Sneakers squealed against the hardwood. From the stands, a mix of cheers, boos, and gasps created a cacophony like a poorly tuned radio.
The shouts of his teammates, reminders and warnings, blended with the voices of his opponents until they were indistinguishable.
But louder than all of it was the sound of his own heavy breathing.
All these sounds tangled together, making Kobe's head feel like it was about to split open.
He blinked. Sweat from his forehead trickled down into his eyes, and the raw, salty sting made him deeply uncomfortable.
Kobe forced himself to focus, ignoring the feeling that his chest was about to explode, trying his best to track and chase the figure in front of him.
The man stopped.
Kobe jerked to a halt, their bodies colliding. He could even smell the same stench of sweat on his opponent as on himself.
Controlling his center of gravity, Kobe relied on instinct, trying to read his opponent's next move from the feeling of their physical contact.
