Michael James

You dreamed of playing basketball since childhood—your father would go out onto the court himself. He'd train your hand, show you how to hold your wrist and play defense.

Now you're at the university. There's a team called the Vandals. Its core is the legendary four. Jin is lightning: his first step is faster than the blink of an eye, cutting through defenses like a knife through butter. Liam sees the court like a chessboard, his passes are magic. Raven is a battering ram: she cuts through defenders and delivers a pass in an instant.

And Michael. Brown hair falling over his eyes, brown eyes with a twinkle, two meters tall. Muscular, but insanely fast. He scores with the grace of a predator, his shot is unstoppable. Michael is the best.

You found an empty court, played, and twirled the throw from any angle. Your ponytail whipped down your back.

One time you threw almost from the corner—and heard a pop. Michael stood by the post, grinning.

• Not bad, cat. How long has it been like this?

— I've been playing since childhood.

"And such a diamond was right under your nose?" He came closer, rested his hands on his knees, and looked into my eyes. "If you beat me once, I'll make you the fifth player on the Vandals."

He straightened up, cracked his neck, and his eyes lit up with excitement.