Ethan bounced the ball at the top of the key, his breath steady despite the pounding in his chest. The asphalt was hot under his sneakers, the smell of sweat and faint dust lingering in the summer air. Darius was crouched low, arms spread, his eyes locked in.
"Alright… time to turn that dream into reality," Ethan thought, his hands shifting into a slower rhythm dribble. His gaze softened—not because he wasn't paying attention, but because the Lucid Awareness Engine was already mapping Darius's micro-movements: the twitch in his left calf, the fraction of weight shifted forward.
He jab-stepped right. Darius didn't bite.
"He's disciplined. But I know that stance. He's ready to cut my drive—so I'll make him want to."
Ethan exploded left, a clean first step—Celestial Crossover snapping gravity like an elastic band. Darius's feet slid just enough for Ethan to slip inside, but instead of going straight to the rim, Ethan slowed, stepping back in one fluid pivot.
