The whistle had come from the referee.
A stern-faced woman in black and white stripes who looked like sheâd seen enough Legacy drama to last several lifetimes and had zero patience for any more. She stood at center court, ball tucked under her arm, waiting for the circus to end so she could do her actual job.
Landon and Brian finally released Pheiâs shirt.
It fell back into placeâcovering that impossible body, hiding it from the hungry eyes that had just memorized every ridge and shadow. The fairyâs hold released at the same moment, and Phei rolled his shoulders, shooting his teammates a look that promised retribution.
They grinned back.
Worth it.
"Captains,"
the referee called. "
Center court
. Now."
Marcus walked forward first.
Unhurried. Unbothered. Every step radiating the absolute certainty of a man who had never lost anything that mattered.
Phei approached from the opposite side.
They stopped three feet apart.
The referee looked between them.
"
Standard rules
.
First team to fifty points wins
âno quarters, no halftime, no breaks. Only subs if you have one. Game doesnât stop until someone hits fifty." She paused, letting that sink in for the crowd. "Fouls will be called tight. I donât care whose family owns what. Any questions?"
First to fifty
.
A street ball rule. Raw. Brutal. No timeouts to regroup. No halftime speeches to adjust strategy. Just two teams going at each other until one hit the magic number.
For a team of five trained players against three guys whoâd barely practiced together?
It should be a slaughter.
Neither captain spoke.
"Good." She held up the ball. "Weâll do a jump ball for
first possessionâ
"
"Give it to them."
Pheiâs voice cut through the stadium.
Quiet. Flat. Carrying anyway because the microphones were still hot and twenty thousand people had stopped breathing.
The referee blinked. "Excuse me?"
"
First possession.
" Pheiâs eyes never left Marcus. "Give it to them."
Whispers. Confusion. Disbelief rippling through the crowd like wind through wheat.
"Youâre forfeiting the jump ball," the referee clarified. "You understand youâre already down two players. Youâre giving them another advantage."
Three against five.
And he was handing them the ball.
Pheiâs lips curved. Ghost of a smile.
"
Theyâll need it
."
The stadium exploded.
Marcus didnât react.
He just looked at Phei. Long. Measured.
"Your funeral."
"Weâll see."
The teams took positions.
Five Heaven Reapers
spread across the offensive endâMarcus at the top of the key, Danton on the wing, Brett and Anderson in the corners, Kyle lurking near the basket.
Three defenders.
Phei. Landon. Brian.
The math was impossible. Two players would always be open. Always. There was no defensive scheme in basketball that could cover five with three.
The crowd knew it.
The Reapers knew it.
Marcus knew it.
The referee handed the ball to Marcus at the top of the key.
He held it casually. One hand. Like it weighed nothing. Like this entire spectacle was beneath him.
"Check."
He bounced the ball to Phei.
Phei caught it. Bounced it back.
"Check."
The game began.
Marcus moved first.
A simple dribble to the rightâtesting, probing, seeing how Phei would respond. His teammates rotated, five bodies moving in patterns theyâd drilled a thousand times, creating space, exploiting the numbers.
Phei stayed in front of Marcus. Balanced. Patient.
Marcus crossed over. Left to right.
Phei mirrored it.
Marcus drove leftâhard, explosive, the first step that had blown past every defender heâd ever faced.
Phei slid with him.
Cut off the lane.
But that was the point.
Marcus wasnât trying to score. He was drawing the defenseâpulling Phei toward the basket, collapsing what little coverage three players could provide.
He kicked it out to Danton.
Wide open on the wing. Three against five meant someone was always open, and right now that someone was Danton Maxton with nothing but air between him and the basket.
He caught it in rhythm. Squared up. Released.
The
three-pointer
was pure.
Swish.
3-0, Reapers.
The crowd roared. Marcusâs Angels went insane. The Heaven Reapersâ bench celebrated like the game was already over.
Danton pointed at the crowd, soaking it in, then jogged back on defense with a smirk aimed directly at Phei.
This is how itâs going to go
, his expression said.
Numbers donât lie. Youâre fucked.
Pheiâs expression didnât change.
He just walked to the baseline to collect the ball.
Brian inbounded to Phei.
And something shifted.
The cold that had been radiating off Phei all dayâthat passive, ambient frostâsuddenly
focused
. Concentrated. Like a laser that had been diffused through fog and now found its target.
He took one dribble.
Marcus stepped up to guard him at half court. Full pressure. The prince defending the charity case personally.
Phei looked at him.
Through
him.
And then he moved.
