Ow!—he yelped as his crumb-hand got lightly toasted. He sniffed it. —Nope. Not a fan of overbaked pastry.
—Ahem,—Mami tried to steer the subject back. —Maybe we should focus on what's actually happening here.
And there was plenty to see.
The court hadn't grown wider, but the hoops had stretched sky-high, towering dozens of Yukis and Pom-Poms stacked on each other's shoulders. Guarding them stood a team—figures dressed in who-knows-what, looking rough and half-finished, their features jagged and glitchy.
—What happened to the graphics?—Lil C. gasped. —What year did they render these models? And why are they so jerky?
The players really did stutter along, freezing mid-motion, then twitching forward again, waving their cricket bats around instead of basketballs.
—They're lagging,—Pom-Pom explained, and waddled toward them in the same glitchy fashion. —We come in peace, bat-on-legs people.
—Stand up and pull yourselves together!—Mami suddenly barked, her eyes fluttering angrily. —Show us who's in charge here!
The glitchy game-characters froze, then pointed their fingerless hands toward a huge office desk shoved in the corner of the court.
It was buried in dust, along with the man slumped behind it—business suit, tie, the whole package.
—That's the tired guy from the street!—Lil C. gasped, turning to his sister. —Remember? The last person we saw before the green room.
—That's him alright,—Yuki nodded. —Only now he's even more buried in his work…
And -buried was putting it lightly. On his desk, endless piles of paperwork spawned from nowhere. He shuffled them frantically from one side of the desk to the other, like armies locked in eternal battle. One stack towered higher, so he moved sheets back to even them out—then repeated, again and again.
—Busy gentleman,—Mami observed. —Perhaps he requires our assistance? You could become his assistants, and I shall, naturally, be his boss. I think I look the part.
Yuki was the only one tempted—she felt bad for the poor man crushed under the paper avalanche. But Pom-Pom was already chasing one of the glitch-players, begging for a cricket bat.
Lil C. cheered him on, shouting:
—Go, buddy! Grab one for me too—I wanna play!
The second he said it, the office worker straightened. One of the player models ran up and clipped a headset mic to his cheek, like a rock star. Then the man boomed in the tone of a seasoned commentator:
—Only Tomorrow! And only Today! The Greatest Match in the history of Crickball begins! On my right—the Team of -Old School Console! On my left—the Team of -I Have No Idea Who! Players, exchange greetings: handshakes or nods. First to score ten points wins!
Forward, gladiators!
Pom-Pom didn't need to chase bats anymore—dozens shot out from under the man's desk.
The newcomers grabbed them instantly, while the glitch-players already had theirs.
Then came the basketballs—twenty of them, ten rolling to each side.
—That makes twenty,—Lil C. counted.
—Genius. Give him the Nobel Prize,—Yuki teased, staring at the desk as if expecting the medal to pop out next. Instead, a scoreboard clunked into place, sliding down lazily until it settled at the bottom: 0–0.
—Amazing!—Pom-Pom cheered. —Life is like food: you're full, but it's still delicious.
—Second Nobel. This time in Literature,—Yuki shouted, before Mami cut in:
—Focus, children. Let's watch their strategy first. We'll adapt and learn the rules as we go.
The glitch-team seemed to be waiting for exactly that. Their forms flickered, blinked out, then merged together into one massive player.
The giant swung his bat and smashed a ball skyward. It hovered, sprouted a huge mouth and two hands, yawned, then covered its mouth sheepishly. It didn't want to go anywhere.
Not until the giant player brandished his bat again, threateningly. Then the ball got the message—like a torpedo, it zipped toward the hoop, perched awkwardly on the rim, poked the net a couple times, then finally dropped in with a sulky plop.
The scoreboard jumped instantly: 9–0.
—An unbelievable shot in both power and quality! Ovations are in order!
The office man clapped. His documents clapped too—sprouting little hands, one even whistling in approval. Across its top margin was written: Accounting Department.
—The strategy's changing. —Mami said nervously. —They're not giving us time to warm up or figure things out. They only need one more point to win, and we might have to score all ten! How does this scoring system even work?!
—Referees to the trash!—Pom-Pom yelled, hopping angrily and jingling his spurs.
Yuki crept up to the glitchy player, looking up timidly.
—Could you maybe do the same for us? I mean, helping isn't such a bad thing, right?
The opponent instantly saw through her little sports trick and turned away, arms crossed. Yuki shrugged and went back.
—Guess we have to pick who's gonna take the shot.
