The basketball court was already in chaos, no, not chaos in the ordinary sense, but the kind of tension that tightened the air itself. Because of Serbian Eagles' Velia's interception, scoring run, and free throw, they had taken a 3-point lead.
The crowd erupted. "Mamba!" "Mamba!" "Mamba!" The chant spread like wildfire across the arena. A large portion of the voices, especially female fans, screamed the nickname with unmistakable excitement. It was clear just how much those golden eyes had captivated them.
Nash dribbled past midcourt, his expression tightening as he faced No. 6 Velia, who had already stepped up to defend him. Their eyes locked. In an instant, Nash's pupils flared. A radiant emerald ring formed in his eyes. Velia's golden gaze burned back at him. The atmosphere shifted. Heavy. Silent. Unreal.
This is insane. I actually ran into a Phantom Eye user.
Velia's lips curled. "Interesting. Very interesting. So you're the Belial Eye type."
Nash smirked faintly. "And you're the Illusory Eye type. No wonder Jack said you'd be entertaining."
The ball moved. Nash dribbled behind his back, left, right, then, without any visible motion, the ball vanished. No wind-up. No tell. No trajectory. A perfect, invisible pass.
BOOM! Jason Silver exploded into the air inside the paint, catching the pass mid-jump and hammering it through the rim with a violent dunk. Velia didn't even react in time. He turned sharply, golden eyes wide. "Hah. Interesting. Very interesting."
The Serbian Eagles immediately reset. Velia received the inbound and faced Nash again at midcourt. His golden eyes flickered. The basketball in his hands began to shift strangely, its rhythm changing between slow and fast, like reality itself couldn't decide its speed.
Shogo noticed it from the wing. What is that control? His dribble timing is unstable, no, he's controlling perception of rhythm itself? His eyes narrowed. That wasn't just skill. That was something else. A "feel" manipulation. A distortion of timing.
Suddenly, Velia's hands blurred. The ball became a golden phantom. Even Shogo could only see fragments of motion. BOOM! Nash slid back instantly, cutting off the lane.
Velia stopped. He clicked his tongue. "Damn. I can't get through." He passed out. The ball moved through three players, rotating across the court. Finally, back to Velia again. And this time, he threw it blindly behind him. Not a shot. A lob. A signal.
Jack, the towering center, rose into the air like a monster breaking gravity itself. Before Jason Silver could react, BOOM! A thunderous alley-oop slam shattered the rim's rhythm. The Serbian Eagles extended their lead again.
Jason Silver's eyes sharpened. "Alright. No more holding back."
Nash nodded. "Yeah. It's time. We can't afford to fall behind anymore."
Then it was Silver's turn. He exploded past half court. No hesitation. No setup. Just raw, overwhelming acceleration. Defenders were left behind instantly. He leapt from the free-throw line, and detonated the rim with a two-handed windmill dunk.
BOOM! The entire backboard vibrated violently. Even the Serbian Eagles paused for a moment. Monster. That was the only thought in their minds.
The game intensified. Every possession turned into a full-force clash. No probing. No testing. Just weapons firing immediately.
Velia dribbled again. Nash met him again. Eyes locked again. Time stretched. Velia clicked his tongue again. "Tch. Monster." And once more, he passed from behind his back, avoiding Nash's predictive vision by exploiting timing gaps created by his illusionary rhythm control.
Shogo observed everything silently. That eye, I can't copy it. I can't steal it either. His fingers tightened slightly.
Velia's golden eyes weren't a technique. They were not learned. They were not trained. They were something born into him. A physical trait. A genetic gift. Something I can't take. That realization sank in deeper than expected.
Because Shogo's ability, his "Pillage," had always worked on techniques, skills, even instincts. But not this. Not something rooted in existence itself.
For the first time in a long while, he felt it. A gap. Not in skill. But in possibility. So there are things I can't reach, huh. A quiet frustration settled in his chest. Not anger. Not fear. Just a cold acknowledgment.
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The match continued, faster, heavier, more brutal. And for the first time in this game, Jabberwock understood clearly: this level of basketball was not something you could simply dominate. It had to be conquered.
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