The ball arced through the air, its faint wobble a testament to Renik's shaky shot. Weylan watched from near the center of the court, his lips curled into a smirk.
This'll miss for sure, he thought, already anticipating the rebound.
But the ball kissed the backboard, rattled once around the rim, and dropped cleanly through the frayed net.
"Eight-ten!" Leira's voice rang out, cutting through the court like a sharp blade.
Weylan's smirk froze, then faltered. He turned sharply toward his team, the familiar swell of irritation rising in his chest.
"What the hell, guys?" he barked, slamming the sole of his worn shoe into the dirt. "Are you seriously letting them score again? They're a bunch of nobodies!"
Halden scowled, sweat dripping down his broad face as he lumbered toward Weylan. "You've got eyes, don't you? That Visione kid's running circles around us!"
"Oh, shut up," Weylan snapped, waving a dismissive hand. "He's nothing. Just a washed-up noble playing coach. You're the big guy—stop letting them push you around."
Halden's jaw tightened, his massive shoulders heaving with barely concealed frustration. "If you think it's so easy, why don't you stop him?"
"Guys, chill," Jax cut in, his wiry frame bouncing on the balls of his feet. His sharp eyes darted between Weylan and Halden, trying to defuse the tension. "We're still ahead. Just… focus, alright?"
Weylan ignored him, turning his glare on Fellin and Tomar, who stood off to the side like nervous statues. "And what about you two? Are you just gonna stand there picking daisies, or are you actually gonna play some defense?"
Tomar crossed his arms, his stocky frame rigid. "We're trying. They're just moving too fast. That Visione guy—he keeps switching things up."
Fellin nodded quickly, his lanky frame swaying with the movement. "Y-Yeah, it's like he's two steps ahead of us. Every time we think we've got him, he's already passed the ball."
Weylan's fists clenched at their excuses. "So, what? You're saying he's smarter than us?"
"No!" Fellin blurted, his face reddening. "I-I mean, I didn't mean it like that."
Tomar rolled his eyes. "Look, all I'm saying is—"
"What you're saying," Weylan cut him off, his voice low and dangerous, "is that you're letting some wannabe noble embarrass us."
Weylan ran a hand through his damp hair, his frustration mounting as he glanced across the court. Sander stood near the half-court line, the ball resting lightly in his hands. His calm, unshaken demeanor sent a fresh wave of irritation through Weylan.
What's his deal? Weylan thought, his teeth gritting. He should be panicking, not standing there like he owns the court.
Jax sidled up beside him, his fingers twitching restlessly. "Weylan, man, we've gotta stop him. He's getting into everyone's head."
"He's not getting into my head," Weylan growled, though the tightness in his chest suggested otherwise.
Halden snorted, crossing his thick arms. "You've been snapping at us all game."
"Because you're all screwing up!" Weylan shot back, his voice rising. "You think my dad's gonna be impressed if I lose to that?"
He jabbed a finger toward Sander, whose silver hair gleamed in the afternoon light like polished steel.
Tomar arched a brow. "Your dad's not even here, Weylan."
"That's not the point!" Weylan snapped, his voice cracking slightly. "If I lose to Visione, the whole village is gonna talk about it. And when my dad hears? Forget it—I'll never hear the end of it."
Weylan forced himself to breathe deeply, though his heart continued to pound in his chest. He turned back to his team, his jaw tight.
"Alright, listen up," he said, his voice sharper now. "We're still in the lead, okay? They're just getting lucky. All we have to do is tighten up our defense and stop letting Visione do whatever he wants."
Halden arched a skeptical brow. "And how exactly are we supposed to do that?"
"By playing smarter," Weylan snapped. "Stick to your marks. Halden, you guard Mira—she's getting way too comfortable under the rim. Jax, I want you all over Leira. Don't let her touch the ball without making her regret it."
Jax hesitated, his gaze flicking toward Sander. "And what about him?"
Weylan's smirk returned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll handle him."
As Weylan's team reset, he couldn't help but glance at Sander again. The boy's steady confidence was like a thorn in his side, poking at his ego every time he looked at him.
The ball was inbounded to Weylan, and he dribbled forward, his movements sharper and more aggressive. Sander moved to block him, his blue eyes sharp and calculating.
"You think you've got this all figured out, Visione?" Weylan sneered, his voice low enough for only Sander to hear.
Sander tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Maybe."
The single word sent a fresh jolt of anger through Weylan. He lunged forward, trying to fake Sander out, but the silver-haired boy didn't bite. His calm, collected gaze stayed locked on Weylan, tracking his every move.
The game wasn't going the way he'd envisioned. His team's confidence had started to fracture, and the once-assured lead now felt tenuous.
"Jax, move to the wing!" Weylan barked, his tone sharp with irritation.
