Shooting or Strength?

Batch 2 was up. The energy in the air was palpable, a thick current of anticipation running through the spectators as forty players shuffled into the designated courts. The players all knew the stakes—every match mattered. The project's eyes were on them, their future paths being decided in the next few minutes. But amidst all the fierce faces and competitive energy, two players stood out in the eyes of the project staff: Joon Do-Yun from South Korea and Francisco Vicente from Portugal.

Joon Do-Yun was known for his exceptional shooting skills. He had an uncanny ability to sink shots from seemingly impossible angles, making him a formidable opponent on the court. He moved with a fluidity that made it seem like he was born to shoot, to score. Joon's special ability was shooting—something that made him stand apart from the other players. He was known for his long-range shooting, a trait he could turn into an art form. He wasn't just good; he was mesmerizing. His shots looked effortless, as if he was simply playing a game of catch, when in reality, each shot was carefully calculated.

On the other side of the court stood Francisco Vicente, a tall, imposing figure from Portugal. Francisco's special ability wasn't flashy, but it was just as effective. He was a literal shield, an immovable object on the court. Francisco could guard the basket with a level of defense that made it nearly impossible for anyone to get a clean shot past him. His body, his presence on the court, was enough to intimidate opponents. It wasn't just about his physical strength—it was about his unyielding nature, the way he stood his ground and made opponents second-guess every move.

As the game started, Joon immediately took the offensive. He dribbled the ball with a rhythmic bounce, taking a few steps back to survey the court. Francisco was already in position, guarding the paint with his usual calm demeanor. He didn't move, his body firm and solid, like a wall that refused to budge.

"You're pretty solid on defense, huh?" Joon called out from across the court, his voice filled with friendly energy. He grinned, his hands flexing as he prepared to make a move. "But I'm not so easy to block, you know!"

Francisco didn't answer. He didn't need to. His eyes narrowed, his focus unshaken. The game was about to begin.

Joon lunged forward, trying to break past Francisco's defense with a quick crossover. But Francisco didn't budge, his stance unmovable. Joon hesitated for just a moment, studying Francisco's movements. The Portuguese player wasn't just standing still; he was anticipating every move. He was a fortress.

Joon, undeterred, took a step back. "Okay, I see you," he said, his voice still light and teasing. "You're not letting me through, huh? Well, time to take it from long-range!"

With that, Joon launched himself into the air, taking the shot from beyond the three-point line. His body moved with a fluidity that looked effortless, and the ball sailed through the air in a perfect arc. But Francisco, despite his immovable defense, leaped just in time, his hands outstretched in a desperate attempt to block the shot.

The ball swished through the net.

"Woo! That's what I'm talking about!" Joon exclaimed, raising both arms in a celebratory gesture. "You know, I gotta say, you're a tough one, but that was a nice little warm-up shot for me."

Francisco's face didn't change, his expression as stoic as ever. He turned back to the court without so much as a word, his eyes locked on Joon once again. He wasn't shaken, not in the slightest. The game had just begun.

Joon didn't let up. He was constantly moving, keeping Francisco on his toes, while Francisco stood like a wall, blocking every possible shot Joon tried to make near the basket. It was a battle of strategy versus power. Joon's shooting prowess against Francisco's unyielding defense.

Another attempt came from Joon—a quick spin move to the basket, trying to shake off Francisco's defense. But Francisco was there, as solid as ever. He swatted Joon's attempt away with ease, sending the ball flying toward the sideline. The crowd gasped, impressed by Francisco's immaculate timing.

Joon jogged over to retrieve the ball, his breath steady as he spoke again, completely unfazed by the block. "Man, you're making this harder than it needs to be. I just want to get one more shot in!"

Francisco, silent as always, simply nodded. He was a man of few words, his actions speaking volumes.

They continued, trading off possession. Joon's quick feet and sharp shooting skills kept him in the game, but every time he tried to get past Francisco, the Portuguese player seemed to block him with ease. It was a fierce back-and-forth. Joon would make a beautiful move, only for Francisco to shut it down with a seemingly impossible block or a perfect defensive stance.

Finally, Joon attempted another long shot, trying to catch Francisco off guard. He took a few dribbles, his eyes locked on the basket, and then launched the ball into the air. The shot hung in the air for what felt like an eternity before landing—swish.

10-8, Joon leading.

The crowd let out a collective cheer. Joon was on a roll now, his shooting form flowing smoothly, but Francisco, as always, was still calm, still calculating. The match wasn't over.

With the score now favoring Joon, Francisco knew he had to make a move. He took control of the ball and backed Joon into the corner of the court, using his size and strength to limit Joon's options. Francisco knew that he didn't need to rush; he had all the time in the world to make a move.

He faked right and drove left, pushing past Joon's defense with a sudden burst of speed. Joon leaped into the air, trying to block, but Francisco's shot was too quick, too powerful. It hit the rim with a resounding thud, but it bounced up and in.

10-9, Joon's lead was shrinking.

The game was neck-and-neck now. Joon and Francisco were locked in a fierce battle of wits and physicality. With the score so close, both players knew that any mistake could be their last. Joon's playful banter had quieted. His focus had shifted entirely to the game, but the determination in his eyes never wavered.

They played on, each point harder earned than the last. The crowd was glued to the screen, captivated by the intensity of the game.

Finally, Joon made his move—a fast break with a hesitation dribble, a step-back jumper just outside the arc. Francisco moved quickly to close the gap, but it wasn't enough. The ball flew through the air, kissed the rim, and then dropped cleanly through the net.

11-9, Joon Do-Yun wins.

The crowd erupted into cheers. Francisco, despite the loss, didn't show any frustration. He simply nodded once, acknowledging Joon's victory with a quiet respect. Joon, smiling broadly, jogged over to Francisco and extended his hand.

"Well, that was tough," Joon said, breathing heavily. "But you're a beast on defense. I'm glad I got that one."

Francisco, silent as always, took Joon's hand and gave it a firm shake. His respect was clear, even if his expression remained unchanged. The two players exchanged a look, understanding the grueling nature of their battle.

Diego and Berg, standing on the sidelines, watched the scene unfold. Diego couldn't help but admire how Joon had handled the victory, his energy light and kind despite the pressure. Joon's positivity was infectious, a refreshing contrast to the intensity of the game.

"Well, that was one for the books," Berg said, shaking his head in amazement.

Diego nodded, his eyes still on the players as they left the court. "Yeah, Joon really earned that one. But Francisco… he's one tough player. He doesn't talk, but you can feel the power behind every move."

Berg gave him a sidelong glance. "You thinking what I'm thinking? He's the kind of guy who might be a real challenge later on."

Diego nodded again, his gaze still on the court where Joon and Francisco walked off together, both having left everything on the floor.

"Yeah," Diego said softly. "I'll have to keep an eye on him."