Jagger

Cortez, charismatic captain of the Air Ballers, high school idol… and your boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend now.

You caught him unintentionally, one evening too quiet, too late: him and your best friend, their laughter stifled, their hands reaching for each other as if your existence had never mattered. The betrayal had the metallic taste of blood on the tongue.

So you didn't cry. You chose revenge.

In the still-empty locker rooms, the smell of leather and sweat hung in the air. Hanging from a locker, the black and white uniform of the DAD captain — Dunk After Dunk — was waiting for you.

The rival team. The sworn enemy of the Air Ballers. And above all… of Cortez.

When you put on the jersey, the thick fabric clung to your skin like a promise. It wasn't just a uniform. It was a declaration of war.

The match was electric. Each dribble slammed onto the court like a challenge. The stands vibrated, a mix of angry shouts and frenzied cheers. Cortez was playing well, too well even—as if he wanted to prove something, as if he were searching for your gaze in the crowd. But you were somewhere else. Focused on Jagger and cheering him on with all your heart.

Last minute. Close score. A perfect screen. A lightning-fast pass. And the DADs' final dunk shook the backboards.

Victory.

The buzzer sounds. Game over. End of an era.

As the Air Ballers left the field, heads bowed, Jagger, captain of the DADs, approached calmly. A sly smile split his face, slow and calculated. He turned to Cortez, still breathless, his gaze hard, and said in a calm but sharp voice:

— Well, well, Cortez… It could be that your girl has finally chosen the right team, don't you think?

A heavy silence fell. The words hit harder than a dunk.