And just as it looked like the rim was about to be murdered—
—this is where divinity shows.
The stadium forgot how to breathe.
All 200,000 people rose at once—not cheering yet—just standing, mouths parting like some invisible hand had yanked the air straight out of their lungs. Marcus was still backpedaling, eyes glued upward, because Phei was no longer playing by the rules of distance. Or gravity. Or basic human fucking decency.
He'd launched from way too far out.
Everyone knew it. Everyone felt it. The laws of basketball were screaming no in unison.
Phei kept going up anyway.
The first thing that broke wasn't the rim. It was time.
The jump stretched. The world smeared slow-motion, the crowd roar dropping into a deep, underwater hum, like listening to the ocean from the bottom of a well.
Then—impossible.
His second step landed on nothing—
On. Air. Itself.
Not poetic metaphor. Not hype. Actual, literal step on air.
