Coach Rahman look through the celebrating Banani pyers towards James, his wise, experienced eyes studying the quiet newcomer, searching for some kind of expnation in his calm, almost serene face, some clue to the impossible performance he had just witnessed. He was looking for answers, for logic, for something that made sense. But nope. Didn’t find a single thing.

  James just stood there, calm, composed, almost… unassuming, amidst the wild, jubint chaos swirling around him like a hurricane of happiness. Dude was an enigma wrapped in a basketball jersey, a walking, talking, sm-dunking mystery.

  Banani High’s unforeseen, utterly improbable triumph? It was way, way more than just a W on the scoreboard, more than just bragging rights for the next year. It was a straight-up, bona fide, capital-M Miracle. David versus Goliath, live and in person, except David was one ridiculously talented dude who seemed to possess superpowers, and Goliath just got absolutely, utterly, and completely wrecked in front of everyone.

  It was all orchestrated by the enigmatic, ridiculously skilled James, the new kid in town, the miracle worker, the pyer who, in a single, unforgettable afternoon, rewrote the rulebook of the game, bent reality to his will, and basically flipped the entire local basketball world completely upside down. And everyone in that gymnasium, from the deliriously happy Banani fans to the shell-shocked Motijheel supporters, knew deep down in their bones that they had just witnessed something truly… unbelievable.

  Like, the kind of story you’d tell your grandkids years from now, and they’d probably roll their eyes and assume you were just making it all up, exaggerating for effect. But they were there. They saw it with their own eyes. And they would never, ever forget it.

  On the Motijheel side, it was like someone had just announced that Wi-Fi was canceled forever.

  Coach Rahman, shoulders slumped like he was carrying the weight of the world – or at least a really disappointing pizza – shuffled towards the Banani bench. He looked like he'd aged about ten years in ten seconds.

  Meanwhile, over on the Banani side? Pure pandemonium. Kiyoshi was smack-dab in the middle of a jumping, yelling, high-fiving explosion of pure, unadulterated victory. "YESSS!" "WE DID IT!" "UNBELIEVABLE!" The shouts bounced off the walls, a stark contrast to the stunned silence just a few feet away.

  He was practically vibrating with energy, basking in the glow of their insane, against-all-odds win.

  Kiyoshi, lost in the joyful chaos and still trying to process the sheer audacity of their victory, almost didn't register Coach Rahman's approach until the Motijheel coach was looming right in front of him. It was like a sudden raincloud appearing in the middle of a sunshine-filled parade. Coach Rahman stood there, a somewhat somber, almost ghostly figure amidst the Banani team's wild celebration. The air around them seemed to shift, the energy in the gym subtly recalibrating as the reality of Motijheel's loss crashed down.

  The festive racket around them dialed down a few notches, almost like the hyped-up Banani pyers instinctively sensed the shift in atmosphere. Even amidst their own victory dance, a little pocket of respectful quiet formed around Kiyoshi and Coach Rahman. A couple of Banani pyers nearby, still buzzing from the win, exchanged gnces, lowering their voices.

  "Uh oh," one murmured, "Coach Rahman looks… intense." Another nodded, "Yeah, dude's not happy. Like, really not happy."