Timing, movement, steps—
Everything is perfect.
Melvin Ingram wastes no time, smoothly cutting into the pocket, reaching Li Wei before he even starts his steps.
Ingram can even see the panicked eyes beneath Li Wei's helmet, which makes the corners of his mouth lift into a cruel smile:
Lamb, lamb, don't worry, I'll be gentle. Oh, sorry, not lamb, but rookie, right?
Push off, step up, lunge forward.
Ingram raises his arms high, persistently diving forward.
Then, Ingram can see Li Wei's hurried steps continually shifting sideways trying to break free, but the chaotic steps can't gain any distance, like a pitiful one trembling under the Death God's scythe in a horror movie, giving Ingram a sense of accomplishment, making him more excited and faster with each step.
One step, two steps, three steps—
Just three steps, and Ingram has already closed the distance, Li Wei within arm's reach.
A moment, a pause, four eyes meet.
