The night after the Gods' victory hung heavy over the world of basketball.
Social feeds overflowed with clips of divine plays, lightning-speed passes, impossible dunks, the glowing threads of Symbiosis Mode and commentators spoke as if humanity had already accepted defeat.
But in a small, dimly lit gym on the outskirts of Virginia, the sound of a single basketball echoed through the night.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Sweat dripped from Lucas Graves' chin, darkening the floorboards.
His breath came sharp, controlled but his eyes burned with the same stubborn light that had once made people call him sunshine.
Now that glow was tempered with steel.
He was alone.
The gym lights flickered slightly, the only sound the rhythmic bounce of the ball and the squeak of sneakers against the wood.
Lucas dribbled left fake right then leapt backward, spinning midair.
