As Elias stepped back onto the court, the noise inside the arena shifted.
It didn't get louder.
It got sharper.
Like the crowd had suddenly leaned forward in their seats, sensing that the game—this strange, unbelievable game—was about to tilt again.
On the Komodo bench, Coach Williams crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. He had seen this before. Not Elias specifically, but this moment—when a veteran decided the game would move at his pace whether anyone liked it or not.
Jimmy leaned toward George.
"He's back," the big man muttered.
George didn't answer. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on Elias as if trying to memorize every breath, every twitch.
The referee raised the ball.
Whistle.
The Pressure Begins.
Tony stood at the baseline, palms sweaty against the leather. He glanced at Elias, then at Victor.
Victor flashed to the ball.
Tony inbounded.
Immediately, Komodo's defense snapped into place. Two defenders rushed Victor, arms wide, trapping him near the sideline. The crowd roared, smelling blood.
Victor pivoted, trapped.
"Elias!" he shouted.
Elias slid into the open space like he had been waiting for the trap all along.
Victor zipped the pass.
George exploded forward, reading the lane perfectly. His fingertips slapped the ball, knocking it loose.
The Komodo crowd erupted.
George took one step forward—
Whistle.
"Reach-in. Number 11."
George froze. His face twisted in disbelief.
"What? I barely touched him!" he barked.
Fourth foul.
Coach Williams exhaled sharply through his nose but said nothing.
Elias bent slightly, hands on his knees, catching his breath. Inside, his heart was pounding—not from fear, but from awareness. He had wanted George to gamble plus he knew that George already has three foul.
To lessen George defense, a fourth foul is the solution. So he had delayed the pass just long enough to invite it.
Experience doesn't shout.
It waits.
Elias Takes Control.
Tony inbounded again.
This time, Elias demanded the ball with a firm nod.
He caught it cleanly.
Instantly, two Komodo defenders lunged toward him. Williams had told them: no space, no comfort, no rhythm.
Tony slid in and planted a brutal pick that rocked the defender backward.
Elias exploded off it.
One hard dribble. Two. He crossed half-court in seconds, forcing the defense to scramble.
George slid in front of him, chest square, arms wide.
Elias slowed.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then he attacked George's lead foot, snapped a crossover, and slipped past him like water through a crack.
The help defense collapsed.
Three Komodo jerseys surrounded him.
Elias didn't panic.
He felt the floor.
He saw John Paul in the corner before John Paul even called for it.
The pass came out like a slingshot.
John Paul caught it, hands steady, legs locked.
Shot up.
Swish.
The Buffalo bench erupted, players jumping to their feet, towels flying, fists punching the air.
Elias didn't celebrate.
He just turned and ran back.
Conflict started slowly among the champions.
Komodo players frustration was beginning to crack through discipline.
"That's on you," Lorenzo muttered to George as they lined up.
George shot him a look. "You think I don't know that?"
Jimmy raised his hands. "Why are we switching so late? I can't cover both!"
Edmar snapped back, "Because you're dropping too deep!"
Voices were rising.
Coach Williams clapped once, sharply.
"Next play," he said. "Focus."
But the tension didn't disappear.
It lingered.
And Elias felt it.
On one Komodo possession--
Edmar pushed the ball, motioning for Jimmy to seal his defender inside.
The pass slipped into the paint.
Jimmy caught it and powered up, ready to crush the rim and reassert dominance.
He rose.
The crowd rose with him.
But Elias was already in the air.
He didn't jump early.
He jumped perfectly.
His hand met the ball at its highest point.
SMACK.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
The ball flew sideways.
Jimmy landed and stared at his own hands in disbelief.
Tony secured the loose ball and immediately fired a pass upcourt.
Victor and John Paul sprinted, forcing the Komodo defense to retreat.
Three defenders converged.
Victor slowed, faked, then dropped the ball back to Elias trailing the play.
Two defenders rushed him.
Too late.
Elias rose from beyond the three point arc.
The crowd gasped when he lifted.
Shot.
Nothing but net.
"Moreno Three points."
The Buffalo section exploded like a wave crashing over itself.
Lead: now up to seven.
Under three minutes.
Komodo's Internal Breakdown
Coach Williams shouted instructions, but now the Komodo players were arguing between possessions.
"Stay on him!"
"I was helping!"
"You're late on the switch!"
George slapped his hands together in frustration.
"We're letting him control everything!"
Jimmy shook his head. "We need to slow him down, not chase him!"
Edmar snapped, "Then stop letting him split the traps!"
The champions weren't losing because they lacked talent.
They were losing because Elias was making them uncomfortable, forcing decisions faster than they wanted to make them.
Elias continue to Orchestrate. He wasn't just scoring.He was conducting. He slowed the tempo.
Pointed.
Directed traffic.
Victor cut when Elias told him to cut. Tony sealed when Elias raised two fingers. Santino slipped screens perfectly, trusting that the ball would find him if he was open.
Komodo scored on the other end.
Then Buffalo answered.
Not flashy.
Not rushed.
Just smart.
Clock bleeding.
Defense tightening.
Bodies colliding.
Sweat dripping.
Every possession felt like a fistfight.
One minute on the clock.
Buffalo up eight.
The crowd was on its feet now, noise crashing from every corner.
Elias brought the ball up slowly, letting the seconds tick away.
George pressed him tightly, breathing hard, sweat dripping off his chin.
"You think you've got this?" George whispered.
Elias didn't respond.
He shifted.
Drove left.
Stopped on a dime.
Pulled up.
Passed out to Victor.
Victor swung it to John Paul.
John Paul didn't hesitate.
Three.
Bench explosion.
Next possession.
Komodo rushed.
Missed.
Rebound by Santino.
Again Elias controlled.
Again he waited.
Again he found the open man.
Another three now by Victor.
The lead was suddenly double digits again.
And now—
Panic had crept into the champions.
With thirty seconds left, Komodo forced a turnover.
They pushed fast, desperate.
Bad pass.
Out of bounds.
Twenty seconds.
Santino inbounded to Elias.
Two defenders rushed him immediately.
This time, Elias didn't look to pass.
He stepped back.
Rose near the jump circle.
The shot felt slow.
Heavy.
Like time had thickened.
Ball in the air.
Splash.
Three point.
Now the Buffalo has fourteen-point lead.
Some Komodo fans started leaving.
Others stood in stunned silence.
George took one last rushed shot.
Tipped.
Missed.
Santino rebound and defended the ball well.
As the clock tics down, the players froze for a second, almost unsure if it was real.
3
2
1
Then the buzzer echoed through the arena, sharp and final.
For a split second, no one moved in the arena.
Then the Buffalo bench exploded.
Santino threw the ball up and raise his both arms into the air and screamed.
Victor dropped to one knee, head back, laughing in disbelief.
John Paul ran straight into Tony, wrapping him in a hug so hard they almost fell over.
Even the normally calm Elias stood frozen for a heartbeat, chest heaving, eyes wide, as if making sure the scoreboard wasn't lying.
Final Score:
Komodo Dragons — 44
Buffalo — 58
It was real.
They had beaten the champions.
Not by luck.
Not by one lucky shot.
But by controlling the game, minute by minute, possession by possession.
The champions had fallen.
At home.
By double digits.
Best Player of the Game:
Elias Moreno
22 points, 15 rebounds, 15 assist, 7 steals, 5 blocks