The big day had finally arrived.
For weeks, it had lived only in whispers, debates, and endless comment threads online—but now it was real. The Buffalo's last tune-up game. And not just against anyone. They were ending their preseason by walking straight into the fire, facing the two-time defending champions of the league—the Komodo Dragons.
For most teams, a tune-up was supposed to build confidence. For the Buffalo, it felt like a trial.
Social media had been ruthless.
"This is a mismatch." "Komodo by 20." "The Buffalo have nothing left to prove—and nothing to lose."
Everywhere Elias looked, the same narrative repeated itself. The Dragons were expected to win. The Buffalo were expected to survive.
Some reporters were harsher.
"They almost beat the Bulldogs and the Spiders," one analyst said during a pre-game show. "But that was when they still had Joe Cruz. That was when Coach Fran was still calling the shots."
Another added, "Without Joe, without Fran—this team is a shadow of what it almost became."
The questions piled up.
Could the Buffalo still compete? Could Elias really carry this team? Was his body strong enough? Was his knee a ticking time bomb?
Only one thing was undeniable.
Elias was still here.
And tonight, he would find out if that was enough.
The arena buzzed long before tip-off. Komodo fans filled the lower sections, loud and confident, wearing championship shirts like armor. Buffalo supporters gathered in pockets—smaller, but louder than expected, clinging to hope instead of history.
In the Buffalo locker room, the air was thick.
No music. No jokes.
Just the sound of tape ripping, shoes tightening, breaths steadying.
Elias sat quietly on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor. His knee throbbed—not pain, not fear. Just a reminder. A reminder of what he had lost once, and what he refused to lose again.
Coach Ed stood in front of the whiteboard, marker in hand. His voice was calm, but every word carried weight.
"This isn't about proving anything to them," he said. "It's about proving something to yourselves."
He looked around the room.
"They're bigger. Deeper. More decorated."
He paused.
"But they bleed the same."
Tony cracked his knuckles.
Victor exhaled slowly.
Santino clenched his jaw.
Ed turned to Elias.
"You lead," he said simply.
No speech. No drama.
Just truth.
Across the hall, the Komodo Dragons prepared with a different energy. Confident. Loose. Focused—but unafraid.
Coach Williams gave his final nod.
"Respect them," he told his team. "But don't fear them."
The Dragons' starting five stepped toward the tunnel:
Jimmy at center—tall, wide, immovable. Christopher and Lorenzo at forward—length and power. George, last season's MVP—calm, surgical. Edmar at guard—quick, aggressive, relentless.
Champions walking like champions.
The lights dimmed.
The crowd roared.
Introductions echoed through the arena.
Then the Buffalo were called.
Tony at center. Santino and Elias at forward.
AJ and Victor at guard.
No one expected fireworks.
They were wrong.
Coach Ed pulled them into a final huddle.
"First five minutes," he said, voice low, "set the tone. No hesitation. No fear."
They broke.
The referee stepped to center court.
The whistle shrieked.
The ball rose.
Tony and Jimmy leapt, arms stretching toward the ceiling. Time seemed to slow.
As the ball reached its peak, Santino slid into position, his shoulder brushing Elias's side—an unspoken signal. A screen disguised as movement.
Tony got fingertips on the ball and slapped it hard
The ball flew.
Straight into open space.
Elias was already there.
He caught it clean.
And exploded.
Lorenzo reacted first, sprinting back. George and Edmar followed, eyes wide.
Elias crossed half court in three long strides.
No hesitation.
No fear.
He took off.
Both hands.
A violent, echoing dunk.
BOOM.
The rim shook.
The arena gasped.
Then erupted.
George and Edmar stared at each other.
That wasn't rust.
That wasn't luck.
That was intent.
The Buffalo meant business.
Komodo inbounded quickly.
George took the ball, calm as ever, and handed it to Edmar.
But Victor was waiting.
One quick step.
One sharp read.
Victor's hand flashed.
Steal.
He passed the ball to Elias from the deep corner without looking.
Elias takes the shot .
The shot was pure.
Splash.
All net.
Three points.
The Buffalo crowd exploded, chanting his name.
"E-LI-AS! E-LI-AS!"
Lorenzo inbounded, frustration creeping in.
Edmar brought the ball up—but now AJ and
Victor swarmed him. Full-court pressure.
Relentless.
Edmar passed to George.
George moved it instantly to Christopher, who drove hard into the lane.
He rose for a dunk.
Tony met him in midair.
A clean, powerful block.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
The ball popped loose.
Santino grabbed it and fired ahead.
Elias caught it in stride.
Dribbled once.
Pulled up from well beyond the arc.
The crowd held its breath.
The shot dropped.
Boom.
A big three.
The Buffalo bench erupted. Players leapt from their seats. Towels flew. Fists pumped.
Coach Williams didn't hesitate.
Timeout.
He raised his hand sharply, face unreadable.
But his eyes betrayed him.
He hadn't expected this.
In just a little two minutes they where down by eight points.
As the Dragons walked back to their bench, the noise swallowed them.
The Buffalo huddled, breathing hard, eyes burning.
Elias stood at the center.
"Stay locked in," he said. "This is just the beginning."
For the first time all night, the champions felt something unfamiliar.
Pressure.
And somewhere in the roar of the crowd, the question shifted.
Not can the Buffalo compete—
But what if they actually could.