"Dude, are they seriously triple-teaming him again?" Some guy in the Banani bench yelled, leaning forward in his seat, popcorn flying everywhere. Another pyer snorted, "Yeah, desperate much? It's like they watched one highlight reel and thought that's gonna work."

  On the court, you could almost see James just rolling his eyes. He was too slick, too aware of every twitch, every move before it even happened. It was like they were trying to grab smoke with their bare hands. He was just… different. Other level stuff.

  Third quarter running, and it's basically a repeat of the second, only Banani's turned up the volume. Motijheel's triple-team? Yeah, on paper, maybe it sounded kinda intimidating. For about five seconds.

  In reality, it just made the court a bit more crowded, like rush hour on Dhaka's streets, but didn't actually, you know, stop James. "Sloth View," remember that weird nickname? That made those three defenders look like they were auditioning for a snail convention. Predictable?

  Understatement of the century. It was practically performance art, a slow-motion comedy routine of futility.

  "Are they even trying?" a Motijheel supporter groaned, burying his face in his hands. His buddy patted him on the back, "Dude, chill, it's just… uh… a new strategy? Yeah, strategy!" Nobody looked convinced.

  Then "King’s Palm" activated, and BAM! James was snatching passes from angles that were physically impossible, like bending space and time. Even with three guys practically glued to his jersey! "Yo, did you SEE that?!" a Banani pyer on the bench shrieked, pointing wildly.

  "He just stole that pass from behind his own back! Is that even legal?"

  And Bullseye? Oh, Bullseye was just showing off at this point. That basket was James's personal BFF, ignoring all the Motijheel defenders trying to third-wheel their bromance.

  Swish! Another three-pointer. Right through the middle of the triple-team formation, like they weren't even there. The Motijheel crowd? Collective gasp. Again.

  It was becoming a seriously monotonous cycle. Shock, then silence, then the slow dawning realization that, yeah, this was really happening. For them, it was just Groundhog Day, basketball edition: disbelief followed by total and utter resignation. "Okay, seriously," a Motijheel fan muttered, "is this even fun to watch anymore? It's just depressing."

  Banani on defense again. Salman, poor guy, still trying to drive to the basket. But you could practically see the ghost of that mid-air interception floating over his head, taunting him. He was hesitant, like he was approaching a ndmine field, eyes darting around searching for an escape route.

  He needed an open teammate, ASAP. Anyone. Literally anyone on the court was preferable to passing anywhere near James. "Pass it! Pass it!" Coach Rahman yelled from the sidelines, his voice cracking with strain. But here’s the insane part: James was everywhere.

  Even when he was surrounded by three guys! "It's like he's multiplied!" someone in the crowd whispered, eyes wide. "Did they clone him at halftime?" It felt like it. His presence just loomed over everything – every pass, every dribble, every shot Motijheel even thought about taking. Dude was pying chess while Motijheel was still trying to figure out how to set up the board.