—I'm cross-eyed. —The muffin excused himself right away.
—I refuse to sully my non-existent hands with primitive games,—Mami declared with aristocratic disdain.
—Why even play at all? We could just walk out of here,—Lil C. suggested.
—Oh yeah? And you still don't get it's impossible in this reality?—Yuki snapped at him. Why was he always so clueless?!
She grabbed his head and turned it toward the flashing lasers.
—See that fence? It's dangerous. Sure, we could dash through when it turns into flowers. Same for Mami on her speedy hoverboard. But how nimble do you think Pom-Pom is?
—What, Groot?!—the muffin looked at her tragically. —Shaming me for being not just pastry but a pastry with filling? Bitter words indeed!
—Not even sure I'd make it either,—Lil C. admitted, eyeing the barrier. —Who knows what's going on in those laser-brains, when they'll pop back up again?
—But you're a bold warrior!—Yuki reminded him.
—A warrior with toasted crust doesn't look so noble,—he shot back for once with actual logic.
They all fell into anxious silence, tossing ideas back and forth. Then the office announcer lost his patience. Dust flew from his shoulders as he roared:
—Timer started! Team -I Have No Idea Who You Are take your positions! Time to strike!
All four stepped forward, huddling around the ball. Yuki turned it in her hands, wondering how on earth she could launch it high enough to touch the sky. She'd need arms of pure steel!
Mami circled it on her hoverboard, mumbling terms like -trajectory and -angle radius. Pom-Pom tried to take a bite. It half-worked, but he spat it out with disgust.
—Terrible cooking!—he groaned.
—10, 9, 8…—the commentator bellowed, and Yuki's knees went weak. She steeled herself, imagining she had titanic strength—only for Lil C. to snatch the ball, rear back, and hurl it straight at the desk.
Everyone gasped. The ball landed exactly where the stack of papers was supposed to be. They panicked and, with screams and stuntman tricks, dodged beautifully. In the process, they jumped off the desk, apparently freeing the man.. He blinked furiously, rubbed the spot on the table, then stood with great effort and…
The kids were suddenly back in their own backyard. Yuki still gripped an invisible bat, mid-swing. Her brother froze in the pose of someone about to toss a snowball—except it was a basketball. Both of them were strapped together by the glasses, each wearing one lens.
—Wait, what? Where are we? —Lil C. gasped. —Ohhh, we're home… boring! Back to nosy neighbors with lawnmowers and a mailman who throws letters way less accurately than me. Did you see that shot? Bullseye! —He bragged, as Yuki facepalmed.
—Not the point, Lil! Look at the man in the suit!
The same office worker now stood in the middle of their street, dazed. He shook his head, then hopped on one foot like someone trying to drain water from their ear after a dive. Finally he let out a triumphant shout, popped open his briefcase, and unleashed a blizzard of documents. Papers spiraled into the air and fluttered down like financial snow.
Then he carefully pulled out his passport (can't forget that!) and his wallet (how else do you buy snacks? Though he could have given us a prize for helping—Lil grumbled), set the briefcase down, and strutted off with a spring in his step. He even loosened his tie!
—Well… now he'll get fired,—Yuki sighed.
—Or he'll train like crazy and become the next LeBron,—Lil C. countered. —Add a cricket bat, and even LeBron would run scared! So, do we keep going or what? By the looks of it only a second passed, so before Dad's back from the store, we can still climb a hundred levels! Maybe even a hundred and one! Like yours, for example!
Yuki didn't hear him—she was mumbling to herself, lost in thought.
-In this case it didn't work out… but we could do it so much better next time. We've got a chance to actually help people who really need a change! Her eyes lit up, and she waved at her brother.
-Come on, let's take a walk! Maybe we'll spot someone interesting out there—someone who needs us.
-Great idea, sis! He happily followed her, and together they opened the gate and stepped out into the sleepy suburbs.
It was a hot day. Along the street, dog owners strolled with their pets on leashes, and the mailman pedaled by on his bike. He and Lil C. exchanged hostile looks, since both considered themselves the true champion of throwing things with style.
A girl streaming live on her phone, giving tips about ironing shirts, clearly wasn't the one—they could see she had her life completely under control. A drowsy pigeon perched on an empty birdhouse? Nope. Yuki wasn't ready to end up crawling around inside a bird's brain as a worm.
Nor was it the woman staring up at a billboard and muttering, -Nah, the food at my diner's better than this chain. Clearly, she knew what she wanted in life.
And then HE appeared.