The ball was once again at the top of the arc, resting in the hands of one of Thiseas' teammates. His eyes narrowed in focus, and he began his dribble a flurry of crossovers and hesitation moves, each step calculated, each fake a silent question to the defender in front of him.
Then, it happened.
A sharp crossover.
The defender bit.
In a flash, the lane opened like the parting of waves, and Thiseas' teammate surged forward, seeing only the basket in front of him. He took two powerful strides and rose into the air, preparing to finish strong at the rim.
But all he heard was
BANG!
A thunderclap against the backboard echoed through the gym.
Jamie.
Like a ghost appearing out of thin air, he had come flying in from behind, his body moving with impossible grace and timing. His palm smashed the ball against the glass, erasing the layup from existence before gravity even noticed.
And he didn't just block it.
He caught it.
Landing effortlessly, Jamie's eyes scanned the court in an instant. Without hesitation, he slung a sharp pass back to his teammate the very same one who had been blown by moments ago.
Now wide open at the three point line.
The ball hit his hands in rhythm. He rose. Released.
Bank shot clean.
"7 to 1."
Jamie was already jogging back on defense like it was just another day in the office. No celebration. No flexing.
Just business.
Jamie now stood at the top of the arc, the ball rhythmically bouncing beneath his palm, echoing softly across the court. His eyes scanned the defense, and notably Thiseas wasn't guarding him.
Instead, Thiseas lingered near the paint, shadowing one of Jamie's teammates with calculated patience, clearly planning to switch once Jamie made his move inside.
Jamie noticed.
But he didn't rush.
He began dribbling slowly, lulling the defense into a rhythm. Just as expected, his teammate on the left wing started moving sprinting hard, trying to shake off his defender. Jamie's eyes sharpened, the gears in his mind turning.
A quick pass.
Jamie's teammate caught it mid stride and immediately began curving toward Jamie's direction.
That's when it clicked.
"A screen play..."
Jamie instinctively held his ground, positioning his body like a wall as the defender tried to recover.
Boom. Perfect screen.
His teammate used Jamie's body like a slingshot cutting tightly around him, leaving his defender trailing helplessly in the wake. Without hesitation, the player pulled up from just beyond the arc.
Release.
Spin.
Flight.
Swish.
Nothing but net.
The gym filled with a sharp exhale of awe as the scoreboard ticked up again:
"9 to 1."
Jamie and his teammate bumped fists quietly, like seasoned pros.
It was smooth. Efficient.
Unstoppable.
And on the sideline, Aleksandar gritted his teeth.
Jamie wasn't just physically gifted.
He knew how to play basketball at highest level.
The sound of the ball swishing through the net still hung in the air, lingering like a final note of a symphony that stunned its audience into silence.
For just a moment, the gym was quiet.
Not from disinterest
But from shock.
Jamie turned, walking calmly back to his side of the court, not celebrating, not boasting just focused. Like someone who had done this a thousand times. Like someone who wasn't here to prove himself he was here to win.
Up in the stands, Vinnie leaned forward, his fingers interlocked, knuckles white with intensity.
"…We need to sign him."
It wasn't just Vinnie.
Kumstrim, arms folded near the sideline, whispered the same thing under his breath.
The assistant coaches exchanged glances, nodding with unspoken agreement.
The staff recording stats and managing rotations stopped for just a second caught in the same moment.
Even Hao, usually calm and unreadable, blinked, barely able to keep his voice inside.
"...He's the one."
Every player watching from the benches, jaws clenched, eyes wide, felt the shift in the air.
This wasn't a tryout anymore.
It was a coronation.
Jamie had taken the spotlight without asking for it
And no one could deny it now.
From the stands, the floor, and every corner of the gym…
One thought echoed louder than any other:
"We need to sign him."
The score was 9 to 1.
Only two more points… and it would be over.
Thiseas stood near the free throw line, hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his forehead and stinging his eyes. His chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm. It wasn't just fatigue. It wasn't even frustration.
It was something heavier.
Something colder.
He looked up Jamie was already in position, calm, composed, not even breathing heavily. Like this was just another morning workout. Like this wasn't a tryout, but a formality.
The ball was being checked in, but Thiseas wasn't watching the ball anymore.
His thoughts clouded over.
"This can't be how it ends."
His eyes locked on Jamie.
"I trained so hard… I came back from injury… I told myself I'd fight harder than ever this season."
But no matter how hard he tried to believe, his body wouldn't respond the way he wanted it to. His arms felt heavy. His legs dragged behind him. Even his heartbeat felt out of rhythm now slower, defeated.
"And yet… he makes me feel like a child out here."
That monstrous power. That impossible speed. That brutal dunk. That towering presence.
Jamie wasn't just outplaying them.
He was breaking them.
Piece by piece.
Thiseas clenched his fists. But the strength that used to surge in moments like this wasn't there. All he felt was the tightening knot in his chest. The panic trying to hide behind pride. The shame of realizing…
"He's too far ahead."
For the first time in a long time, Thiseas felt something he never allowed himself to feel on the court.
Helplessness.
And in the corners of his heart, despair began to bloom like ink in water.
"I don't want to lose like this…"
"But I don't think I can stop it."