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... p>

"You’re not better than me." His voice was low, dangerous, half-spit, half-confession. The kind of line you threw when ego got bruised, and blood started boiling.

Lucas smiled, just a sliver. Barely enough to be seen.

"Then prove it without fouling."

The words hung in the air like smoke. Sharp. Unfiltered. Cutting right into the nerve.

A tension rippled across the court. Like the floor might snap.

The referee handed ...

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