Twin Fate: Sun and Moon

Chapter 7 - The Game

"No way," he repeated, shaking his head with that same air of superiority that was starting to grate on me. "Fire Bolts have Johanson. He's one of the greatest shooters of his age." His tone made it clear: he was one of those people—the type who couldn't handle disagreement without turning it into a contest of who knew better.

"Time will tell," Alex interjected smoothly, his voice acting as a buffer between us. He always had a way of de-escalating things before they spiraled out of control. I glanced his way, grateful for his timing.

Right then, the doorbell rang, cutting through the tension. Alex looked up, slightly startled. "Didn't even hear the car pull up," he said, standing up to head for the door. I stayed behind with Arvid, who had gone quiet, leaving a thin thread of awkward silence hanging between us. I could tell he was still mulling over my assertion that the Sabers would win, and that uncomfortable lull in conversation stretched longer than it should have.

Thankfully, Felix walked in moments later, breaking the silence like a cool breeze after a stifling afternoon. "Oh, Arvid's already here?" he teased, shaking Arvid's hand. "Always the first to arrive and the last to leave."

I tried to force a smile, but the joke didn't sit well with me. Something about Arvid's certainty, his absolute belief that his opinion was the only valid one, left a bitter taste in my mouth. Maybe it was irrational, but people like that always rubbed me the wrong way.

As Felix settled in, Bjorn and Eric arrived together, pulling up in Bjorn's silver Toyota. One by one, they filtered into the room, each one carrying more snacks—way more than we'd ever need. By the time they'd all unloaded their bags, we had enough food to feed a small family for a week. The ridiculousness of it all would have been funny if I wasn't still wound up from the earlier tension.

"This is what it all comes down to, folks," the commentator's voice buzzed with anticipation as the players emerged onto the court. "The Sabers, coming off an unfortunate loss last week, are fighting to restore their dignity. Meanwhile, the Bolts are aiming to solidify their place in the championship race."

I leaned forward slightly, my fingers gripping the edge of my seat as the game started. Peterson took possession first for the Sabers, moving with startling speed as he launched a rapid attack. He passed to Bogdanovic, who effortlessly sank the ball into the net. The crowd erupted, but I felt a quiet satisfaction.

The Sabers led by eight points at halftime, the score flashing on the screen: 68-60."Fire Bolts are definitely going to come back in the second half," Arvid said, his voice dripping with that all-too-familiar tone of certainty. He never could resist pretending he knew more than everyone else. "Bogdanovic got lucky with that first shot. The Sabers are barely holding onto their momentum."

I glanced at him, already feeling the tension creeping into my chest. Was he trying to rile me up? Probably. He was succeeding.

"I don't think so," Alex countered calmly from across the room. "Bogdanovic has been solid all season. And with Gordon at center, they've got a great shooter-center combo."

Arvid waved his hand dismissively. "You'll see in the second half," he said, that same patronizing tone curling around his words.