Friday night. 6:15 PM. The lights in "The Nest" were so bright they seemed to hum, a high-frequency buzz that vibrated in Leo Vance's teeth.
The Crestwood High locker room was a controlled explosion. The air was thick with the sharp, medicinal smell of athletic tape and IcyHot, the percussive slam of locker doors, and the chaotic, overlapping hype music from three different portable speakers. It was, in a word, loud.
Leo, however, was in a pocket of silence. He sat on the bench, his ankles taped, his brand-new game-day sneakers still pristine. He was methodically lacing them, his movements precise, his focus absolute.
He wasn't just hyped. He was prepared.
"ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP! BRING IT IN!"
The music died. The chatter stopped. The team—his team—gathered, their blue-and-white home uniforms stark under the fluorescent lights. Leo took his place at the front, his eyes on his coach.
Coach Miller was pacing, his face flushed, his expensive polo pristine. He was a promoter, a showman, and this was his opening night.
"This is it!" he boomed, his voice echoing. "Redwood Prep. They think they own this rivalry. They think they can walk into our house, on our floor, and push us around. What do we say to that?"
A low, mumbled "no" came from the team.
"WHAT DO WE SAY?" Miller roared.
"NO, COACH!" the team roared back, the energy finally catching.
"That's right! We say NO! We are going to run them. We are going to gun them. I want to see speed! I want to see highlights! I want to see dunks! I want that 'Blue Wave' student section so loud that Redwood forgets what offense is! We are running the 1-3-1 all night long! We are going to be a storm, a blitzkrieg! We are going to be... SHOWTIME!"
The team erupted. It was a good speech. It was all hype.
Leo clapped, he yelled, he was the Captain. But in his head, he was already hearing Kian's cold, deadpan voice.
It's gimmicky. It gives up the corners.
"Leo! Julian!" Miller yelled, pointing at his two captains. "You lead them. You're the heart, Leo. You're the brain, Julian. Now go! Win!"
The team put their hands in. "WAVE ON THREE! 1... 2... 3... WAVE!"
As the team charged out, Julian Hayes, the smooth senior forward, fell in step with Leo. "He's gonna run that 1-3-1 all night, isn't he?"
"Looks like it," Leo said, his jaw tight.
"It's a mistake," Julian said, his voice low. "Redwood's coach is too smart. He'll pick it apart."
"I know," Leo said. He looked at Julian. "So we just have to be smarter."
Julian raised an eyebrow. "You got a plan, Captain?"
"I've... got some data," Leo said.
The gym was a sea of blue. The "Blue Wave" student section was packed, a roaring, stomping mass of teenagers. On the far side, a smaller, defiant pocket of maroon—the Redwood fans—tried to make their own noise.
During warmups, Leo felt the familiar pre-game adrenaline. He scanned the crowd, a nervous habit. And he found her.
Chloe Kim. She was in the third row, right behind the bench, exactly where she'd be visible. She was sitting with her friends, her bright, infectious smile lighting up her face. She saw him looking, and she waved, her hand flapping enthusiastically.
Leo felt a ridiculous, goofy grin spread across his own face. He didn't wave back. He was in game-mode. He just gave her a short, sharp "Captain" nod. It was, he thought, infinitely cooler. Her smile widened.
He turned back to his layups, his heart a little lighter, his focus sharpening.
He also spotted the other women in his orbit. On the bench, Maya Davis, the Team Manager, was clipboard-in-hand, in a hyper-focused discussion with the referees. And next to her, on a stool, was Elara Chen.
Elara was not a manager. She was the team's self-appointed, unpaid, and utterly terrifying Statistical Analyst. She was a sophomore, like Maya, but she never spoke to the players. She just… watched. She had her own laptop, her own custom-built tracking program, and, according to rumor, she could tell you a player's shooting percentage based on how much sleep they'd gotten.
She was Kian, but with spreadsheets.
The buzzer sounded. The starting lineups were called. The roar was deafening.
Tip-off. Crestwood ball.
The first five minutes were exactly what Coach Miller wanted. Showtime.
The 1-3-1 trap, with Leo at the point of the spear, was fast, chaotic, and effective against a cold team. Leo was a blur. He forced a bad pass. Steal. He dove for a loose ball. Timeout, Redwood.
