The clock ticked under a minute left in the quarter, and the court turned to sludge.
Jinzo, chest heaving like he'd run suicides for hours, isolated against Aiko on the wing, her stance low, eyes locked, twin tails swinging as she mirrored his every fake.
He jabbed left, crossed right, but his handle wobbled, sweat flying off his brow in droplets that caught the lights.
He was desperate, eyes wild, mouth slack, a low whine escaping as he pump-faked and leaned in too far.
Aiko blinked, her stance loosening a little as she breathed out. Her throat moved as she swallowed hard.
"Hey... you okay?" she asked softly.
Her voice was calm but a little unsure. Her hands rested on her knees, fingers twitching as she stayed low in defense.
Jinzo froze mid-dribble. The ball hit the floor twice before he caught it again. He looked surprised she would stop to talk to him in the middle of a play.