The
crossover
was so fast it didnât register as a crossoverâthe ball teleported from right hand to left, his body shifting directions like physics had filed for divorce. Marcus, for the first time in anyoneâs memory, was caught reaching at air.
Gone.
Phei exploded past himânot around,
through
âhitting the lane at a speed that blurred the cameras.
Danton stepped up to help.
Phei didnât slow down. Didnât even acknowledge him. He gathered at the free throw line and
rose
âbody climbing, climbing, climbingâhang time that made the crowd hold their breathâ
Kyle came from the weak side. Late. Desperate. Jumping to contest.
Phei switched the ball mid-air. Right hand to left. His body twistedâa
corkscrew
that defied anatomyâand he threw it down
over
Kyleâs outstretched arm.
The dunk was violence.
BOOM.
The rim screamed. The backboard shuddered. Kyle crashed to the floor and Phei landed on his feet like a cat, already walking away before the net stopped swinging.
3-2, Reapers.
Silence.
Then
chaos
.
Marcus called for the ball immediately.
No more feeling out. No more casual probing. The prince had seen something that demanded a response.
He attacked.
Full speed. Every move he hadâcrossover, between the legs, behind the back, stepbackâa blur of elite handles that had embarrassed college defenders, that had made scouts compare him to NBA guards.
Phei stayed in front.
Not scrambling. Not guessing.
Anticipating
. Every direction Marcus tried, Phei was already there, already waiting, already cutting off angles before Marcus knew he wanted them.
Leftâ
there
.
Rightâ
there
.
Spinâ
there
.
Marcus pulled up for a contested fadeaway. His signature. The shot that always fell.
Phei rose with him.
Higher
.
His hand came from aboveâfingertips meeting leather at the apex of Marcusâs release, not blocking it clean but
tipping
it, changing the rotation by degrees.
The ball clanked off the back rim.
Brian grabbed the reboundâboxed out Anderson, ripped it down, immediately looked up court.
Phei was already gone.
Full sprint. Outlet pass. Brianâs throw was perfectâleading Phei toward the basket, hitting him in stride.
Landon filled the lane on the left.
Three Reapers scrambled backâMarcus, Danton, Brettâbut they were chasing, not defending, their angles wrong, their momentum working against them.
Phei crossed half court with the ball.
He could have passed to Landon. Could have pulled up. Could have done anything safe and smart and tactical.
Instead, he attacked.
Three on one. Him versus the three defenders whoâd recovered.
Brett stepped up firstâPhei blew by him with a hesitation dribble that froze him in place.
Danton slid over to helpâPhei spun, a full 360 that left Danton grasping at shadows.
Marcus was the last line. The prince himself, positioned at the rim, ready to send this charity caseâs shot into the stands.
Phei gathered.
Rose.
Marcus jumped to meet himâperfect timing, perfect positioning, everything the prince had ever learned about shot-blocking coming together in one moment.
Phei kept rising.
Higher than Marcus.
Higher than should be possible
.
At the apex, he cocked the ball backâway back, behind his headâand threw it down with both hands over the outstretched arms of the Prince of Earth.
The dunk didnât just go in.
It
detonated
.
BOOM.
The sound was different this time. Heavier. An impact you felt in your chest, that made the floor vibrate, that announced to everyone watching that something fundamental had just changed.
Marcus landed first, stumbling backward.
Phei landed a second later, directly in front of him.
Their eyes met.
Phei didnât say anything. Didnât need to. His expression said everything.
Your move, prince
.
3-4.
Pheiâs team had taken the lead.
Three against five.
And suddenly, the impossible didnât look so impossible anymore.
The stadium was deafening.
David was screaming into his mic, but the words were swallowed by 200,000 voices losing their minds simultaneously.
In the VIP section, Dravennaâs wine glass hung forgotten in mid-air. Her eyes were fixed on the court, on the white-haired boy who had just posterized the most dominant player in Paradise history.
Well
, she thought.
Melissa was laughing. Actually laughing, champagne spilling over her fingers, watching the boy who belonged to her dismantle royalty like they were children playing at a manâs game.
Harold sat frozen beside her. Mouth open. Brain refusing to process what his stepsonâhis
charity case
stepsonâwas doing to the Prince of Earth.
On the court, Marcus Heavenchild stood at center court.
Chest heaving.
Eyes burning.
For the first time in his life, he was being
challenged
.
Actually challenged.
And the game had barely started.
3-4.
First to fifty.
Forty-six more points to go.
And Phei Maxton looked like he was just warming up.