Crestwood was up 8-2. Miller was ecstatic. The "Blue Wave" was roaring.
Leo, panting, walked to the bench. He saw Kian's data in his head. It's a gimmick. A smart team will kill you with skip-passes.
Redwood's coach, an older, smarter man, was calm. He was talking to his point guard, drawing on a whiteboard.
When play resumed, the game changed.
Redwood came out in a five-out offense. No one in the post. All shooters.
Redwood's point guard dribbled, drawing the 1-3-1 trap. Leo and Dylan Riley converged. The point guard didn't panic. He just... waited.
He threw a pass over the trap, to the high post. That player immediately threw a skip-pass... to the weak-side corner. The exact spot Kian had identified.
Redwood's shooter was all alone. Swish.
Crestwood came down. Dylan Riley, trying to get the points back, drove right. His defender cut him off. He executed his spin move... Kian's tell. The defender, who hadn't been expecting it, was faked, but a Redwood big was there. Block.
Redwood ball.
They came down. Trap. Skip-pass. Corner. Swish.
They came down again. Trap. Skip-pass. Baseline cut. Layup.
By the end of the first quarter, it was 22-14, Redwood.
Coach Miller was no longer smiling. "FASTER!" he screamed. "GET TO THE CORNER! FASTER!"
But it wasn't about speed. It was about geometry. The trap was leaving a man open. It was simple math.
At halftime, the score was 42-28. The "Blue Wave" was silent. Chloe Kim looked worried.
The locker room was a funeral. Coach Miller was pacing, his face the color of Redwood's maroon jerseys.
"I DON'T UNDERSTAND!" he yelled. "YOU'RE NOT TRYING! YOU'RE... YOU'RE LAZY!"
"We're not lazy, Coach!" Julian Hayes said, his voice respectful but firm. "It's the zone. They... they've figured it out. Their corner shooter is 6-for-7."
"So cover him!"
"We can't," Leo said, his voice quiet. He was done being just the "heart." He had to be a brain. "We... we trap the top, the... the corner is open. It's... it's a 3-on-2 on the weak side. It's... it's math."
Miller looked at Leo, his eyes narrowing. He hated being questioned.
Knock. Knock.
The door opened. It was Maya Davis, the manager. And right behind her, holding her laptop, was Elara Chen.
"Coach?" Maya said, her voice firm. "You... you asked for the first-half data."
"Not now, Davis!" Miller snapped.
"Now, Coach," Maya said, her voice dropping, becoming insistent. She stepped into the room.
Elara, silent as a shadow, stepped in behind her. She opened her laptop and turned it to face the coach. It was a shot-chart of Redwood's offense. It was a sea of green... all in the two corners.
"1.52 points per possession, Coach," Elara said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "When they run their 'Zone-Breaker' offense against our 1-3-1. They are shooting 83% from the corners. We are giving them the game."
She clicked a key.
"On the possessions where we were forced into man-to-man due to a fast break," she continued, "they are shooting 31%. The data is... conclusive."
Coach Miller stared at the screen. He looked at Elara. He looked at Maya. He looked at his two captains, Leo and Julian, who were both nodding.
He was... cornered. By math.
He let out a long, slow, furious sigh.
"Fine," he snarled. "Fine! Man-to-man! All second half! But if you let them drive on you... if you get lazy... I... I will... I will run you until you puke! GO!"
The second half was a war.
It wasn't Showtime. It was a grind. It was... Kian's kind of game.
Redwood, suddenly faced with a suffocating man-to-man defense, couldn't breathe. Their offense, which had been so fluid, became a desperate, one-on-one slugfest.
And Leo... Leo was everywhere.
He was guarding Redwood's star point guard, a kid named Thomas, who was used to running free. Leo was... a wall. He was... prepared.
On offense, the "data" was in his head.
He saw Sam get the ball, way out at the logo. Sam was... coiling... to shoot.
"SAM!" Leo yelled, his voice a sharp command. "NO!"
Sam... flenched. He stopped. He looked at Leo, his eyes wide.
"SPOT!" Leo yelled. "CORNER!"
Sam, his face red, passed the ball. The offense reset. Julian got the ball at the elbow, drove, and hit a layup.
Leo ran by Sam, patting him on the rump. "Good pass. Wait for your shot."
Sam just nodded, his eyes full of a new, grudging respect.
