As always, before the first game of the finals began, the players from both teams were introduced.
First came the members of Phoenix. With every name and position announced, the crowd erupted in cheers so loud the entire stadium seemed to tremble.
But the loudest roar came when Dranred's name was called. A group of fans with drums and trumpets broke into rhythm, shaking the air with their chant. There was no denying his star power — Dranred had the crowd in the palm of his hand.
Hearing the thunderous cheers, Rosette couldn't help but smile and clap. She couldn't see him from where she sat, but the energy alone painted a clear picture in her mind — tall, confident, proud. She wished she could see him in his jersey. She imagined he looked just as striking as he had in his baseball uniform.
From the shadows near the court, Dranred stood in line with his teammates. His eyes wandered over the crowd, trying to find her. Was she proud of him right now? He wondered if she could hear the cheers. The thought made him chuckle quietly — how strange that amid all this noise, it was her reaction he wanted most to see.
After Phoenix's lineup was announced, the spotlight shifted to the Falcons. Their fans screamed just as fiercely as the players' names echoed through the arena — especially when their main player, Drake Simon, stepped forward. Drake had made headlines for boldly declaring that this finals series would "mark the downfall of basketball superstar Dranred."
As the announcer prepared to reveal the Falcons' last player — their mystery recruit, rumored to be their secret weapon against Dranred — Drake glanced sideways with a smirk. Even in the dim light, his gaze was fixed on Dranred, eager to witness the look on his rival's face when the final name was called.
Then, the stadium thundered once more.
"And finally," the announcer declared, "playing point guard for the Falcons — James Christopher!"
The crowd gasped. Murmurs rippled through the stands. No one recognized the name — there was no record of any James Christopher in the lower basketball leagues.
Rosette froze, her hands trembling slightly as the spotlight shifted to the court.
When Dranred heard the name, he froze. His eyes snapped toward the entrance where the new Falcon player walked in — and for a long moment, he couldn't move. He couldn't believe it. James?
It didn't make sense. James was supposed to be recovering from a serious leg injury — one that had ended his career. How could he be here, wearing the Falcons' uniform?
Then, suddenly, it all clicked. Drake's cryptic words from that interview echoed in his mind. The player who knows every move you make. Now it made sense. The "mystery player" wasn't a stranger — it was someone who had once known his game inside out.
He remembered their opening match that season — James had been standing on the sidelines as the Falcons' assistant coach, quietly studying him while Dranred struggled to score that day. Now he realized why.
The stadium lights flared to life, washing the court in bright white. Every head turned toward the new player. Dranred's eyes found James immediately.
Drake turned toward him with a smirk, enjoying the look on Dranred's face. James met Dranred's gaze for a brief, electric second — then broke eye contact, turning away to join his teammates. Drake chuckled under his breath, his grin sharp and mocking.
"Dranred." One of his teammates nudged him gently. He hadn't moved since the reveal. Around them, both teams were warming up, tossing balls, taking practice shots. Five minutes until tipoff.
"Huh?" Dranred blinked, snapping back to the moment.
"You okay?" his teammate asked, glancing at James, who was now passing the ball to Drake while the latter sank a shot into the hoop. "Crazy, right? Didn't expect their new guy to be… just some unknown player."
Dranred's expression hardened. "He's not someone we can underestimate," he said quietly. "He used to be their assistant coach — and a promising player before his accident." The teammate frowned, studying James more closely. Something about the new player's face clicked in his memory.
"No way…" he muttered, eyes widening. "Don't tell me he's—"
"Yes… he's that guy from the videos that went viral before," Dranred said quietly. "He could've been a basketball superstar if not for that incident."
His heartbeat thundered in his chest. Was it fear? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that he didn't want to face James on the court. Instead of joining his teammates for warm-ups, Dranred sank onto the bench, staring blankly at the floor.
In the stands, Estelle watched him anxiously. "Is he going to be okay?" she asked softly. She knew the sight of her brother stepping onto the court must have shaken him. She had longed to see James play again—but now she worried what this would do to Dranred's state of mind.
"Looks like the superstar isn't feeling too well," Bryan remarked, eyes fixed on Dranred. He knew James would be playing tonight—and part of him wanted to see Dranred fall. Maybe it was jealousy, or bitterness over whatever had once happened between Dranred and Estelle. He wasn't much into sports, but tonight he was curious. Something told him that between those two men, there was more than just competition.
"Red…" Rosette whispered, her heart tightening. She could see the storm in Dranred's eyes from where she sat. He's not ready for this.
She blamed herself for not telling him that James had joined the Falcons. If he'd known sooner, maybe he could have prepared himself. Dranred had always played for James's sake—but now, facing him across the court, she feared his focus would shatter.
The buzzer sounded — the signal that the first half was about to begin.
The Falcons' starting lineup was announced first. Both James and Drake were among them. It was clear they weren't holding anything back; they intended to end this match before it even began. This wasn't just another game. It was a statement — they were here to win, to prove that even the league's reigning superstar could fall.
Then came the Phoenix lineup. When Dranred's name was called, the crowd erupted. The stadium roared so loudly it rattled the floor. More than half the audience were his fans — the pressure was suffocating for anyone standing on the opposite side.
"He really dominates this place," James murmured, glancing up at the screaming crowd. He'd always known Dranred was famous, but hearing it live was different. His palms were damp. It had been ten years since his last official game, and the thrill of returning mixed with nerves gnawed at his chest. What if I can't live up to it?
"Oh, I'd love to shut them all up," Drake said with a grin. "Let's see if they'll still scream once they watch their hero crumble." He turned slightly, catching Dranred's eyes across the court. James followed his gaze.
"Still, we can't be overconfident," James said quietly. "He's called a genius for a reason. Basketball wasn't even his original sport — yet look how far he's come."
"That's exactly why you're here," Drake replied, clapping James on the shoulder. "To remind him that basketball isn't his world."
Drake strode toward the court, followed by his teammates and finally James. At center court, the two captains faced each other for the jump ball — Drake for the Falcons, Dranred for Phoenix.
"So," Drake said, his voice low but sharp, "do you like our secret weapon? Feeling that fear yet?"
Dranred said nothing. He could feel the noise of the crowd fading behind him, replaced by the heavy thud of his heartbeat.
Focus, he told himself. Just focus. His mind was a storm of emotions, and he was afraid it would all spill over once the game began.
Drake leaned closer, his grin taunting. "He's here to take back what you stole. Months of therapy, years of recovery — all for this moment. Imagine it, Dranred… the man you thought you played for is the one who'll destroy you. I can't wait to see that look on your face when he does."
The referee stepped forward, ball in hand. The crowd held its breath.