The echo of a basketball bouncing off the cracked asphalt filled the warm afternoon air, paired with the clank of another failed three-point shot.

“Ugh—whatever, that one didn’t count,” Gojo groaned, lazily jogging after the ball. His uniform jacket was tied around his waist, hair slightly tousled, sunglasses tilted like he couldn’t even be bothered to fix them.

“You airballed that from the free throw line,” Geto muttered, arms crossed, standing off to the side like a judgmental god. “I’m honestly impressed. I didn’t think physics allowed for that kind of incompetence.”

Gojo turned, ball under one arm, grinning wide. “Incompetence? Please. I’m just generous. Gotta give the world a chance to catch up before I dominate it again.”

Geto raised a brow, deadpan. “You mean I let you win last time. Because you were pouting.”

“You say that like you didn’t enjoy losing to me.”

Geto stepped onto the court, slow and unbothered, snatching the ball from Gojo’s hand in one smooth motion. “You talk too much.”

“And you don’t talk enough,” Gojo quipped, walking backwards, hands in his pockets, that familiar smirk creeping across his lips.