With two minutes left in the fourth, Crestwood had clawed their way back. They were down 58-56. The "Blue Wave" was alive.
Redwood was gassed. Their star guard, Thomas, had fouled out.
They subbed in a bench player.
Leo's eyes narrowed. He knew that face. He'd seen that face at the quarry.
Devin Brooks.
Redwood ball. One minute left.
"SAM!" Leo yelled. "ON ME! SWITCH! I'VE GOT HIM!"
Leo moved onto Devin, who looked stunned to see the team captain guarding him.
"You..." Devin sneered, trying to recover. "You're... you're Vance, right? You... you look... just like... your... your little brother..."
He was trying to taunt him.
He's clumsy. All right-hand. Hates pressure.
Kian's voice.
Leo just smiled. "Check."
Devin took the ball. He... drove right.
Leo... just... cut him off.
Devin, as Kian's data predicted, panicked. He... stopped. He... he tried to... force... a pass... to his left.
"TRAP!" Leo yelled.
Julian, hearing the call, left his man and doubled Devin.
Devin was swarmed. He was on his weak hand. He was panicked. He hated the pressure.
He did exactly what Kian knew he would. He threw a blind, desperate, cross-court pass.
Leo... he wasn't... guarding... Devin... anymore. He... he had... already... left.
He was... in the passing lane.
It was the easiest steal of his life.
He plucked the ball from the air. The gym exploded.
Fast break. Ten seconds left.
Leo was dribbling, his heart a drum, his lungs on fire. He crossed half-court.
Nine. Eight.
A Redwood defender cut him off. He... he could... shoot. It... it would be... a bad... shot.
Seven. Six.
He looked. He saw. He processed.
Dylan... is... covered.
Julian... is... too far.
Sam...
Sam... was... in his spot. He was... in the corner. He was... waiting. He wasn't... at the logo.
Leo trusted the data. He trusted his teammate.
He threw a perfect... chest pass.
Five. Four.
Sam caught it. He didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He rose up. His elbow... tucked.
Three. Two.
The ball was in the air. The entire gym... was silent.
Swish.
The gym disintegrated. The roar was a physical thing.
59-58. Crestwood.
One. BUZZZZZZZ.
The buzzer sounded. The game was over.
Leo didn't even... he just... yelled. He fell... to his knees.
He was mobbed.
Sam got to him first, screaming. "I... I DID IT! YOU... YOU PASSED IT!"
Julian piled on. "YOU... YOU READ IT, LEO! YOU READ IT!"
The whole team was a pile of blue-and-white, screaming, laughing, winning.
Ten minutes later, Leo walked off the court, his face streaked with sweat and tears. He high-fived the "Blue Wave" until his hand was numb.
Maya Davis met him by the tunnel, her clipboard held to her chest, her face broken by a huge, proud smile. "That... Captain... was... brilliant."
Elara Chen was beside her, already closing her laptop. She just... nodded. Once. "The... the data... was... correct."
From Elara, that was a love song.
Leo just laughed, his heart too full.
He looked up. Into the stands.
She... she was... still there.
Chloe Kim was at the railing, her friends gone. She was just... waiting. For him. Her face... it... it wasn't just happy. It was... bright.
He walked over, his legs like jelly.
"Leo," she breathed, her voice soft. "That... that was... unbelievable. That steal... and that pass..."
"He... he was in his spot," Leo said, his voice hoarse.
"You... you trusted him," she said, her eyes shining. "That's... that's what... I... saw. You... you made... him... better."
Leo... he had. He... he was... a Captain.
"So," Chloe said, biting her lip, her confidence returning. "My friends... they... they left. But... I'm... going... to 'The Grind.' To... to celebrate. Do... do you... want... to... to come? Just... just you?"
Leo Vance, Captain of the Crestwood Wave, hero of the game, looked at the sunshine in front of him.
"Yeah," he said, his voice cracking. "Yeah, I... I'd... I'd really... really... like that."
He walked towards the locker room, the sound of the crowd... his crowd... roaring in his ears. He was on top of the world.
He... he wondered... for a second... where Kian... was. He... he wished... Kian... had... seen... it. He... he wished... he... could tell... Kian... that he was right.
He... he shook... his... head.
One... brother... at a time.
Tonight... tonight... was his.