The referee tossed the ball into the air — the game's first play.
Drake and Dranred leapt at the same time, both hands reaching for the ball. Dranred's fingers brushed it first, tipping it toward his teammate. But before their feet even touched the floor, the sharp sound of a whistle cut through the stadium.
"Jump ball violation!" the referee called.
The crowd went silent, then erupted in murmurs. Everyone stared at Dranred, stunned. He blinked in disbelief. He'd started dozens of games before — but never once committed a violation.
"He touched it before it reached its peak," one commentator explained, the surprise clear in his voice. "That's a first for the superstar."
Because of the mistake, the Falcons gained possession.
Rosette's hands tightened on her lap. Red… she thought, heart pounding. He wasn't himself. His movements, his eyes — they lacked focus. And she knew exactly why. The sight of her brother across the court must be tearing him apart.
From the inbound, the Falcons moved fast. The ball went straight to James. He stopped at the three-point line, rose smoothly, and released.
The ball arced perfectly — swish.
A clean three-pointer.
Gasps and cheers filled the air. Even the defenders froze, stunned by the flawless shot. Dranred had been right there — but didn't even raise his hand to block.
As the ball changed sides, Phoenix inbounded to Dranred. He caught it and started up the court. But before he could cross the halfway line, James was there — blocking his path.
Man-to-man defense.
Dranred hesitated. For a second, he couldn't move. The same eyes he'd once trusted to read his plays were now staring him down.
And for the first time in a long while, Dranred felt afraid.
Dranred stood frozen at half court, dribbling but not advancing. James waited in front of him, calm and unyielding. The crowd's cheers rose like a wave, urging him to move — go, Dranred, go! — but he couldn't. It was as if his body had forgotten how to play.
Then the whistle blew.
"Half-court violation!" the referee announced.
The entire stadium fell silent, stunned. Even Dranred blinked in disbelief. Two violations — in less than five minutes. His teammates exchanged worried looks. The commentators' voices filled the arena: "Unbelievable. This is the first time we've seen the Phoenix captain this out of rhythm."
On the bench, Coach Navarro stood abruptly, hands on his head. "What is he doing?" he muttered under his breath. The fans were confused too — this wasn't the Dranred they knew.
Moments later, the Phoenix coach called for a timeout.
"Dranred," he snapped the moment they reached the bench, "what's happening out there?"
The others watched him in silence, sweat glistening, waiting for an answer.
"Get your head in the game!" the coach barked. "You're not yourself today. Do you even want to play?"
Dranred didn't reply. He knew the truth: his mind was a blur. He was trying to focus, to push past whatever held him down — but every time he saw James in front of him, his chest tightened. Was it guilt? Fear? He couldn't tell anymore.
"Listen," the coach warned, voice low and hard, "one more mistake and you're out. I don't care who you are — you're making this team look weak."
"Yes, coach," Dranred said softly.
A teammate leaned forward. "Coach, let him play through it. We'll cover him for now."
"That only works if you're in sync," the coach shot back. Then his gaze returned to Dranred. "Prove you still belong out there."
Dranred stared at the court, barely hearing them. C'mon, Dranred… what are you doing? he thought.
His eyes wandered to the stands. Thousands of people filled the stadium, their faces blurring together. Somewhere among them, Rosette was watching. He couldn't see her — but he could feel her gaze. And for a second, he wished she couldn't see him at all.
"Hey." Cal tapped Dranred's shoulder, noticing how his teammate's eyes wandered through the crowd as if searching for someone. "You okay?"
Dranred blinked, startled.
"It's only the first half," Cal said, trying to sound upbeat. "We've got this."
Dranred just nodded, forcing a weak smile before looking back at the audience. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't spot Rosette. A dull weight settled in his chest.
The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the timeout. The game resumed — but nothing changed. Dranred still couldn't find his rhythm. His shots missed, his passes were sloppy, and James stripped the ball from him more than once.
The fans kept cheering his name, their voices echoing across the arena, urging him to fight back. But it was like shouting into a storm.
Two minutes before the end of the first half, it happened again — another violation. Another turnover. The Falcons converted it easily into a score.
Now the board read 25–10, with the Falcons dominating. Drake and James were on fire, their flawless coordination earning them a new nickname from the crowd — The Duo. Meanwhile, Dranred couldn't keep up. On both offense and defense, he was a shadow of himself.
The coach had seen enough.
"Timeout!"
Groans rippled through the Phoenix fans as Dranred was pulled out of the game. Cameras caught his face — drenched in sweat, blank, defeated.
Still, his fans clung to hope. They'd seen him struggle before and come back stronger. Maybe he would again.
"Take a rest," his substitute said quietly, patting his shoulder. "We'll hold the line."
"Thanks," Dranred murmured.
He started toward the bench, towel in hand. But then he froze. The Falcons were making a substitution too — James was being pulled out.
Dranred frowned. James had been dominating. Why bench him now?
He sat down heavily, draping the towel over his head, thoughts spinning. He didn't know if it was relief or disappointment he felt — only that the noise of the crowd had faded into a dull, distant hum.
He tried to make sense of everything. Maybe Drake had been right all along — their "new player" really was his destined rival. Even before this, he had never beaten James in basketball. People often said he had natural talent for the sport, but James… James was something else.
Back then, Dranred had accepted defeat easily — after all, basketball wasn't even his game. But now, here they were, sharing the same court, facing each other not as coach and player, but as equals.
The buzzer sounded, marking the end of the first quarter. He looked up at the scoreboard — the Falcons were leading by a wide margin. He wanted to do something, anything, to help his team, but his body wouldn't obey. Every time James stood in front of him, his instincts froze, his movements dulled. It was as if his body itself refused to fight.
He sat quietly while the coach gave instructions to the team. He knew they were trying to carry him, just like in previous games when his focus slipped. But this time was different. This time, he felt… useless.
Up in the stands, Bryan shook his head in disbelief. "I never thought I'd see the great Dranred falling apart in a live game," he muttered, his tone sharp with disappointment.
"With this performance, I doubt the coach will let him back on court. Honestly, they'd stand a better chance if he stayed on the bench."
He turned to Estelle and Rosette, who sat in silence.
"Your brother's a good player," Bryan added after a pause. "It's a shame he didn't play for so many years. What a waste of talent."
Neither woman responded. Bryan followed Estelle's gaze — her eyes were locked on Dranred. Even without words, he could see the concern written on her face.
His chest tightened. He clenched his fists, a surge of jealousy rising before he could stop it. He was the one who had proposed marriage to her, fully aware there was no love between them. So why did it hurt so much to see her looking at Dranred that way?