Los Angeles | 2009
Bradley's POV
I sat in my room, idly thinking about the events of the past week. It had been a strange, quiet period of consolidation. Alex and I had kissed, and that single, impulsive act of intimacy had shifted the ground beneath our feet, bringing us so much closer than before. At school, Luke was really rocking that cast on his injured arm, wearing it like a trophy and collecting signatures from everyone he met.
The relative calm had been a welcome, but with a little over a week before the under-14 tournament begins, my focus was narrowing back to the court. I had made some improvements ever since the summer competition, a direct result of the brutal training and the hard-earned lessons from our loss. I could feel it in my muscles, in the way I moved. I was headed in the right direction. I closed my eyes, visualized the familiar interface, and the screen with its golden words manifested before me.
STATUS
Name: Bradley Mark Naird
STR: 14
VIT: 15
AGI: 15
END: 17
DEX: 21
INT: 32
TITLES: TRANSMIGRATOR
TALENTS: SHARPSHOOTER, MASTER STRATEGIST
I let out a slow, satisfied breath. The change in my training schedule had helped me grow more in the past few months than I had in the six months prior. The slow, steady climb in my physical stats was evidence to the intensity of Dad's regimen. But it was the Dexterity score that made my heart beat a little faster. A jump of eight points. It was a massive leap, a direct result of the relentless dribbling drills, the focus on my weaker left hand, the endless repetition. My dexterity had risen tremendously. The ankle-breaker wasn't just as clumsy anymore; it was becoming a viable weapon.
With a new sense of purpose, I stood up and headed out onto the court in my house. The whole team was there, a quiet, expectant energy in the air as Leo, David, Patrick, James, Marcus, and Joshua waited for me.
I stood before them, my voice calm but leaving no room for doubt. "We have only one week left before it all starts," I began, my gaze sweeping over each of them. "From now until Friday, we will be focusing solely on training our coordination and playmaking. I don't just want you to run the plays; I want you to feel them, to anticipate them. We are going to execute perfect games, and it starts right now."
The difference a month of hell can make is astounding.
Throughout last month, this court was a crucible of pain and exhaustion. Today, it was a well-oiled machine. We started with the ball in our hands, running through a series of Advanced Dribble Moves. I watched as Leo and Patrick attacked the drills, their crossovers and spin moves sharp and explosive. Even the bigger guys were moving with a new fluidity.
We transitioned to Shooting Under Pressure, where I had them run game-like scenarios with a defender closing out hard. A month ago, their shots were rushed and clumsy. Today, they were controlled, balanced. The looks of panic had been replaced by focused intensity.
I pushed them harder. We ran an Offensive Agility Course through a maze of cones, and a Defensive Transition Drill that had them sprinting back and forth until their lungs burned. But this time, they weren't complaining. They weren't collapsing. They were communicating, pointing, and moving as a single unit. They didn't tire out easily compared to a week ago. My dad's training, and their own newfound commitment, was paying dividends.
During a water break, Joshua, Marcus, and James approached me, their faces flushed with effort but their eyes bright.
"Man, I gotta admit," Joshua said, taking a long drink from his bottle. "I thought you were a psycho when we started. But... this is working. I feel faster."
"For real," Marcus added. "I was reluctant in the beginning, but now... I'm actually enjoying the process. It's tough, but it feels like we're actually building something."
"He's right," James said with a nod. "We've improved more in this one month than we did in the last season."
I felt a surge of pride, a quiet satisfaction that was deeper than any personal victory. "Good," I said simply. "Because we're not done."
We started with a 3-Man Weave. I put Joshua, James, and Marcus together first. It was a disaster. They moved in a clunky, hesitant line instead of a triangle, their passes were a second too slow, and they finished the drill by practically running into each other under the basket. I made them run it again. And again. I did the same with Leo, David, and Patrick. We drilled until the fluid movement, timing, and teamwork became second nature.
Next, we moved to the Five-Man Weave. This was a more advanced drill, a chaotic mess of moving bodies and shouted names that was designed to test their communication, spacing, and teamwork. At first, it was pure chaos. But slowly, they started to figure it out, their movements becoming less frantic and more deliberate.
Then came the real test.
"Alright," I said, holding up a set of blindfolds I'd brought from the house. "Everyone find a partner."
I explained the drill: Blindfolded Dribbling & Passing. One partner would be blindfolded, and the other would have to guide them with only their voice. It was a pure test of communication and trust. I watched as my players stumbled around, nervously dribbling, completely reliant on their teammates' verbal cues to dribble and pass the ball effectively. There were collisions. There were fumbled passes. But there was also laughter, and for the first time, they were truly listening to each other.
We finished the day with a Pass and Move Countdown. I had them passing the ball in a tight space, and on my command, they had to explode to a new spot and be ready for the next pass. It was a drill designed to keep their minds as sharp as their bodies.
By the end of the session, they were exhausted in a new way. It wasn't just the burn in their lungs; it was the mental fatigue of intense, unbroken focus. They weren't just a group of kids anymore. They were the beginning of a team.
We finished the day with a full-court Game Simulation Scrimmage, where I saw it all come together: David pulling down a rebound and making a perfect outlet pass; Leo running a fast break; Bradley using his strategic passes to create open shots. Even Patrick, who was still learning the game, was making smart defensive plays and fighting for every loose ball.
The "unbreakable unit" I had envisioned was starting to take shape.
