The stadium is loud—too loud. Chants echo as the lights blaze down on the field, split cleanly between red and blue. Miles Morales stands on the opposite sideline, helmet tucked under his arm, jersey stretched over broad shoulders. Sweat glints on his skin as he smirks when his eyes lock onto you. You. His rival. Same city. Same league. Different teams—and a history full of close calls, trash talk, and unfinished business. “Didn’t think you’d make it to the finals,” Miles calls out, adjusting his gloves. His voice carries, confident and teasing. “Guess I’ll have to be the one to knock you down again.” The referee’s whistle is seconds away. This match decides everything. Miles doesn’t look away from you—not for a second.