The ball was once again in the hands of Fermín's teammate, who stood calmly at the top of the arc. His dribble was light, rhythmic his eyes scanning the defense like a chess master plotting his next move.
Then he saw it Fermín, cutting hard from the wing, slicing through the half space like a blade through water.
"Now or never."
With a high, arcing pass, he launched the ball just over Nikola's outstretched fingertips. It soared cleanly through the air a perfectly timed lob.
Fermín caught it in stride, both hands securing the ball as Julián trailed behind, footsteps echoing like warning bells at his back.
One bounce.
Two steps.
Fermín took off for a layup.
It looked like an easy finish but from behind, like a storm breaking over the horizon, Nikola came flying in.
Eyes wide, heart pounding.
His timing perfect.
"Got you!" Nikola roared in his head, ready to send the shot into the back wall.
But Fermín mid air, mid motion, mid layup felt it.
A chill at his back.
He didn't panic.
Instead, he twisted his body and, with fluid instinct, whipped the ball behind his back in the air. It was a split second decision, impossible to teach, impossible to copy.
The pass flew cleanly into the hands of his teammate, who had slipped behind the rotating defenders and now stood utterly alone in the paint.
One easy step.
Layup.
The ball kissed the backboard and fell through the net.
2 to 2.
Nikola landed hard, his shoes thudding on the floor, a look of disbelief crossing his face. He'd been a second too late, a step too slow.
From the sideline, Aleksandar gritted his teeth.
And Fermín?
He didn't even celebrate.
He just turned, locked eyes with Nikola, and nodded.
Like warriors exchanging unspoken respect in the heat of battle.
As the whistle blew and the ball rolled toward their side of the court, Julián jogged up beside Nikola, his brows furrowed with guilt.
"Hey... that one's on me," he admitted, his voice low, laced with frustration. "You had to leave your man just to cover for my mistake."
He clenched his fist, eyes staring at the floor as if the weight of the turnover burned beneath his shoes.
But Nikola didn't flinch. He simply gave a calm nod, placing a hand briefly on Julián's shoulder.
"Don't worry about it," he said, his tone steady not angry, just focused. "We'll take the ball back this possession. Let's lock in."
Julián glanced at him, surprised by the unwavering resolve in Nikola's eyes. It was a rare thing to see quiet fire, not loud frustration.
"...Alright," Julián replied, cracking a small smile. "Let's get it done."
The two stepped into their positions, the court beneath them humming with pressure, the score tied, tension building.
The ball was checked in.
And the next possession began.
Fermín stood at the top of the arc, dribbling with composed rhythm, his eyes locked onto the basket like a predator watching its prey. Across from him, Kris lowered his stance, arms out, ready to contain the drive.
But Fermín made the first move.
With a sharp jab and a subtle push using his off hand, he burst forward, brushing past Kris's extended arm. Kris stayed close, relentless, his sneakers squeaking against the court with every desperate slide to keep up.
Near the free throw line, Fermín sensed the pressure behind him and quickly kicked the ball out to the left wing.
His teammate caught it, only to find Nikola immediately in front of him low stance, hands up, eyes calm but unyielding.
The crowd hushed slightly.
Fermín's teammate began his duel. He jab stepped to the right once, twice testing Nikola's balance. Then came the pump fake.
Nikola flinched.
That was the window.
With a quick first step, the attacker drove past him into the mid range, pulling up with a sharp motion at the elbow. The ball left his fingertips with a soft arc.
Everyone's eyes followed it in silence...
But the shot lacked power. It struck the front of the rim with a dull thud.
Too weak.
The ball hit the rim and bounced into the air.
Kris and Fermín both launched upward, their arms reaching, fingertips stretching desperately. But Fermín's long wingspan gave him the edge he snatched the rebound just inches above Kris's hands.
As they landed, Kris immediately closed the distance between them, his chest brushing Fermín's shoulder. The sudden contact caught Fermín off balance.
"Ah!"
He stumbled and fell backward, landing out of bounds.
Kris extended a hand without hesitation. "You okay?"
Fermín looked up, a bit surprised, and accepted the help. "Yeah... I'm good. Thanks."
Possession switched. Team C's ball.
Once more, Julián took his place at the top of the arc, the ball alive in his hands as he dribbled with purpose. His eyes scanned the court sharp and patient. Then, like a spark, he saw it: Kris cutting inside with speed.
Without delay, Julián delivered the pass. Kris caught it smoothly, but a defender was already stepping into his path. With no hesitation, he dashed out toward the opposite wing, pulling the defense along with him, then kicked the ball out to Nikola on the perimeter.
Fermín was already there locked in, ready to contest.
But Nikola didn't stop.
Instead, he began gliding along the arc, dragging Fermín with him, before slinging the ball back to Julián, who was now back at the top of the key.
Nikola didn't pause. He kept moving curling around his teammate as Julián stepped into position.
A perfect screen.
Julián's pass hit Nikola in stride, right at the free throw line. But now, two defenders converged on him in an instant.
Nikola didn't panic.
With one smooth motion, he pulled up and released a high arching floater.
The gym held its breath.
The ball kissed the sky and dropped cleanly through the net with a soft swish.
3 to 2.
A clean, quiet beauty of a shot.