The warning horn for the final two minutes sliced through the arena like a blade.
A low, urgent sound.
Last two minutes.
The scoreboard still favored the Bulldogs, but the gap no longer felt comfortable. What once looked like a humiliation had become a battle—scrappy, emotional, charged with something neither team expected when the night began.
Lord Victor stood near the top of the key, dribbling the ball with measured rhythm. Thump. Thump. Thump. Each bounce echoed his heartbeat. His eyes moved constantly—left, right, corner, post—searching for daylight.
Nothing.
The Bulldogs' defense had tightened like a net. Joey shadowed him step for step. Luis cut off passing lanes. Every option looked smothered before it could even breathe.
The crowd leaned forward in their seats, tension crackling.
Victor exhaled sharply.
Then he saw Elias.
Not waving. Not calling for the ball. Just standing at the weak side, eyes locked on Victor's. Calm. Focused. Certain.
Elias lifted his chin slightly.
A silent command.
Victor nodded once.
That was all it took.
Victor took two hard dribbles to his right, just enough to sell the drive. Joey slid with him. The defense shifted.
And then—without warning—Victor rose up.
A shot.
The crowd gasped.
It looked rushed.
Wrong.
Forced.
But it wasn't.
As the ball left Victor's hands, Elias exploded toward the rim.
He cut at a perfect angle, slipping behind the defense like a ghost.
Time slowed—the ball arcing, the defenders late to react, the air thick with disbelief.
Elias leaped.
Not high like he once might have in his twenties—but high enough. Smart enough. Strong enough.
He caught the ball in midair.
And with both hands, he slammed it through.
The sound of the dunk thundered through the arena.
BOOM.
The crowd erupted as if a dam had burst.
People jumped to their feet, screaming, hands in the air, disbelief plastered across their faces.
On the Buffalo bench, players spilled onto the sideline—clapping, shouting, some laughing in pure shock.
"LET'S GO!"
"THAT'S BASKETBALL!"
"ELIAS!"
Elias landed and ran back immediately, jaw clenched, chest heaving. No celebration. Just work.
Across the court, Coach Larry stood frozen for a heartbeat.
Then his face hardened.
"Guard him," he barked at his players. "Guard that old guy! Don't let him move!"
The Bulldogs responded with force, pushing the tempo, attacking mismatches. The Buffalo answered with grit, bodies diving for loose balls, hands contesting every shot.
The clock bled down.
One minute.
Coach Fran glanced at Joe Cruz, sitting on the bench, towel draped over his shoulders, eyes burning with frustration. Joe met his gaze.
Coach Fran hesitated—then tapped him.
"Joe. You're in. Replace Jose."
Joe sprang up instantly, fire surging through his veins. He checked in, clapping his hands, nodding at Elias.
The Bulldogs' ace, Joseph, refused to be denied.
With the shot clock dwindling, he backed down Victor, spun, leaned away from the outstretched arm—and hit a brutal fadeaway jumper.
Swish.
A collective groan rolled through the crowd.
Eighteen seconds.
One last chance before the game ends.
Victor took the inbound, eyes sharp now, mind racing. He called the play with a raised fist.
Santino stepped up, wide and solid, setting a hard screen.
Elias curled around it, using Santino's body like a shield, accelerating toward the lane.
The defense reacted instantly.
Too instantly.
Ricky and Roy—the Twin Towers—collapsed together, massive arms rising, bodies converging in the air.
Elias drove.
He jumped.
For a split second, the entire arena held its breath.
Two giants met him in midair.
It looked impossible.
Age.
Size.
Gravity.
All stacked against him.
Then Elias twisted.
Not fast—precise.
He shifted his shoulders just enough, pulled the ball back mid-flight, and with a flick of instinct and trust, fired a pass outward.
The ball flew to the corner.
Joe Cruz stood alone.
Wide open.
The clock ticked.
Joe caught it.
Shot.
The ball hit the rim, bouncing away upward.
A miss.
But as the ball goes down it landed to the hand of Elias in mid air. With just three seconds left he manage to dunk the ball.
The crowd erupted!
The bench of both team watch with disbelief on what Elias did.
Then the buzzer sound. Marking the end of the tune up game.
And on the court, no one moved for a moment.
Then the Bulldogs exhaled in relief. The Buffalo clapped anyway—hands on backs, heads high.
The game was over soon after, the Bulldogs maintaining their lead through disciplined possessions and timely stops.
Players from both teams met at center court, hands shaking, sweat-soaked jerseys clinging to tired bodies.
Coach Larry approached Coach Fran, a grin tugging at his lips.
"That was a hell of a game, Fran."
Coach Fran nodded, breathing hard. "You're right. And you almost lost it—if Joe wasn't in foul trouble."
Coach Larry laughed, shaking his head. "If he stayed in, we'd have blown you out." He winked. "But that old guy of yours… he made it interesting."
Final Score:
Bulldogs – 65
Buffalo – 56
Joseph was choosen as the best player of that game with 21 points.
The Buffalo walked off the court without a win—but with something far more dangerous.
Belief.
And belief, once awakened, rarely goes back to sleep.