The gym stank of sweat, rubber, and defeat.
Derrick Lawson—better known as Coach D to anyone who had ever stepped on a basketball court under his supervision—stood with arms crossed, surveying his team. His high school players slumped over like wilted plants, some with tears streaking down their faces, others muttering curses under their breath.
"Shut your mouths!" Derrick barked, whistle jangling around his neck. "Do you think whining wins games? That blaming your teammates puts points on the board? No! You got lazy. You stopped trusting each other. That's why you lost!"
Silence fell. The words landed heavier than the scoreboard.
He softened, just slightly. "But… loss teaches more than victory ever will. Teamwork, discipline, trust. Put those together, and you can face anything."
A flicker of hope returned to a few eyes.
And then the world went… wrong.
The gym lights flickered violently, the whistle vibrated like a trapped bird against his chest, and the floor seemed to melt beneath him. One second he was yelling at his players, the next he was swallowed by blinding white light.
"Wh—what the—?!" Derrick shouted, flailing, before the light consumed him entirely.
When his vision cleared, he wasn't in the gym anymore.
He was standing on a polished marble floor beneath a vaulted ceiling of colored glass. Rays of sunlight fractured into rainbows on the walls. Around him, robed mages formed a circle, chanting in a language that made his teeth ache just to hear.
At the far end, on a golden throne, sat a king. His robes shimmered like liquid sunlight, and his crown sparkled with gemstones the size of Derrick's fists.
"Another one?" the king muttered. "This… is the teacher of heroes?"
Derrick blinked. "The what now?"
A noble scoffed. "We asked the ritual to summon champions blessed by the gods. Warriors! Sages! Conquerors! And the circle gives us—" He gestured at Derrick's sweat-stained polo and sneakers, "—a commoner."
The mages whispered nervously.
Derrick glanced down. Polo? Check. Sweat-stained. Check. Whistle around his neck? Check. Clipboard in hand? Double check. Yup. Still himself. Still unarmed. Still clueless.
A side door slammed open. Seven figures tumbled in—kids, no older than his players back home. Armor clanged, robes fluttered, and weapons jostled against their backs.
The "heroes."
At first glance, they were chaos personified. The swordsman argued with the mage, sparks flying. The armored brute tripped over his own shield. The timid healer hovered nervously. The rogue was already eyeing the king's pockets. The small girl carried a book twice her size, stumbling over the hem of her robes. And the scholar? He just rolled his eyes like the entire world had gone insane.
"Your majestyyyy!" the rogue shouted, halfway through lifting a golden goblet. "Uh… I mean, your majesty! We, uh, humbly present ourselves as—"
"—a disaster," Derrick muttered.
The king pinched the bridge of his nose. "Behold, the saviors chosen to defeat the Demon King."
Derrick's whistle slipped into his fingers automatically. He gave it a sharp, ear-splitting tweet!
Every head froze. Heroes. Nobles. Even the king.
"Line up!" Derrick barked. "Left to right. Let's go!"
Miraculously… they obeyed.
Seven misfits shuffled into a crooked line, grumbling and muttering complaints under their breath.
Derrick studied them. Aiden, glowing sword in hand, puffed his chest out like he owned the room. Ryker, the armored brute, flexed unconsciously. Selene's fingers sparked dangerously. Kaela trembled slightly. Liora clutched her oversized book like a shield. Jax leaned lazily, dagger spinning. And Darius, the scholar, just glared as if the world was beneath him.
He didn't know where he was. He didn't know what "heroes" meant. He didn't know who this Demon King was.
But he did know one thing: they needed a coach.
He blew the whistle again. Tweet!
"Names! Positions! Start talking!"
Aiden stepped forward first. "I am Aiden Veylor, chosen swordsman, leader of this party, destined to—"
Tweet!
"Silence!" Derrick barked. "Introduce yourself in one sentence. You get two lines max. Stop before you blow the entire prophecy up with your ego."
"…Yes, coach," Aiden muttered.
Selene followed. "Selene Arkwright. Archmage-in-training. I prefer not to take orders—"
"Enough. Shooting guard," Derrick interrupted.
Ryker thumped his chest. "Ryker Thorne. Shield of the kingdom!"
"Center," Derrick muttered.
Kaela whispered, "Kaela Dawnmist… I heal people…"
"Shooter who doesn't shoot. We'll fix that."
Jax spun his dagger lazily. "Jax Merrin. Don't expect me to fight fair."
"Benchwarmer until proven useful," Derrick said, deadpan.
Liora smiled brightly. "Liora Fenwyn! I'll do my best!"
"You don't even know me yet," Derrick said, amused.
"I can tell," she said with complete sincerity.
Darius adjusted his glasses. "Darius Crowne. I've read six volumes on Demon King campaigns. I understand battlefield strategy."
"Cool. Theory's nothing without execution. Your team collapses under pressure, theory won't save you."
Derrick stepped back, whistle dangling. Seven misfits. Zero teamwork. Infinite potential.
He smirked. Day one. They were his. And tomorrow, practice would begin.
"By the way," Derrick muttered under his breath, "if you think summoning me magically made you heroes, you're in for a reality check."
The heroes blinked. They had no idea how right he was.