The parking lot at Central Prep looked like a festival ground. Car stereos boomed. Camera flashes lit up the crowd. Families, recruiters, and local media poured through the gates, hungry for a glimpse of the city's best. The City Showcase wasn't just a basketball game; it was the stage. And tonight, Dante King was on it.
Inside, the gym buzzed like it was alive. Packed bleachers, warm-up music thumping, and the unmistakable smell of sweat and popcorn in the air. Scouts lined the baseline with clipboards and iPads. One false move could bury you. One great moment could change everything.
Dante stood just outside the locker room tunnel, dressed in Lincoln black and gold, headphones wrapped around his neck. He bounced the ball lightly in his hands, tuning out everything.
Coach Hale approached, clipboard in hand. "You know the stakes."
Dante nodded. "I know."
"But forget the pressure. Play your game. You belong here."
Dante looked out at the court, the packed stands, the chaos of it all. "I've always belonged. They just didn't know it yet."
Coach smiled. "Good answer. You're leading us out. Lock in."
The buzzer sounded.
The announcer's voice echoed over the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the City Showcase 2025! Featuring the top talent from across the district, including your Lincoln High Lions!"
The crowd erupted, chanting Go Lincoln, go lions, go Lincoln, go lions.
Dante led the team out, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. Cameras flashed as he jogged past rows of students, fans, and faculty. He didn't look at any of them.
His eyes were locked on the rim.
Tip-off was intense.
Lincoln faced Northbrook Tech, a team known for their physical play and full-court press. From the start, Dante had a man in his jersey. A scrappy guard named Zay, built like a cornerback, barking at him every possession.
"You're not that nice," Zay growled after the first two plays. "You just hype."
Dante didn't flinch. On the next possession, he drove hard left, stopped on a dime, and spun back right, leaving Zay sliding like he hit black ice. Midrange pull-up. Net.
The crowd oohed.
Rico, sitting behind the bench, stood up clapping. "Let's go, D!"
Dante jogged back on defense. Still stone-faced. Still locked in.
By the second quarter, he'd found his rhythm.
Step-back threes. Dimes in transition. Smart switches on defense. The scouts started circling his name. Coach Hale barely said anything; he just kept giving Dante the ball.
Malik, playing at the two, was feeding off the attention Dante drew. Slash, catch, score. Andre was cleaning up on the boards. Lincoln led by five at halftime.
In the locker room, Coach Hale kept it simple.
"Keep playing smart. They're gonna come out swinging in the third. Don't blink."
He turned to Dante. "It's your floor now. Run it."
Dante just nodded.
The third quarter was war.
Northbrook turned up the pressure. Zay switched to full-court trap mode. They double-teamed Dante on every touch. He started getting hit, shoulders, hips, knees. No whistles. Just hard ball.
But Dante didn't back down.
He adjusted. Found passing angles through the trap. Called out switches. Set tempo.
Then came the moment.
Three minutes left in the third. Tie game. Shot clock winding down.
Dante crossed Zay, jabbed right, and split the trap with a lightning-quick burst. He rose through the lane, eyes on the rim, and hammered a one-handed dunk over the Northbrook center, a 6'8" shot blocker who had two offers on the table.
The gym exploded.
People stood up screaming. Phones flew into the air, recording. The rim shook.
Even Coach Hale cracked a grin.
On the other end, Zay missed a contested layup. Dante grabbed the rebound and pushed the break, zipping a no-look pass to Malik for the finish.
Timeout Northbrook.
Lincoln's bench swarmed him.
Rico shouted from the sideline, voice nearly cracking: "You him, bro!"
The Northbrook timeout was more than a strategy; it was survival. Lincoln had seized momentum, and Dante was the spark that lit it all up.
In the huddle, Coach Hale didn't shout. He didn't need to.
"Eyes on me," he said, voice calm but firm. "They're about to throw everything they've got. Cheap fouls. Traps. Trash talk. Stay composed. Keep moving the ball, keep trusting each other. And Dante"
Coach looked him dead in the eye.
"Don't stop."
Dante didn't blink. "Wasn't planning to."
The buzzer sounded.
Back on the court, Northbrook came out aggressive. Their coach had clearly given orders: shut Dante King down at all costs. But it was too late.
The fire was lit.
Dante didn't force shots. He didn't have to. He ran the offense like a pro, controlling tempo, reading defenders before they even moved. When they sagged off, he hit threes. When they doubled, he skipped passes to the corners. He ran pick-and-rolls with Andre like they'd played together for years.
Zay fouled out with 5 minutes left in the fourth quarter, chasing a block and catching Dante's shoulder instead.
Dante didn't taunt him.
He just went to the line, wiped his hands on his shorts, and sank both free throws without a word.
Lincoln up by 9.
The crowd roared louder than ever.
But Dante didn't hear them.
Not really.
He was somewhere else, locked into the rhythm of the game, the sound of his breathing, the feel of the ball in his hands. It was like being underwater and flying at the same time. A kind of focus that only came when you stopped thinking and just lived the moment.
Final minute. Lincoln still up 5.
Northbrook made a push, full-court press, trapping hard. But Dante broke it with two quick dribbles and a laser pass to Malik, who finished with a soft floater. Back to seven.
Thirty seconds left. Malik fouled a shooter on a three-point attempt.
The gym tensed. Northbrook's guard hit all three.
Four-point game.
Lincoln inbounded. They swarmed Dante instantly, arms reaching, bodies leaning, slaps at the ball. He danced through them like smoke, then suddenly stopped and launched a one-handed pass the length of the court to Bryce, wide open under the basket.
Slam.
Game.
The buzzer sounded not long after:
Lincoln 78 : Northbrook 72.
The crowd erupted, but Dante didn't raise his arms. He didn't beat his chest. He walked calmly to the bench, grabbed his towel, and wiped his face.
Malik bumped shoulders with him. "You might be the truth, King."
Coach Hale grabbed his arm gently, leaned close. "You just earned a spotlight. Let's make sure it doesn't blind you."
Dante nodded, breathing heavy. "I see it. But I ain't falling for it."
After the game, a reporter from a local sports page cornered him just outside the locker room.
"You're the story tonight, Dante. Seventeen points, nine assists, four boards, two steals, and the dunk of the night. How's it feel?"
Dante looked into the lens. Thought about Rico. Thought about his mom, probably still in her work apron, watching a grainy livestream from her phone on break.
"I'm grateful," he said simply. "But it's one game. There's still work to do."
Click. Flash. Cameras whirring.
The headline would write itself:
"Dante King Shines Bright in City Showcase Debut."
When he finally made it outside, Rico was waiting for him by the fence. Hoodie up. A grin on his face.
"Yo," Rico said, bumping fists. "You cooked. Scouts were scribbling notes like madmen."
Dante smiled back. "It didn't feel real out there."
"It was. And everyone saw it."
A pause. Rico's smile faded just a little. "Things are about to change, D."
Dante looked at the glowing gym behind them.
"Yeah," he said. "I know."
And deep down, he also knew something else,
This was the beginning…
Not of a season.
But of a legend.