THE CONTINUATION.

apologies for posting this chapter so late. I'm currently tired from studying for an exam. I hope you like the chapter. Let me know what I should add to the story later on.

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It was understandable why people were surprised, especially because players like Steph Curry and Damian Lillard are known for making shots with a high arc. However, a kid in his last year of middle school accomplishing such a feat seemed unlikely. As people processed these thoughts, questions arose about whether it was luck or if he could replicate the shot. Despite doubts, I knew I could shoot like that whenever I felt like it. All I did was shoot that three-pointer; it's not like he would catch up in such little time. People thought I couldn't rely on my teammates to catch up, especially in a game deciding the state championship, so I understood I had to take matters into my own hands.

My teammates would become the key to success; I would use them as pawns in this basketball game. It was our turn to be on the offensive. Dribbling the ball down the court, I called for a screen, initiated by our power forward. Faking a drive to the right, I executed a behind-the-back crossover to the left and then accelerated into a fast drive to the net. A quick snatch back created enough space for a shot behind the 3-point line. The opponent guarding me stumbled, giving me the opportunity to take the shot. With the ball leaving my fingertips, I felt the excellence and comfort of the shot. The high arc ensured my opponent had zero chance to block it. I declared, "Those who oppose me have zero chance of winning; this game is ours." The court filled with boos as people saw me as nothing but an antagonist.

I embraced that attention, reminiscent of Trae Young's villainous image in the eyes of New York Knicks fans. I bowed with a smirk, and the cheers shifted to the opposing team as soon as they had possession. The score was 72-47; we made 2 points, needing 25 to win. I intercepted the opponent's pass, faked a half-court shot, and spotted our center in the paint for an easy layup. Stealing the ball again, I dribbled to the left wing, passing between my legs to my power forward, who made a jumper.

Realizing those points weren't enough, I decided to shoot full-court threes. Channeling my energy, I felt like I was in a deep abyss, reminiscent of Aomine's zone. It felt calm and relaxing, as if nothing could bother me. In this state, I called for the ball, faked a drive, and executed a crossover with perfect synchronization. The defender fell, asking in amazement, "But how?" I replied with a smug face, "I'm just simply better than you." Taking a jump shot, I faced another opponent, declaring, "you're king," and shot with another high arc, securing the ball in the rim with excellence.