The makeshift court was silent now, the air thick with the anticipation of the game about to begin. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the flattened dirt, highlighting every crack and imperfection in the uneven ground. The rickety hoops at either end leaned precariously, their frayed rope nets swaying slightly in the breeze.
Sander stood at the center of the court, the worn leather ball in his hands. His fingers traced the faded seams as he scanned the faces of his opponents, his sharp blue eyes assessing each one with quiet precision.
At the forefront was the red-haired boy, his smirk as sharp as the crooked edge of a blade. Sander had heard his name whispered in the village square enough times to remember it.
Weylan. A brash and loud-mouth as he was the leader in his group, his swagger was matched only by his knack for rallying those around him, chin high, shoulders back, daring anyone to challenge him.
To Weylan's right stood Halden, a thickset boy with a square jaw and a perpetual scowl. His broad shoulders and heavy frame hinted at strength, though his posture lacked nimbleness. Halden's job was obvious, buldoze his way into the paint, overpowering anyone in his path.
On the left was Jax, a wiry boy with quick hands. His every movement radiated energy, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Sander noted the way Jax's eyes darted constantly, calculating angles and opportunities. He'd be the one looking for steals, always prowling for a loose ball.
Behind them, rounding out the lineup, were Fellin and Tomar. Fellin was lanky and awkward, his long limbs seemingly at odds with the rest of his body. Tomar, by contrast, was shorter and stockier, his feet planted firmly on the ground. A dependable anchor, perhaps, but unlikely to move quickly or change direction with ease.
"Alright," Weylan called out, his voice breaking the tension. "Let's get this started."
The two teams shuffled into position, Weylan's group moving with an ease born of familiarity. Sander's team—his thrown-together collection of scrawny, uncertain individuals: two boys and two girls—hesitated, their movements awkward as they took their places.
Sander stepped forward to face Weylan for the tip-off, his calm expression unshaken by the boy's confident smirk. The ball was tossed into the air, and for a split second, the world seemed to slow.
Weylan's jump was powerful, his hand reaching for the ball with practiced precision. Sander didn't even try to contest it, his own jump deliberately slow and clumsy, intentionally.
The ball tipped into Weylan's hands, and the game began.
Weylan wasted no time. He dribbled with confidence, his movements smooth as he charged down the court. Sander hung back slightly, pretending to stumble over the uneven dirt, his arms flailing as though unsure of what to do.
Behind Weylan, Halden barreled toward the hoop, his heavy frame clearing a path as Jax darted to the left, positioning himself for a quick pass. Fellin and Tomar lagged behind, their roles as support players evident in their slower movements.
They're coordinated at least, Sander noted, his sharp wits cataloging every detail even as he pretended to fumble. Weylan leads, Jax disrupts passes, Halden is a monster in the paint, Fellin with his long arms contest shots making shooting difficult, and Tomar with his small build quickly stealing the ball.
Weylan passed the ball to Jax, who pivoted sharply and sent it hurtling toward Halden. The big boy caught it with a grunt, his momentum carrying him forward as he plowed past one of Sander's teammates—a skinny, nervous-looking boy who barely managed to stay on his feet.
Halden's shot was sloppy but powerful. The ball thudded against the rim, rattling it violently before falling through the frayed net.
"Two-zero!" Weylan crowed, his voice echoing across the court.
Sander's team gathered near their makeshift hoop, their expressions a mix of frustration and fear. The boy with thick glasses—who had introduced himself earlier as Renik—clutched the ball nervously, his hands trembling.
"What do we do?" Renik whispered, his voice barely audible.
Sander reached out and took the ball, his calm expression softening slightly. "Just stay close," he said quietly. "Let me figure them out."
Renik nodded hesitantly, his grip loosening as Sander took control.
Sander dribbled toward the center of the court, his movements deliberately awkward. He let the ball bounce too high, his footwork clumsy as though he had never handled a ball before. Weylan's team watched him with smug grins, their confidence growing with every mistake.
"Careful there, Visione," Weylan called out, laughing. "You might trip over your own feet."
Sander smirked faintly, his eyes flicking toward Weylan. Go ahead. Underestimate me.
As he approached the half-court line, Jax lunged forward, his quick hands swiping at the ball. Sander let it slip from his grasp, stumbling as Jax snatched it away with a triumphant grin.
"Too easy!" Jax laughed, sprinting toward the hoop.
Sander watched him go, his calm expression never wavering. He adjusted his stance slightly, his sharp eyes tracking the boy's movements.