I blew the whistle, the sharp sound echoing off the court walls. "Alright, that's enough. Bring it in."
They all collapsed on the floor in a heap of exhausted limbs and sweat-soaked jerseys. The air was thick with the smell of hard work. The others left after drying themselves and resting, my friendship with them was developing but not at the level where we could hang out and joke around. We will hopefully get there one day. Marcus was certainly warming up to me.
"Dude, I think my legs are going to fall off," Leo groaned, staring up at the ceiling.
"But we're getting better," David said, his voice a low, tired rumble. "That was... a good practice."
He was right. The intensity, the focus—it was miles ahead of where we were just a few weeks ago. They had earned a reward.
"Exactly," I said, pushing myself into a sitting position. "Which is why practice is over for today. Let's get cleaned up and go out and hang out at the mall. We can go out bowling again; David needs a chance to defend his title as the reigning gutter ball champion."
David threw a sweaty towel in my direction. "Hey! I was enjoying the fruits of my labor!"
"Bowling sounds good," Patrick added, a tired but genuine smile on his face.
An hour later, we had all showered and changed, the four of us piling into the back of my waiting SUV. The cool leather of the seats was a welcome relief. Harris was in the driver's seat, his expression as neutral as ever.
"To the mall, Harris," I said.
He simply nodded and pulled the car smoothly away from the curb, the camaraderie and light-hearted trash talk already starting up again in the back seat.
Leo was pumped "I'm gonna smoke you guys" he declared.
"No one's competing on this why would you even fire off in that direction" David said exasperated.
"I'm in and get ready to eat dust Leo" I said confidently.
"I'll sit this one out mate gotta chill out at times too you know. David what do you say to getting some popcorn chicken?" Patrick said.
"Hell yeah let's go dude" David said slinging his arm around Patrick's neck.
The second game of bowling unfolded with a completely different energy. While Leo and I continued our competitive streak, trading strikes and spares with a steady stream of good-natured trash talk, Patrick and David were taking it easy. They were laughing at gutter balls, celebrating spares as if they were championships, and generally just having a good time. The tension from the basketball court was completely gone, replaced by an easy, comfortable camaraderie.
During a lull, as David was paying for another round of sodas, Patrick watched us with a thoughtful, quiet smile. "It's different for me here in LA," he said, his voice a little softer than usual. "I finally feel like I'm accepted, you know? Like I'm actually having fun. I really hope it all keeps going this way."
The sudden vulnerability was unexpected, but genuine.
"We got you, man," David said, returning with the drinks and placing a hand on Patrick's shoulder in a simple, supportive gesture.
"Dude, don't get all sappy on us," Leo teased him gently. "You're gonna make me cry."
I looked at Patrick, and I understood exactly what he meant. "I get it," I said, and his eyes met mine. "I feel it too. Like my life is only going to go up from here."
After the game, we spent the rest of the evening roaming around the mall. Our first stop was inevitable.
We invaded the gamezone, a loud, flashing cavern of noise and light. The air was thick with the smell of popcorn and the electric hum of a hundred machines. We found a four-player racing game, the kind with bucket seats and steering wheels that vibrated with every crash.
"Oh, it is ON!" Leo yelled, diving into the driver's seat. "Last place buys the next round of snacks!"
"You're on!" David boomed, squeezing his larger frame into the seat next to him. Snacks really got him going.
What followed was an hour of pure, glorious chaos. We spent an hour in a four-player racing game, shouting and laughing as we traded victories. Leo was a maniac, all aggressive turns and ramming people into walls. David just laughed, whether he was in first place or driving backward. Patrick was a silent surprise, a smooth and precise driver who took clean racing lines and won a game with a charming intensity. I, of course, played to win, using my boost at the perfect moments and cutting corners like a pro. I won once but Patrick was the overall smooth operator.
"Eat my dust, you overgrown sack of potatoes!" Leo screamed at David after a particularly vicious takedown.
"Jokes on you! I'm enjoying the view back here!" David yelled back as he crashed into a wall for the third time.
Eventually, our funds and energy depleted, we made our way to the food court and grabbed a few slices of pizza. We found a table, and for a moment, we just ate in a comfortable, exhausted silence.
Then Leo, ever the instigator, looked at my pepperoni pizza with a thoughtful expression. "You know," he said, "I bet a drizzle of black currant sauce would really elevate that."
The ice cream debate from earlier reignited with a new passion.
"No, dude, it wouldn't!" Patrick shot back with a laugh. "You can't put that on pizza! Pizza is savory. Black currant is for dessert!"
"It's a complex flavor profile!" Leo argued. "It's sophisticated!"
"It's gross, is what it is," I said, taking a large bite. "Chocolate is the only thing that belongs in both a main course and a dessert. Ever heard of mole sauce?"
David, who had already finished his slice and was now eyeing mine, just shook his head. "You guys are nuts. It's pizza. It's awesome. Just eat it."
It was simple. It was fun. It felt normal. And sitting there, arguing about nothing with my friends, I felt a deep, uncomplicated sense of peace.
Finally, as the evening ended, I made the call to Harris. The ride home was full of the easy, tired chatter of a day well spent. We dropped everybody off one by one, with promises to hit the court for practice next week.
As I was heading home myself, with just Harris in the front seat, I leaned my head against the cool window, a quiet, satisfied smile on my face. It was a good day.
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I have started the Timeskip on patreon chapters, things will begin spicing up now. See ya guys next week.