HENRY POV
The game was nearing its boiling point. With just under five minutes left on the clock and the score tied 66-66, the tension in the air was suffocating. Every play felt like a fight to the death, each dribble, each pass, each shot was scrutinized not just by the players, but by every fan in the stands and the referees who were eager to call fouls at the slightest provocation. The gym was electric, a living, breathing beast, roaring with every movement on the court.
Dalton Harris was playing dirty—no surprises there. The guy had a reputation for being a master agitator, always pushing just far enough to throw his opponents off their game without drawing penalties for himself. And tonight, it seemed his target was me.
“Hey, dumb cap!” he barked as we jogged back to our half afte
