Leo didn't answer. He dropped into a crouch. The puck was a blur of black plastic, hovering on a thin cushion of air that turned the heavy table into a friction-less vacuum.
The neon lights of the Galaxy Arcade always felt like a second home, but tonight, the in the back corner was the only thing that mattered. It sat under a flickering fluorescent tube, its surface scarred by a thousand high-speed battles, humming with the steady drone of a tireless internal fan. air hockey table
Jax served—a lightning-fast bank shot that rattled off the side rails. Leo tracked it, his striker meeting the puck with a deafening crack . The puck didn't just slide; it soared, grazing the edge of the goal before Jax parried it away. Leo didn't answer
The digital scoreboard flashed red. The fan died down as the timer hit zero. The neon lights of the Galaxy Arcade always
For ten minutes, the only sound was the frantic thump-zip-thump of the game. The score was tied at 6-6. Next point won the night.