Jax passed to Weylan, who dribbled toward the hoop with practiced ease. Halden moved into position again, his hulking frame a solid barrier against any attempt to defend.
Sander hung back, watching every step, every pass, every glance exchanged between the opposing players. The court was small, the players inexperienced, but the fundamentals were the same.
Basketball is basketball, he thought, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
As Weylan scored another point, Sander let out a deliberate sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as though resigned to defeat. The opposing team laughed, their voices ringing out across the clearing.
"Keep it up, Visione!" Weylan called mockingly. "This is gonna be over before it even starts!"
Sander wiped the sweat from his brow, his growing muscles faintly visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves. He glanced at his teammates, their expressions nervous and uncertain, and gave them a faint smile.
Weylan's team celebrated their quick lead. Sander turned his attention to his own team, studying the small group of scrawny, nervous kids who had been thrust into the game with him.
They've probably been underestimated their whole lives, Sander thought, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Sander stepped toward the boy who had been guarding Halden earlier, a short, round-faced kid whose baggy shirt made him look even smaller. The boy flinched slightly under Sander's gaze but straightened when Sander smiled faintly.
"What's your name?" Sander asked, his tone calm and steady.
"Kel," the boy mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sander nodded. "You've got guts, Kel. Signing that contract, but don't worry and stay close to me." as Sander said with a grin.
Kel's eyes widened slightly at the encouragement, and he gave a hesitant nod.
Next, Sander turned to Renik, the lanky boy with thick glasses who had been clutching the ball earlier. Renik looked uneasy, his hands fidgeting as Sander approached.
"Renik," Sander said, recalling his name from earlier. "Anything your good at?"
Renik blinked, nervous. "I'm quite a good shooter" he murmured.
"Really?" As Sander suprised bit.
"Yeah! i practice at home everyday! Hoping that I can compete in the tournament just hoping" As Renik talked energetically, with enthusiasm.
"Don't worry after this game, I'll help you train your skills"
Sander gave him a reassuring pat on the
shoulder before turning to the two girls on the team.
The first was a wiry girl with sharp features and short, dark hair. Her piercing green eyes met Sander's gaze directly, her expression defiant despite her small stature.
"I'm Leira," she said before Sander could ask. "Don't think I'm scared of those jerks."
"I don't," Sander replied, his smirk widening slightly. "And I'm guessing you're fast. We'll need that."
Leira tilted her head, her lips curving into a small grin.
The second girl was quieter, standing slightly behind the others. Her long, auburn hair was tied back in a loose braid, and her brown eyes flicked nervously between Sander and the opposing team.
Her shyness is kinda annoying how can she play a game if she is like this sander thought.
"And you?" Sander asked gently.
She hesitated before answering. "M-Mira," she said nervously.
Sander noted the way her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her posture tense but resolute.
As Sander spoke to Mira, a memory surfaced—a conversation with his father just a few nights before.
It had been late, the cottage quiet except for the faint crackle of the hearth. Elias had been nursing a cup of tea, his expression thoughtful as Sander asked another question about basketball in this strange world.
"father I saw some girls at the village playing basketball, are there girls in the tournament?" Sander had asked, his voice curious.
Elias had looked up, his sharp eyes glinting with faint amusement. "Of course there are," he replied. "The court doesn't care about gender. It cares about skill."
Sander leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "So teams are coed?"
Elias nodded. "Most of them, yes. Though there are exceptions. Some guilds field all-male or all-female teams, but that's rare. The academies and kingdoms encourage diversity. It's part of what makes basketball so special—it's not your gender, It's about what you bring to the game."
Elias added. "And don't think for a second that girls on the court are any less fierce than the boys. I've seen teams where the women were the ones carrying the game."
Theo, sitting cross-legged near the hearth, had perked up at that. "Really?"
Elias chuckled. "Really. There's even an all-girls guild up north—the Seraph Hawks. They're one of the toughest teams in the region. Quick, precise, and ruthless when it comes to strategy."
Sander had absorbed the information, his mind racing as he considered the implications.
Sander shook off the memory, his focus returning to the present. He looked at his team—Kel, Renik, Leira, and Mira—and gave them a faint but confident smile.
"Lets go." he said simply.
Behind them, Weylan's team was laughing and jeering, their confidence as solid as ever. But Sander didn't let their noise distract him.
He stepped forward, the worn leather ball in his hands, and glanced at his teammates one last time.
"Let's show them what we can do," he said.