sides, Blacklist's side shouting "Blaze! Blaze!" like a drum, while Baby-Boom's supporters sat back slowly, losing their hope.
Rei walked slowly to her bench, fists clenched at her sides, breathing heavily. She had been in hell the whole quarter.
Her tits rose and fell fast under her jersey, her nipples poking hard, a shameful representation of her total defeat, sweat tracing lines down her cleavage to pool at her waist.
She glanced at the scoreboard, the realization hitting her like a punch in the pelvis.
At this point, she knew Nash was going to win. He was too good, too calm, and her team was cracking under it.
