He didn't need to dribble to find his groove, nah. He was already in the groove, like he was born with a basketball glued to his hand and a hoop in his sights. It was almost like the basket itself was pulling the ball towards it, a giant, invisible magnet of destiny.

  The onlookers? Dead silent. You could hear a pin drop, or maybe just the nervous squeak of sneakers. All the earlier heckling and "lol Banani" jokes had vanished, repced by this thick, electric tension. Every single eye was locked on James. On the ball cradled in his hands.

  On that distant basket, suddenly seeming miles away. Even the crickets in the field nearby seemed to shut their chirping mouths, like nature itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

  He released the shot.

  The ball left James' fingertips with this super clean, swish release. Like, you could practically hear the perfection. It sailed through the air, arcing in this perfect, textbook parabo against the hazy te afternoon sky.

  For a split second, it felt like time stopped. Like the ball was just hanging there, suspended mid-air, contempting its life choices before continuing its elegant flight. Dramatic? Maybe.

  But that's how it felt.

  The Motijheel squad? They were just… watching. All that swagger and smack talk? Poof.

  Gone. Nikhil, Mr. "Get in his face," just stood there like a statue, arms dangling uselessly at his sides. Anderson's "chill bro" act completely disintegrated, repced by pure, unadulterated worry. Lut’s skepticism? Melted faster than ice cream on a hot day. What was left? Something between awe and… fear? Yeah, definitely some fear mixed in there.

  It was like watching something you weren’t supposed to see, something that broke the rules of the game.

  Saim, the big center, mumbled under his breath, his voice barely audible. "No… no freakin' way…" All that trash talk from before? Yeah, that felt like a million years ago now. His confidence had officially checked out and was probably hiding under a rock somewhere.

  And then… it happened again.

  Unbelievable. The ball swooshed through the net, clean as a whistle. That perfect swish sound echoed in the sudden quiet, bouncing off the backboards and into everyone's brains.

  No rim, no backboard cnging, just pure, sweet net. Another three-pointer. And it wasn't just a three-pointer, it was a carbon copy of the st one.

  Identical. Impossible. Statistically improbable to the point of being… well, statistically impossible.

  This wasn't just gasps and confused muttering anymore. Nah, this was a full-blown ROAR. A massive wave of sound crashed over the court.

  A chaotic mix of pure disbelief, wild excitement, and utter, jaw-dropping shock. The Banani bench? They went ballistic. Erupted like Mount Vesuvius.

  Guys were leaping to their feet, yelling at the top of their lungs, high-fiving so hard you could practically hear bones cracking (in a good way, of course).

  "YES! YEEEESSS! YAS QUEEN!" Kiyoshi screamed, pumping his fist like he was trying to punch a hole in the sky. He spun around to Tahera, the team manager, face lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. "Tahera! Did you just SEE that?! Seriously, did your eyeballs witness that miracle?!"