"Assume," his voice dropped slightly, becoming even more intense, "that every single possession is the most important possession of the game, because in a knockout tournament, it very well might be." He held their gaze for a beat longer. "That's the mindset."
"Forget hope. Focus on execution. Focus on effort. Focus on us."
The gym felt deadly silent for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in.
James felt that decration nd not just on his shoulders, but deep in his gut. It was more than just coach-speak; it felt like the stakes being physically stacked higher and higher. That familiar pressure, the one that always seemed to accompany big moments, settled in, heavier this time.
He looked again at the whiteboard, the intricate pys, the scouting notes, the formidable names of their rivals – Motijheel, St. Abraham, Mirpur. It wasn't just a list; it was a gauntlet.
The quiet, internal drive to succeed, to win the whole tournament, resonated strongly within him. Win the Liberation Cup. It wasn't just a goal; it felt like a necessity.
He thought back to the Motijheel game – the thrill of hitting that shot, the surprise victory. But this felt fundamentally different. He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that his individual scoring prowess wouldn't be enough this time.
No matter how many points he could potentially score, one pyer couldn't win a high-stakes tournament alone. It demanded synergy, trust, and fwless execution from everyone on the floor. The team needed to be more than the sum of its parts.
So, for the rest of that grueling practice, while his body automatically executed the drills – the lung-burning sprints, the precise defensive slides, the repetitive shooting rhythms – his mind was working overtime. He wasn't just running pys; he was actively processing everything.
He repyed the grainy footage Tahera had shown them, zeroing in on details. He pictured Mirpur's guards overpying passing nes, visualized how St. Abraham's zone shifted when the ball went into the corner, recalled which pyers seemed to fold under pressure during te-game situations he'd seen on film.
The immense challenge ahead wasn't just a source of pressure; it was fuel. It sharpened his focus, pushing him to learn, to analyze, to find ways to contribute beyond just scoring – calling out defensive assignments, suggesting slight adjustments on offense during water breaks, understanding how his skills could best serve the team's strategy in every potential matchup.
It was about elevating everyone.
The gym became a crucible. The relentless squeak-squeak-squeak of sneakers on the hardwood, the percussive thump-thump-thump of dribbled balls, the sharp calls of pyers and coaches – it all merged into a symphony of intense preparation.
Kiyoshi and Ahsan didn't let up for a second. Drills got faster, demands got sharper, tolerance for errors got smaller. "Move your feet!"
"Communicate!" "Finish the py!" The commands echoed, pushing pyers past their perceived limits.
Fatigue was etched on every face, sweat pstered hair to foreheads, jerseys clung damply to backs. But something else was visible too.
