The crowd laughed—loud, vicious, delighted. The sound rolled through the stands like thunder that had learned cruelty. A voice from the front row bellowed "Kiss the floor, Your Highness!"and the laughter doubled, tripled, became a living wave that crashed over Marcus and left him soaked in shame.
They rushed together now—three bodies converging like a collapsing fortress wall, desperation wearing the mask of coordination, three heirs reduced to panicked guards in a war they had already lost.
Phei dribbled straight into them. No fear. No acceleration. Just calm, inevitable forward motion—like a tide that has decided the shore no longer gets a vote.
At the last step, he pushed the ball between his own legs, angled forward with surgical precision. The bounce threaded the narrow gap between Kyle and Brett's feet like silk drawn through the eye of a needle—perfect, impossible, almost obscene in its intimacy.
