By Thursday, it wasn't just whispers anymore; it was cold shoulders, skipped passes, and silent huddles.
Dante felt it every minute of practice. When he called out rotations, no one echoed. When he drove and kicked, the shooters hesitated or passed it off again. Andre had barely looked at him since the blow-up. Even Malik, usually neutral, was quieter than usual.
The energy had shifted.
He wasn't just the new guy anymore. He was the threat. The one who'd stolen the spotlight, taken minutes, and earned trust from the coaches too quickly for their liking.
Coach Hale, sharp as ever, saw it all.
During shooting drills, he pulled Dante aside.
"They're testing you."
"I know."
Coach handed him a fresh ball. "This is where most kids fold. They start changing their game, trying to be liked. Forget why they were special in the first place."
"I'm not trying to be liked," he replied confidently.
"Good," Coach said, nodding. "Because when you're aiming high, the higher you climb, the lonelier it gets."
The next game was Friday night, a district matchup against Eastview High.
They were physical, tall, and favored by most of the city's local rankings. The gym was packed. The lights were hot. Eyes everywhere.
Dante sat on the bench, tying his shoes with precision. No music in his ears. Just silence and focus.
Coach Hale clapped once. "Let's lock in."
They warmed up in silence. The crowd roared. Cameras flashed. Dante tuned it all out.
Until he heard, "Yo, D!"
He turned. Rico stood in the third row, both hands cupped around his mouth.
"Kill 'em quiet!"
Dante gave a small nod.
It helped. It reminded him that he wasn't alone. Not really.
Tip-off.
Lincoln started slow. Sloppy passes. Bad switches. Andre missed a layup. Malik turned it over on a fast break.
Eastview led 9–2 in the opening minutes.
Coach Hale called a timeout and stared down the starting five. "Y'all wanna lose this one trying to freeze each other out? Or do you wanna win?"
No one spoke.
Dante didn't wait.
He stood and said, "Run motion four. I'll get it moving."
The players hesitated, but Coach nodded. "Let's go."
Back on the court, Dante took control.
He stopped calling plays by name. He called them by feel. He adjusted to the defense mid-possession. He stopped looking for respect and started demanding results.
A dish to Malik in the corner, a three.
A skip pass to Bryce in transition, a hard dunk.
Then he waved off a screen and hit a pull-up jumper in the defender's face.
Lincoln was back.
The bench stood up. The crowd got loud. And slowly, one by one, the players stopped resisting and started playing.
Because winning changes everything.
At halftime, the score was tied.
The locker room was different now. Still quiet, but focused. Eyes locked on Dante when he spoke.
"They can't guard us if we move the ball. Don't hold it. Cut, screen, trust it'll come back," talking like a boy who was leading lost grown-ups.
Even Andre nodded this time.
Coach Hale paced in front of the whiteboard. "That's the voice I've been waiting to hear."
He drew up a second-half plan. "Run through the wall if you have to. But we leave that floor as one. Got it?"
A chorus of voices answered.
"Got it."
The third quarter was chaos.
Eastview came out pressing hard, hands swiping, bodies banging on every possession. They smelled blood. They wanted to rattle Dante, test whether the calm he wore was just a mask.
But Dante didn't flinch.
He met the trap with split-second decisions, breaking through the double-teams with tight crossovers and delivering crisp passes right into shooters' pockets. On one possession, he broke three defenders with a behind-the-back dribble, cut through the lane, and dumped it off to Andre for an easy two.
Andre stared at him for a second afterward, then gave a quick nod.
That was the first crack in the wall.
Still, Eastview didn't let up. Their point guard was shifty, lightning-quick with a killer floater. Their big man had a soft touch and a mean streak, and by mid-fourth quarter, Lincoln was clinging to a one-point lead.
Coach Hale didn't call timeouts. He watched to see who'd lead.
Andre nodded at Dante, and he did.
He called the plays, waved off the panic, and slowed the pace when it mattered. On a crucial possession with two minutes left, he brought the ball up, dribbled past the half-court logo, and waited.
Malik cut across the baseline. Bryce set the screen. The trap came.
Dante skipped the ball to the weak side, Andre, open at the elbow.
Andre could've forced the shot, but this time… he passed it right back.
Dante caught it in rhythm, rose, and drilled a three.
Crowd: exploded.
Lincoln by four.
Dante gave a satisfied nod to Andre. He jogged back on defense, expression cool, heart hammering in his chest.
The final minute was a blur. Eastview cut it to two. Lincoln turned it over. Timeout with 18 seconds left.
Coach drew up a basic high screen, but before they broke the huddle, he looked at Dante.
"You good?"
Dante's eyes didn't move. "We close this."
Out of the timeout, the inbound came to him. Eastview trapped immediately.
He didn't panic.
He dribbled through a gap, attacked the lane, pulled up as the defense collapsed, and dished it to Malik trailing from the wing.
Malik rose.
Bang.
Corner three.
Ball game.
Lincoln 67 – Eastview 62.
As the buzzer sounded, the crowd rose to its feet. Students stormed the baseline, cheering, holding up signs, filming every second.
Dante turned toward the bench, already pulling his jersey loose to cool off.
Malik caught up and bumped his shoulder.
"Alright, alright," he said, breathing hard. "You ain't bad, East Side."
Dante cracked a grin. "Took you long enough," he said in his head.
Even Andre walked by and slapped his hand once. "Good game, man."
Dante gave a slight smile.
It wasn't a parade.
But it was a start.
After the game, Coach Hale gathered them in the locker room.
"I saw growth tonight," he said, pacing. "Not just skill. Growth. Trust. You think winning games is hard? Try building a team," they smiled.
He paused, looked around.
"I need leaders. Not just scorers. Not just dunkers. Leaders."
His eyes landed on Dante.
"You ready for that?"
Dante didn't hesitate. "Yeah, Coach, we're ready."
"Then keep proving it. Because this season's just getting started."
Outside, the parking lot buzzed. Rico waited near the fence, hoodie up, same grin as always.
"You're on a roll, bro."
Dante nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead with his warm-up shirt.
"Game's getting faster," he said.
"You're catching up."
"No," Dante said. "I'm setting the pace now."
Rico laughed. "Say that, King."
As they walked toward the bus, Dante glanced back at the gym.
The weight was still there, the pressure, the target, the responsibility.
But something had shifted.
He wasn't carrying it alone anymore.