The ball clanged off the front rim.
Thud.
A brief gasp from the crowd followed by silence.
Brandon Young soared, arms outstretched like wings, and secured the rebound with both hands. His landing was heavy, controlled. He didn't rush the outlet.
Ethan stood a few feet away, already reading the floor.
63 – 54.
But that wasn't what held Ethan's attention.
It was Roanoke's eyes.
Focused. Burning. Alive again.
He glanced across the court—
and there he was.
Kagetsu Renjiro.
Arms loose. Breathing steady. But eyes?
Eyes that burned like a second wind.
(He's not just playing anymore...)
(He's adjusting.)
Kagetsu wasn't throwing haymakers now. No wild storms or reckless speed. He was moving efficiently. Conserving. Calculating.
(He's not trying to destroy us...)
(He's trying to break our rhythm.)
Ethan's jaw tightened.
It wasn't fear.
It was recognition.
