The Monday after the loss, the streets of Rose Heights were quiet—but watching.
Every shopkeeper, every boy slinging snacks at the corner, every old woman fanning herself on the step—they all gave Kyle that same look.
Not praise.
Not hate.
Just weight.
He walked slower than usual to school. Hoodie up. Head down. Even though the sun burned through the morning mist, he felt cold.
He wasn't sure if it was because of the loss…
Or what happened after.
Friday Night – After the Game
They lost.
By three.
Kyle dropped 27, but the team played like a cracked mirror—sharp, broken, and reflecting pieces of who they used to be.
After the game, Kyle didn't take the school bus back. He needed to walk. To breathe. To bleed a little on the concrete.
Halfway through the shortcut by Blue Gate alley, three men stepped into the road.
He didn't flinch.
He recognized one of them immediately.
Chino.
Gold teeth. Tattoos crawling up his neck like vines. A scar that split his eyebrow. He wasn't a myth—he was a headline. The kind that turned neighborhoods silent.
Chino ran the local crew—SixRings. A street gang that controlled most of the under-the-table trade in Rose Heights: stolen goods, numbers rackets, local extortion. If something illegal moved, it likely moved through him.
Kyle stopped walking.
"Evening," Chino said, smiling like a lion does before it eats.
Kyle nodded. "Mi just heading home."
Chino stepped closer, clapping a rough hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Ain't nobody stopping yuh. Mi just curious, starboy. You the talk lately."
Kyle said nothing.
Chino grinned wider. "Them highlights mad. Yuh make di island proud, no lie."
He leaned in.
"But all that attention? All them scout eyes? That crown yuh wearing?"
He tapped Kyle's chest with two fingers.
"That don't come free."
Kyle stared at him, expression unreadable. "Mi not lookin' for trouble."
Chino nodded slowly. "Maybe. But trouble? It looking for you."
He stepped back, hands in the air like a preacher.
"Mi not askin' yuh to do nothin'… yet. Just know… Rose Heights protect its own. But protection come with favor, starboy."
And just like that, he turned and melted back into the alley shadows.
Present – Locker Room
Kyle sat alone after school, lacing his sneakers in silence. The gym was nearly empty. Practice was over.
Rico was gone—again.
The team was splintered.
Coach hadn't spoken to him since Monday's film session.
And now?
Now Kyle had bigger problems than missed screens and locker room drama.
Chino wasn't just some local thug.
He was the type of man who invested in people—then collected.
And Kyle? He wasn't trying to owe nobody.
That night – Home
His mom was late from her shift at the hospital. Kyle reheated leftover rice and sardines, then sat in the living room, the fan spinning slowly above his head.
Ghost walked in like he always did—like he never left.
"Yuh quiet."
Kyle didn't look up. "Chino talk to me."
Ghost froze.
"When?"
"After the last game."
Ghost sat across from him, elbows on knees. "What he say?"
"Said the crown come with price."
Ghost cursed under his breath. "Mi told yuh. They always watching."
"I didn't ask for them."
"Don't matter. Yuh got value now. They see that."
Kyle looked him dead in the eye. "What I do?"
"You don't owe him yet. But you make one slip—one bad night, one fight, one favor—and it's over. Yuh become a pawn."
Kyle stood, pacing now.
"If I walk away—what? He send boys? Hurt mi family?"
Ghost didn't answer.
Didn't have to.
Kyle already knew the answer.
Next Day – School
Whispers again. But different this time.
Not about games. Or points. Or leadership.
About Chino.
"Mi see him by the court last night."
"Him talk to Kyle, star. Him trying to pull him in."
"Yuh think he joinin' SixRings?"
Kyle slammed his locker shut harder than necessary.
He stormed into class late. Didn't talk all period. When Coach called for him after lunch, he almost didn't go.
But he did.
Coach Barrett's Office
"You alright?" Coach asked.
Kyle stared at the wall.
"Pressure on the court different than pressure in the street," he said quietly.
Coach nodded. "What happen?"
Kyle shook his head. "Mi not sure yet. But mi handling it."
Coach leaned back, eyes narrowing. "I've seen this before. Talented kids get surrounded. Everyone wants a piece. And most times? The game loses."
Kyle looked up. "I'm not one of those kids."
Coach smiled, just a little. "Good. Then prove it."
Practice
Rico showed up late.
Again.
Kyle was done trying to bridge the gap. He didn't speak. Just hooped.
But Rico?
Rico had fire in his eyes.
He was faster than before. Hungrier. It was like something in him had snapped.
The team finally started to follow the rhythm again—two leaders, two threats.
But Kyle noticed something strange.
Rico kept checking his phone mid-water breaks.
Kept glancing at him.
And then it clicked.
He knew.
About Chino.
Later that night – Ghost's Court
Kyle showed up with a black hoodie and scars on his knuckles from today's hard fouls.
"Mi tired," he said. "Mi not even sure who I'm fighting anymore."
Ghost tossed him the ball. "Then stop fighting them. Fight for something."
"For what?"
"For yuhself. For the boys watching you. For yuh mama who workin' two jobs. For the player you want to be. Because the second you fight out of fear? You already lost."
Kyle bounced the ball once.
Then again.
Then slammed it down and screamed into the empty court.
Ghost just watched.
Silent.
Nodding.
Final Scene – On His Way Home
It was dark.
The streets quieter than usual.
As Kyle walked past the alley by Blue Gate, a figure stepped out.
Chino.
Alone.
"You made your choice yet, King?"
Kyle met his eyes.
"Mi not your pawn. Not now. Not ever."
Chino laughed. Slow. Deep. "You got fire. I like that. But remember… every king who refused to kneel?"
He pointed at the streetlight above them.
"Ends up hangin' from that pole."