The final ten seconds. Žalgiris down by one. The rookie has the ball again. Defenders swarm him. He has no shot. No time.
The ball finds the shooter in the corner. Swish. Three points.
The buzzer sounds.
* “Mačiau, tėti.” (“I saw, Dad.”)
Lukas doesn’t cheer. He doesn’t cry. He just sits there, the blue light of washing over his face. He clicks the “share” icon, copies the link, and opens his father’s old, silent email address. krepsinis siandien tiesiogiai tv3 play
“See, sūnau? He knew where his friend would be before he even looked.”
He types two words:
Lukas gasps. His hand instinctively reaches to his side, where a ghost arm would have wrapped around his shoulder. He hears it—not through the speakers, but in his memory: