It was the pressure of expectation, the burden of being the focal point. But looking around the circle, seeing the fierce determination in Ahsan's eyes, the solid, reassuring nod from Robi, the eager 'ready-to-contribute' look from Faisal and the bench guys, he felt something else stirring beneath the anxiety. A surprising, warm flicker of belonging. He was part of this loud, messy, ambitious collective.

  And tangled up with all that pressure was the undeniable, almost scary, but utterly thrilling weight of what they, together, might actually be capable of pulling off. Possibility. It felt heavy, yeah, but suddenly, it felt like a good kind of heavy. The kind you wanted to carry.

  The final whistle’s echo just kinda poofed into silence, leaving behind this weirdly intimate soundscape in the huge gym. It’s all heavy breathing, like a bunch of human bellows going at once, punctuated by the dying squeak-squeak of abused sneakers on the shiny floor. That post-practice vibe, you know? Exhausted but kinda electric.

  James is doing the cssic cool-down lean against the cold metal bleachers, stretching out his calves, letting that deep, familiar burn settle into something that feels less like pain and more like… progress. Satisfaction, maybe? Yeah, that’s the word.

  Even though the massive win against Motijheel feels like ancient history – was it st week? Two weeks ago? Time blurs – the vibe shift is still super real. You can see it in the way guys are cpping each other on the back, actually listening during drills, not just waiting for their turn. There’s this renewed energy, a tighter bond, like that game unlocked a new level of teamwork. People are still buzzing about James's game-winning shot in the st five seconds.

  Robi, looking like he just wrestled a waterfall and lost (dude sweats buckets), moseys over, aggressively toweling off his already soaked hair. He gives James a solid, sweaty elbow nudge. "Yo, 'Monster'," he grins, the nickname still fresh from the Motijheel commentators. "Earth to James! Look alive, man."

  He nods subtly towards the main gym entrance, the big double doors slightly ajar. "Looks like you got company waiting. Better see who it is before they get bored and leave." Robi winks, "Probably another fan wanting an autograph, huh?"

  James snaps his head up, squinting slightly as he follows Robi’s pointed gaze. And yup, there she is. Dipa. From the Judo team.

  Just… lingering. Near the entrance, doing this awkward little foot-to-foot shuffle like the floor is slightly too hot. It’s seriously jarring because Dipa usually carries herself with this intense, grounded presence, like she’s mentally mapping out five ways to throw you even when she’s just standing in the lunch line. But right now?

  She looks less like a Judo pyer and more like a freshman who accidentally wandered into the senior common room. All nerves and hesitation. She's clutching the strap of her gym bag like a lifeline.

  James frowns, pushing himself fully upright off the bleachers. The satisfying ache in his legs is instantly forgotten, repced by a wave of genuine concern mixed with pure confusion. His cool-down focus just poof, gone. What in the world would bring Dipa over to the basketball side of the gym, especially looking like she just saw a ghost?