Legacy Arena hummed with nervous energy—the kind that makes people lean forward in their seats, stills conversations, and turns breaths shallow. The scoreboard read 42-42. Two seconds left. Dysen Adams wiped his hands on his jersey. He had been here before—last year, with the championship hanging on a final possession. But experience didn’t make the moment any easier. The ball was slick with sweat, the lights too bright, the pressure suffocating…
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