Coach Williams did not slam the clipboard.
He didn't shout, didn't curse, didn't throw anything across the bench the way people expected champions to do when they were embarrassed. Instead, he stood there quietly while the arena buzzed with disbelief, the scoreboard glowing like an accusation.
Komodo Dragons: 0
Buffalo: 8
Eight unanswered points in barely two minutes.
Williams folded his arms, eyes locked on the court where Elias Moreno paced slowly near the sideline, breathing hard but smiling—not arrogantly, not carelessly, but with the calm of someone who knew exactly why he was there.
Williams finally spoke.
"Look at yourselves," he said, voice low but cutting. "We're playing like tourists, not champions."
The players leaned in.
"You think banners win games?" he continued. "You think rings guard the ball?"
No one answered.
"Elias Moreno is not beating us alone," Williams said. "We're letting him. We're reacting. We're late. We're soft."
He jabbed a finger at the board.
"From now on, every touch he gets is earned. Shade him left. Force help early. Make him see bodies. And remember—we are the champions. Not them."
Jimmy, the towering 7'7" center, nodded once. "I'll meet him at the rim."
George wiped sweat from his brow. "We'll adjust."
Williams held their gaze. "You don't adjust because you're losing. You adjust because that's what champions do."
On the other side of the court, the Buffalo bench felt like a different universe.
Coach Ed crouched in front of his players, his voice steady but urgent.
"They're going to change everything," he said. "Double Elias. Crowd the lane. Try to speed us up."
Elias leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Let them."
Ed met his eyes. "You don't force anything. Trust the reads. Trust your teammates."
Victor nodded. Santino tapped the floor with his shoe. Tony rolled his shoulders, preparing for war.
Ed finished quietly. "This isn't a fluke. This is work. Keep doing it."
The buzzer sounded.
The game resumed.
The very first possession after the timeout felt like lightning striking twice.
Lorenzo brought the ball up cautiously, scanning the floor. Elias read his eyes, read his shoulders, read the hesitation that champions sometimes forget to hide.
He lunged.
The steal was clean—surgical.
"Fast break!" Elias shouted.
He pushed the ball down the court, feet pounding, heart racing.
George stepped in front of him, arms wide, eyes locked.
Most players would slow down.
Elias didn't.
He dribbled once, then flicked the ball between George's legs, sprinted past him, caught it again in stride.
The crowd erupted—but the real test was waiting.
Jimmy.
Seven feet seven inches of muscle and reach stood in the paint like a wall of flesh and shadow.
Jimmy planted his feet and smiled.
"Go," he said. "I'm ready."
Elias took one step.
Then jumped.
Jimmy exploded upward, arms stretching toward the lights, ready to erase the moment.
In midair, Elias twisted—his body folding, rotating, adjusting in a fraction of a second. He pulled the ball back, slipped past Jimmy's outstretched hand, reversed the angle, and slammed the ball through the rim with everything he had left.
The sound was violent.
The reaction was instant.
Buffalo fans screamed like they were witnessing something impossible. Even Komodo supporters gasped, hands flying to mouths, unable to deny what they had just seen.
Elias landed hard, knees absorbing the shock.
For a brief moment, pain flared.
Then it passed.
He ran back on defense.
Edmar raised his fist, signaling adjustments. All four Komodo players dropped low to receive the ball, spreading the floor.
Victor responded instantly, shouting, "Man-to-man! Switch!"
This time, the Komodo executed.
Edmar found an angle, fed Jimmy deep in the post. The giant turned, used his size, and powered the ball in.
Finally, points.
The Komodo bench clapped.
The champions had breathed again.
But the Buffalo didn't fold.
They answered.
Possession after possession, the Dragons scored—but the Buffalo answered right back. A midrange jumper from Victor. A tough finish by Santino. A put-back by Tony.
Every time the Komodo tried to surge, the Buffalo absorbed it.
The lead held.
Then it grew.
By the final minute of the half, the scoreboard stunned everyone.
Buffalo up by 18.
Coach Ed glanced at Elias—sweat-soaked, breathing heavy, eyes still sharp.
He made a decision.
"Cholo! Nico! You're in."
Elias nodded, trusting the call. Victor bumped fists with Cholo as he came out.
Across the floor, Coach Williams mirrored the move—pulling Lorenzo, George, and Christopher, inserting Honorato, Charleston, and Eugeen.
Fresh legs.
A new look.
And suddenly, the game shifted.
Without Elias and Victor on the floor, the Komodo sensed blood.
Honorato pushed the pace. Charleston hit a quick jumper. Eugeen forced a turnover.
Eight straight points.
The Buffalo offense stalled—two rushed shots, one broken possession.
The lead shrank.
Coach Ed stood, hands clenched, but he didn't call timeout. He watched.
Then—ten seconds left.
Cholo caught the ball on the wing, guarded tightly by Eugeen. The clock ticked down.
Five seconds.
Four.
Cholo drove—awkward, off-balance—threw the ball up as Eugeen collided with him.
Whistle.
The ball rolled in.
And one.
Cholo's hands trembled as he stepped to the line. The crowd quieted.
He breathed.
Shot up.
Good.
Honorato inbounded quickly, desperate, heaved the ball downcourt—
Komodo tries to make a final shot but... the buzzer sounded.
Halftime.
The scoreboard burned into everyone's memory.
Komodo Dragons – 16
Buffalo – 31
Players stood frozen for a moment, unsure whether to trust what they were seeing.
The Buffalo jogged into the tunnel, disbelief mixing with exhaustion.
The Komodo walked off in silence.
In the stands, people whispered the same question.
Can they hold this?
Because everyone knew—
The second half was coming.
And champions don't stay quiet forever.