No one—not the analysts, not the fans, not even the Buffalo themselves—had truly anticipated this.
The scoreboard above the court glowed like a quiet rebellion:
Buffalo 31
Komodo Dragons 16
Two-time champions. On their home floor. Down by double digits.
Buffalo Locker Room — Halftime
The Buffalo locker room buzzed with something dangerously close to disbelief.
Laughter spilled from one corner. Someone slapped a towel against a bench. A few players leaned back in their chairs, grinning like kids who had just pulled off something they weren't supposed to get away with. Sweat-soaked jerseys hung loose on tired shoulders, but the smiles were real—wide, unfiltered, human.
"We're really up sixteen," Nemuel whispered, shaking his head as if saying it too loudly might break the spell.
Aj wiped his face with a towel, laughing softly. "Against them."
Even some of the staff couldn't hide it. One assistant coach muttered, "I don't think I've ever seen this place this quiet," referring to the Komodo crowd outside.
But at the far end of the locker room, Elias Moreno sat alone.
He hadn't removed his shoes. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped, eyes fixed on the floor. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his face carried no celebration—only focus, and something heavier beneath it.
He had seen this moment before.
Not this game. Not this team.
But this feeling—the illusion that the hardest part was already over.
Coach Ed noticed.
He let the chatter live for a few seconds longer, then clapped his hands sharply. The sound cut through the room.
"Enough," he said—not harshly, but firmly.
The smiles softened. Conversations died.
Coach Ed looked at each face, one by one. "Don't rejoice yet. This is halftime. Not the end."
Silence.
"They're champions for a reason," he continued. "They didn't win two seasons by accident. Whatever they showed us in the first half—forget it. They're coming with adjustments."
That was when Elias finally spoke, his voice calm but heavy.
"They're not champions because they play pretty," he said. "They're champions because they survive moments like this."
Every eye turned to him.
"They'll test us," Elias added. "Physically. Mentally. They'll try to break our rhythm and our belief. Remember that."
Assistant Coach Ben stepped forward, energy sharpening his tone.
"Aj. John Paul. Clear your lenses—we'll need decision-making, not panic."
He turned. "Nico. Raymond. Ron—be ready to bang bodies. They'll attack the paint."
Then to the wings. "Cholo. Kurtie—sticky defense. No gambling. Find the open man fast."
Coach Ed nodded. "We're not here to play," he said quietly. "We're here to win."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Victor stood up and said it once, softly but firm:
"Win."
The team echoed it.
"Win."
Louder now.
"Win!"
Their voices followed them out of the locker room, bouncing down the tunnel like a promise they were daring themselves to keep.
Komodo Dragons Locker Room — Halftime
The Komodo locker room felt like the opposite side of a storm.
No laughter. No towels snapping.
Just breathing.
Heavy. Measured. Controlled—but strained.
Some players sat staring at the floor. Others leaned forward with hands on knees, sweat dripping silently. The scoreboard outside had shaken them—not because of the number, but because of what it represented.
They weren't being challenged.
They were being exposed.
Coach Williams stood in the center, arms crossed, eyes sharp—not angry, not frantic.
Focused.
He finally spoke.
"I should thank the Buffalo," he said.
Heads lifted.
"They reminded us of something we forgot."
Williams paced slowly. "I remember when we were them. When teams laughed at our name. When we were the ones being dismissed."
He stopped in front of Jimmy. "That hunger built everything we have."
Then he turned to George. "And that hunger is gone right now."
George clenched his jaw.
Williams continued. "Look at the scoreboard. That's respect. They're demanding it."
His voice hardened. "Now we take it back."
He grabbed the board.
"Elias Moreno is their spine," he said. "We drain him. Double above. Triple below."
He looked around. "But if you're not guarding Elias, you work harder guarding the other four."
Jimmy nodded. "I'll punish them inside."
George straightened. "I'll carry us."
Williams met his eyes. "That's why you're MVP."
He clapped once.
"We don't fold. We don't panic. We fight."
The team rose as one.
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
"FIGHT!"
The echo followed them out.
Second Half Begins
Both teams returned to the court with different energies—but the same purpose.
The Buffalo lined up to inbound.
And the Komodo noticed immediately.
Elias wasn't on the floor.
Jimmy leaned toward George. "This is our window."
The referee's whistle cut through the noise.
The second half began.
The Komodo defense came out aggressive—hands everywhere, bodies pressing, lanes closing. They wanted to suffocate the Buffalo before Elias could return.
But Victor and Cholo stayed composed.
They brought the ball down safely, burning clock, forcing the defense to chase.
Eight seconds left.
Tony and Nico set double screens.
Aj curled around them perfectly.
Victor fired the pass.
Aj rose.
Swish.
All net.
The Komodo answered on the other end.
Next possession—same play. Different side.
Same result.
Swish.
The first six minutes became a trade of blows.
The Buffalo refused to collapse. The Komodo refused to let go.
Then George leaned toward Edmar.
"We need a stop."
Edmar nodded.
He stole the next pass clean.
Fast break.
George pulled up.
Three.
Next possession—Buffalo miss.
Jimmy rebounds. Outlet.
George again.
Three.
The crowd woke up.
The lead shrank.
Single digits.
The Komodo bench erupted—but Coach Williams noticed something unsettling.
The Buffalo bench wasn't rattled.
Coach Ed hadn't moved.
Elias still sat.
George hit another three.
Six-point game.
Then Jimmy thundered a dunk.
Four.
Then Edmar was able to steal the ball to santino and lead the fast break. A sudden decoy pass then he sneaks in, take a shot...
Swiss..
Then a foul was called.
The bench of the Komodo rejoices.
Edmar sink the bonus free throw.
From 16 points they are only down by 1 point.
The whole arena is now alive on what the champion is showing but suddenly a buzzer sound.
Timeout.
Coach Ed finally stood.
With just five minutes left.
Elias rose.
As he checked in, Coach Williams muttered to himself:
"Now… the real game begins."