Spiderverse: A Miles Morales AU

Both teams were lined up, ready to kick off the match. The tension in the air was palpable as the players took their positions, and the coach blew the whistle, signaling the start of the game. The gym erupted in noise as sneakers squeaked on the polished floor, and the ball bounced sharply between players.

From the very beginning, it was clear that Harry and his team were on another level. As the ball moved between them, their passes were swift and precise, cutting through the court with pinpoint accuracy. Harry, in particular, was in the zone. He was the best player on the team, and today, he was playing like he had something to prove.

Miles, despite his newfound energy, was part of the newbie squad, and his team struggled. They couldn't keep up with the pros, constantly losing possession and fumbling their attempts to win the ball back. Meanwhile, Harry was dominating, moving through the court with ease and skill. His confidence was undeniable, and each time he scored, he made sure to shoot a menacing glare in Mile's direction, a hard, threatening stare that sent a clear message: *You don't belong here.*

Harry had already made the net seven times in just a short period, and with every goal, his satisfaction grew. Even Miles, who was normally focused on his own performance, couldn't help but notice just how incredible Harry was playing.

Three of those baskets stood out more than the others:

The first came just after the game had started. Harry received the ball at half-court, swiftly dodging two defenders as he moved toward the basket. He faked a pass to his left, causing the defense to shift, but instead of following through, he spun on his heel and drove straight toward the hoop. Leaping high above the defense, he nailed a perfect layup, the ball swishing through the net. As he landed, he locked eyes with Miles, smirking before jogging back down the court.

The second was more intense. Harry had stolen the ball from one of the newbies, using his quick reflexes to snatch it mid-pass. He sprinted toward the basket on a fast break, with two defenders hot on his heels. Instead of slowing down or passing the ball, he took a step just before the free-throw line and launched himself into the air. The defenders were left trailing as Harry soared toward the rim, dunking the ball with an explosive power that shook the backboard. The gym filled with cheers, but Harry didn't celebrate. He just turned and shot Miles another icy stare, his intent clear—this wasn't just a game to him.

The third basket was a show of Harry's agility. He was positioned near the three-point line when he received a pass. As soon as the ball touched his hands, he pivoted around a defender, slipping past with a fluid crossover dribble. Another defender lunged at him, but Harry stepped back, feigning a shot. The defender took the bait, jumping into the air, but Harry held his ground. With a quick sidestep, he found himself wide open and released a perfect three-pointer. The ball arced gracefully through the air before sinking through the net without even touching the rim. Harry raised a fist in silent victory before his gaze once again found Miles, eyes blazing with intensity.

Harry's team was dominating, and with every basket, Harry's confidence and aggression grew. Miles, still energetic and feeling strong, couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something was building—that Harry wasn't just playing to win but to send a message, and sooner or later, that message would land on him.

As the first round came to a close, Miles brought his team together, gathering them in a tight huddle. He could see the frustration in their faces, but instead of dwelling on it, he flashed them a confident smile. "Listen, guys, we've got to change the way we're playing," he said, his voice calm but filled with purpose. "Right now, it's too easy for them. They're predicting every move we make. If we keep doing this, we're not going to stand a chance."

His teammates looked at him, listening intently.

"We can beat them," Miles continued, his tone more determined now. "We just need to play smarter, not harder. Use our brains, not just our bodies. Let's be unpredictable—let's mix things up with faster passes, better positioning, and fewer risky dribbles. If we play as a team and not individually, we can take control of this game."

The energy in the huddle shifted. Miles had sparked something in them—a sense of belief. His teammates, who had been losing confidence, started to feel motivated, the team spirit reigniting. They nodded, agreeing to give his new strategy a try.

When the second round began, the atmosphere in the gym felt different. As soon as the whistle blew, the newbies moved with a renewed sense of purpose. The pros, who had been dominating earlier, quickly realized that this wasn't going to be the same easy game they had just played. Mile's team was tighter in their formations, more accurate with their passes, and quicker in their decision-making.

Early in the round, the ball was passed to one of Miles teammates, who immediately sent it flying toward the corner, catching the defense off-guard. With the pros scrambling to adjust, the ball was quickly flicked back to another newbie, who dribbled just enough to draw the defenders before passing it off to the open player near the net. With a clean, precise movement, they made their first basket of the round, much to the excitement of the team.

The defense had tightened too. The pros, who had previously moved through the court effortlessly, were now met with resistance at every turn. The newbies clogged passing lanes and stayed close to their marks, forcing the pros into uncomfortable positions.

The ball was passed to Miles in the middle of the court, and without hesitating, he planted his feet and took a deep shot from beyond the arc. The ball sailed smoothly through the air, and with a satisfying swish, it sank into the basket. The gym erupted in cheers, as Miles teammates rushed toward him, celebrating. They needed that point, and Miles' shot had ignited their confidence even more.

"Yeah, come on, Miles!" Jason screamed, his voice echoing through the gym as Miles sank another perfect shot. The ball swished cleanly through the net, and Jason couldn't contain his excitement. "That's my friend right there!" he shouted, pumping his fist into the air.

His enthusiasm was contagious, but it also drew the attention of everyone around him. Other students in the bleachers and even some players on the court glanced over, momentarily distracted by Jason's loud outburst. His pride in Miles was written all over his face, and he didn't care who noticed.

Miles, hearing Jason's voice above the noise, turned briefly and shot him a quick grin, giving a thumbs-up before refocusing on the game. Jason's shout seemed to energize not just Miles, but the whole team. They fed off the growing excitement, and the atmosphere in the gym shifted even more in favor of the newbies, who now played with confidence and purpose.

Now fully energized, Miles took control. He received a pass at the top of the key and immediately drove into the paint, dribbling past two defenders with quick, sharp crossovers. He made a sudden move, juking to the right, only to spin back to his left, leaving his defender behind. As he approached the rim, he leaped into the air, dunking the ball with force. The sound of the ball slamming through the hoop echoed throughout the gym, and the newbies celebrated again, feeding off Miles' energy.

The game grew more intense as the pros, frustrated, tried to regain their rhythm. Harry's team finally managed to make a basket, their first since the round started, but it was clear they were struggling to keep up. Their passes weren't as crisp, and they weren't moving with the same fluidity as before. Miles could sense that they were tiring, that their confidence was starting to waver.

Sensing the shift, Miles quickly adjusted his team's approach. "No more risky dribbles," he called out during a brief pause in play. "Let's keep passing the ball—move it fast, keep them guessing."

His team followed his lead. The ball zipped from player to player, each pass a quick, deliberate move that kept the pros defense off balance. With each pass, the defenders were forced to adjust, and in the confusion, one of Miles teammates found an opening near the hoop. The ball was passed to him, and he made a clean, easy basket, adding another point to the scoreboard.

The pros were visibly tiring now. Their earlier dominance had vanished, and they were struggling to keep up with the relentless pace Miles and his team were setting. The newbies were dominating, and Miles kept capitalizing on every opportunity. He took several long-range shots, each one a confident, calculated attempt, and nearly every time, the ball swished through the net.

Harry, watching from the other side of the court, was growing furious. His plan to hurt Miles had been carefully crafted, but now, with Miles leading his team and dominating the game, Harry's frustration boiled over. He was ready to put his plan into motion, his mind set on doing whatever it took to bring Miles down.