Whistle.
The ball found Marcus's hands. The crowd roared, but he didn't rush. His dribble was slower this time, smoother steady like a drumbeat.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Shunjin's breathing matched it.
Riku's steps synced with it.
Even Daichi's movements down low followed the same rhythm.
Itsuki stood at the top of Easton's defense, eyes glowing faint gold.
(He's slowing it down?)
He adjusted his stance slightly, calculating, waiting for the next beat.
Marcus exhaled. "Let's dance."
He motioned with two fingers Formation 3–Low.
Riku moved up to set a screen, Daichi rolled inside, Shunjin drifted wide for spacing.
The rhythm clicked together like gears turning.
Marcus took one step left.
Itsuki moved right to intercept.
Marcus hesitated
then stopped.
Itsuki's eyes widened his prediction jumped half a second too early.
"Now," Marcus whispered.
He spun the ball behind his back and fired it toward the baseline.