Jax obeyed, darting toward the left, but his movements lacked their usual smoothness. The wiry boy glanced over his shoulder, his quick eyes tracking Leira, who was trailing him closely.
"They're getting in our heads, man," Jax hissed as Weylan passed the ball to him.
"Then stop letting them!" Weylan snapped, his patience wearing thin. "You're supposed to be quick—use it!"
Jax pivoted sharply, but Leira was already on him, her quick hands disrupting his dribble. He managed to pull back and lob the ball to Halden, who stood near the hoop.
"Halden, take the shot!" Weylan shouted, his voice echoing across the court.
Halden grunted, his massive frame barreling toward the rim. Mira stepped in, her hands raised and her brown eyes focused.
"You're not stopping me," Halden growled, lowering his shoulder as he drove forward.
Halden's shoulder caught Mira's side, sending her stumbling backward. The contact wasn't subtle—it was deliberate, a show of force meant to intimidate.
Mira hit the ground hard, a small gasp escaping her lips as the air was knocked from her lungs.
"Hey!" Leira shouted, her green eyes blazing as she rushed to help Mira up. "What the hell was that?"
Halden didn't even glance at her as he took the shot. The ball bounced off the backboard and rattled into the hoop.
"Two points!" Weylan crowed, ignoring the growing tension. "That's how you play!"
Leira glared at him, her fists clenched. "You call that playing? You're nothing but a bunch of cheats!"
"Stop whining," Weylan retorted, a smug grin spreading across his face. "If you can't handle a little contact, maybe you shouldn't be on the court."
Halden jogged back on defense, his breathing heavy but steady. The faint smirk on his face betrayed his satisfaction.
"They're too soft," he muttered as Jax fell into step beside him. "That Mira girl? She's scared of me. All I have to do is lean in, and she crumbles."
"Yeah, well, don't get carried away," Jax said, his voice low. "We're still ahead, but Visione's got something up his sleeve. I can feel it."
Halden snorted. "What's he gonna do? Stare us to death with those creepy blue eyes?"
Jax didn't reply, his gaze flicking toward Sander, who stood near the half-court line. Despite the physicality and Weylan's constant jeers, Sander remained calm, his silver hair gleaming in the sunlight.
"He's too quiet," Jax muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "It's like… he's waiting for something."
Back on offense, Weylan gripped the ball tightly as he dribbled toward the hoop. Sander moved to block him, his sharp blue eyes locked onto Weylan's every move.
"Not this time," Weylan growled, feinting to the left before cutting to the right.
But Sander didn't flinch. His movements were smooth, precise, always a step ahead. Weylan could feel his frustration mounting with every failed attempt to shake him.
"Halden, get over here!" Weylan shouted, passing the ball to his teammate.
Halden caught it with ease, his massive hands gripping the worn leather. Mira moved to contest, her slim frame dwarfed by Halden's bulk.
"Out of my way," Halden sneered, shoving her aside with a forearm.
Mira stumbled but stayed upright, her resolve stronger now despite the blatant foul.
"Come on, ref!" Leira shouted sarcastically, throwing her hands in the air. "Oh, wait—there isn't one!"
"Cry about it," Weylan shot back, his grin widening as Halden sank the shot.
As they transitioned to defense, Jax sidled up to Weylan, his expression uneasy.
"Hey, maybe we should tone it down a bit," Jax said, his voice low. "We're already ahead. No need to make it messy."
Weylan scowled, his irritation boiling over. "What are you talking about? They're catching up because we're not playing hard enough."
"They're catching up because Visione's using his head," Jax muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Weylan snapped, his eyes narrowing.
"Nothing," Jax replied quickly, his gaze darting away.
Weylan didn't press the issue, but the seed of doubt had been planted.
The score stood at 12-8, and the once-commanding gap felt dangerously small. Weylan's taunts grew louder, more pointed, as he tried to mask his growing unease.
"Come on, Visione!" he shouted as Sander brought the ball up the court. "Let's see what all that training was for!"
Sander didn't respond. He didn't even glance in Weylan's direction. Instead, he passed the ball with a quick flick of his wrist, threading it perfectly between Jax and Tomar to land in Renik's hands.
Renik hesitated, his lanky frame trembling as Weylan charged toward him.
"Shoot it!" Sander called out, his voice calm but firm.
Renik obeyed, his shot wobbly but accurate enough to sink into the net.
"Ten-twelve!" Leira shouted, her voice triumphant.
Weylan's heart sank as he watched Sander's team huddle briefly, their faces lighting up with newfound confidence.
"They're not supposed to be this good," Weylan muttered, his hands clenching into fists. "This isn't how it's supposed to go."
Weylan's plan to recruit Sander's ragtag team began as an idea he shared with his friends on a lazy afternoon at the clearing near the abandoned court.
