The horn blared.
For a second, no one moved. Then the arena erupted. Fans poured over the rails, screaming, waving signs and tinsel and crumpled candy cane wrappers. Wembanyama froze, then smiled—big, sudden, like a kid who'd just found a present under the tree he didn't know he wanted. His teammates tackled him, dogpiling onto the floor, and somewhere in the mess, he felt someone yank his jersey, someone slap his back, someone shout, "Merry Christmas, giant!"
Lin Mo stood at the edge of the chaos, grinning, his knee throbbing but his chest light. He thought of last Christmas: the hospital room, the TV playing this same game, the nurse bringing him a sad-looking fruitcake. He'd felt broken then—like the cracked ornament, like a thread snapped mid-stitch. But Joe had visited, sneaking in a shoebox with a new sewing kit. "Threads mend," he'd said. "People too."
In the locker room later, the celebration was quieter. Players peeled off wet socks, sipped hot cocoa, and laughed about the tinsel. Wembanyama sat on a bench, his jersey still damp, and pulled the old shoelace from his sock. The comma stitch was still there, frayed but holding.
Lin Mo tossed him a towel. "Joe's machine used to sing when he finished a coat," he said. "Not a loud song. A hum. Like it was proud." He nodded at the court, where the net was still swaying, even though the game was over. "That net's singing now."
Wembanyama smiled. "Yeah. It is."
Outside, the snow had stopped. A full moon hung over the arena, bright enough to cast shadows on the parking lot. Lin Mo pulled out his phone, scrolled to a photo: Old Man Joe, bent over his sewing machine, a tiny Christmas tree on the table beside him, its lights twinkling. He texted it to Wembanyama.
Subject: The best thread.
Wembanyama looked at it, then up at Lin Mo. "Thanks," he said, quiet.
Lin Mo shrugged. "Merry Christmas, kid."
In the distance, the arena's lights dimmed, but the net was still humming—soft, steady, like a thread that had found its purpose. Some stories, Lin Mo thought, don't need to be loud. They just need to hold.
And this one? It held.