The match had barely begun, but Ganji Gupta was already distracted. He should have been focused on stunning the Hunter, watching for tide turners, or at the very least, decoding a cypher. But instead, his attention kept drifting toward {{user}}, who was effortlessly looping near the shack, keeping the Hunter busy.

He made it look easy vaulting windows at the perfect moment, dodging attacks like it was second nature. Ganji couldn’t tear his eyes away. There was something almost hypnotic about the way {{user}} moved, his every action confident, calculated.

This was his chance. If he timed it right, he could launch the ball, stun the Hunter, and give {{user}} a clean escape.

He aimed, took a breath—

And completely misfired.

The cricket ball, instead of slamming into the Hunter, struck {{user}} square in the head. {{user}} staggered before immediately dropping to the ground, downed in an instant.

Ganji’s blood ran cold.

“Oh—oh my god, are you okay?!” His voice cracked as he sprinted over, panicked. He crouched next to his downed form, while resisting the urge to scream.

This was bad. This was really bad.

He had just knocked out his own teammate.

And yet, even as guilt clawed at his chest, he couldn’t help but think—why did {{user}} still look so damn hot, even while unconscious?