"We're going to challenge Visione to a game," Weylan announced, leaning back against a tree with his trademark smug grin. His red hair caught the sunlight, making him look every bit the self-assured ringleader.
Jax, perched on a nearby rock, raised an eyebrow. "Why Visione? The guy's barely been here a few months, and he spends all his time running around like an idiot."
"That's exactly why," Weylan replied, his grin widening. "He thinks he's better than us. He's out here every day, acting like some big shot. I want to knock him down a peg."
Halden crossed his arms, his broad shoulders shifting as he frowned. "You sure this isn't just about your dad? You've been in a mood ever since you came back from Carna."
Weylan shot him a glare. "This has nothing to do with him. I just want to have some fun. And Visione looks like he could use a reality check."
"Alright," Jax said, leaning forward with a grin. "So, who's playing against us?"
The next step was putting together a team for Sander. Weylan didn't want it to look like he was stacking the deck—he needed the game to seem fair, even if it wasn't.
"We'll pick people who are just good enough to make it interesting," Weylan explained, pacing back and forth in the clearing. "But not so good that they'll actually be a threat."
"And who do you have in mind?" Halden asked, his voice skeptical.
Renik was the first name that came to Weylan's mind. The lanky boy was a regular fixture in the village square, always seen with a stack of books under one arm and a distracted look on his face. Renik was quiet, awkward, and unathletic—the perfect choice.
Weylan approached him near the blacksmith's shop, where Renik was sitting on a barrel, flipping through a worn journal.
"Hey, Renik," Weylan called out, his tone friendly but sharp enough to get the boy's attention.
Renik glanced up, his brow furrowing. "Weylan? What do you want?"
"We're putting together a basketball game," Weylan said smoothly, crossing his arms. "And I want you to play on Visione's team."
Renik blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Me? Why would I do that? I'm not exactly… good at basketball."
"Doesn't matter," Weylan replied, shrugging. "It's just a friendly game. Besides, I heard your family's been struggling a bit lately."
Renik's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?"
Weylan leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. "Play the game, and I'll make it worth your while. Let's say… five silver pieces for your time."
Renik hesitated, his grip tightening on his journal. "Five silver? You're serious?"
"Dead serious," Weylan said, his grin widening. "You could use it, right?"
After a long pause, Renik sighed and nodded. "Fine. But don't expect me to be any good."
Weylan clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Just show up."
Kel was an easy target. The short, round-faced boy worked odd jobs around the village, often running errands for merchants and farmers. Weylan found him near the well, struggling to carry a basket of produce.
"Hey, Kel!" Weylan called out, jogging over with a grin.
Kel set the basket down with a relieved sigh, wiping sweat from his brow. "What do you want, Weylan?"
"Relax, I'm here to help you out," Weylan said, leaning casually against the well. "How'd you like to earn some quick coin?"
Kel frowned. "Doing what?"
"Playing basketball," Weylan replied, his tone light.
Kel blinked. "Basketball? You're joking, right?"
"Not at all," Weylan said, pulling a coin pouch from his belt and jingling it. "Five silver pieces if you join Visione's team and play against us. That's more than you make in a week, isn't it?"
Kel's eyes widened, his gaze fixed on the pouch. "You're serious?"
"Completely," Weylan said, tossing him a silver coin as a down payment.
Kel caught it, his expression torn. "I don't know… I'm not really good at basketball."
"That's fine," Weylan said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's just a game. Think of it as easy money."
After a moment's hesitation, Kel nodded. "Alright. I'm in.
Leira and Mira were harder to convince. The two girls were polar opposites—Leira was fiery and outspoken, while Mira was shy and hesitant. Weylan approached them near the village square, where they were sitting under a tree.
"Ladies," Weylan greeted with a wide grin, sauntering over. "How's it going?"
"What do you want, Weylan?" Leira asked, narrowing her sharp green eyes.
"Relax," Weylan said, raising his hands. "I just came to invite you to a basketball game. Visione needs a team, and I thought of you two."
Leira snorted. "Why would I want to help you?"
"You're not helping me," Weylan replied smoothly. "You're helping him. Besides, I thought you liked a challenge."
Leira tilted her head, considering his words. "And what's in it for us?"
"Bragging rights," Weylan said, his grin widening. "Unless you're scared of a little competition."
Leira smirked. "Fine. I'm in."
Weylan turned to Mira, who had been silent the entire time. "And you?"
Mira hesitated, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. "I-I don't know… I'm not very good."
"Doesn't matter," Weylan said, his tone dismissive. "Leira's on the team, so you won't have to do much."
Mira glanced at Leira, who nodded encouragingly.
"O-Okay," Mira said softly. "I'll do it."
With the team assembled, Weylan returned to his friends, his smug grin firmly in place.
"This is going to be fun," he said, tossing the magical contract onto the table. "Let's see Visione try to weasel his way out of this."