The only sound was the rhythmic slap of Kian's sneakers on the dark, empty pavement. He was running, not from, but through. He had fled the estate, a raw, exposed nerve, but the collision with Anya Petrova had fundamentally altered his trajectory. It was a chemical reaction. The acidic, paralyzing shame from Leo's accusation—Just like him!—had been neutralized by the cold, clear logic of Anya's analysis.
Disappointment is just data.
You just didn't check your work with the rest of the universe.
He wasn't a monster. He was an idiot. He had solved for x (Leo's defense) but had completely ignored y (Dylan's jealousy) and z (Sienna's capacity for revenge). The result was a catastrophic, system-wide failure.
He had made Leo the target. He had given his brother a loaded weapon with no training, no context, and no armor, and had then acted surprised when Leo had, in his own pain, turned and fired it right back.
Kian stopped running. He was at the quarry.
The place was pitch black, the familiar concrete bleachers just a pale, ghostly shape against the night. This was his first lab. The place he had fixed Milo. The place where he had run from his friends. Now, it was just a quiet, cold place to think.
He sat on his spot, the wind cold against his face.
Alexei Petrov's sister.
That was new data. It was a dangerous, fascinating complication. The girl who saw him, really saw him, was the sister of a player from a rival team. It was... messy. He hated messy.
And yet, her logic was the only thing holding him together.
Disappointment is just data.
He pulled out his phone, the screen obnoxiously bright in the dark.
Problem: Leo's team is fractured.
Variable 1: Leo's authority is compromised.
Variable 2: Dylan Riley is in open mutiny.
Variable 3: Sam Miller and the "vets" now question the source of Leo's leadership.
Conclusion: The team's trust = 0.
This wasn't a problem he could fix. Not directly. He couldn't walk into that locker room and give a speech. He cringed at the thought. He couldn't take back the data. He couldn't un-fix Dylan's flaws or Sam's shot.
He had made Leo dependent on a secret. Now, the secret was out, and Leo was holding the bag.
Kian had to change the equation. He couldn't be the "secret weapon" anymore. It was too dangerous. It made Leo a puppet, a liar.
He had to make Leo independent. He had to give him the tools, not just the answers. He had to teach his brother how to see the data for himself.
He stood up. He had a plan. It was a Kian-plan. It was cold. It was analytical. It was work.
He started the long, eight-mile walk home.
Back in the pristine, haunted, private gym, Leo Vance was on his knees.
He was in the exact spot Kian had been standing. The six small, terrified kids had fled, their footsteps echoing in the massive, empty space. He was alone.
He looked at the fallen whistle on the floor. He picked it up. It was still warm.
He looked at the whiteboard. Milo = Brain. You are me. Do not screw it up.
Leo's anger, the white-hot rage that had propelled him down the hall, had evaporated, leaving him cold, sick, and ashamed.
He had been so stupid. He had been so blind.
He had accused Kian of spying on his team, of using them as a lab. He was wrong.
This was the lab. This was the secret. Kian hadn't been using Leo's team. He had been building his own. A team of six small, broken, fatherless kids.
Hammer. Brain. Roll. Wall.
Kian hadn't been trying to hurt Leo. He had just been overflowing. He had been so consumed by his own secret work, his own project, that his "fixing" compulsion had just… leaked... onto Leo's problems.
He was like their father. Not because he was selfish. But because he was obsessed.
Leo felt a deep, profound, and bottomless empathy that was so strong it almost made him gag. He... he was the "Captain." He was the "leader." He loved the feeling of building his team, of fixing Sam's shot, of encouraging Benjy.
Kian, his cold, broken, "Ice-Man" brother... felt the exact same thing.
And Leo... Leo had found that one, tiny, vulnerable, living part of his brother... and he had gutted it.
Just... just like... him!
Leo sat on the perfect floor, his head in his hands. "Oh, god," he whispered. "What... what did I do?"
"Leo?"
His mother's voice. She was standing in the doorway, her face pale, her hands twisted in her apron. "Arthur... he told me... Kian had a... a project. I... I didn't... I thought... it was art..."
She walked onto the court, her eyes wide, taking in the whiteboard, the cones, the agility ladder.
"He's been... coaching them," Leo said, his voice a dead monotone. "Here. Every day. He... he loves this, Mom. In... in his own... screwed up... Kian way. He... he loves this. And... and I... I just...I just...called him...'Father'."
Alicia's hand flew to her mouth, a sharp, pained gasp. "Oh, Leo... no."
"I... I had to!" Leo said, his own pain and humiliation surging back. "He... he ruined... my team! Dylan... Sienna... they told everyone. They... they think... I'm a...fraud. They... they hate me. And... and they hate... Kian. It's all... a...mess!"
AlicIA, the fixer, the nurse, saw the wound. Her two sons, both of them, were bleeding out.
"Leo," she said, her voice firm, pulling him back. "Your... team... is angry. Because... they feel...deceived. Dylan... is just...a catalyst. Your... your real... problem... is...Julian. And Sam. The... the ones... who...trusted you."
Leo looked up at her, his eyes red. "They... they hate me."
"No," she said, kneeling in front of him, on the floor. "They... don't. They... they feel...betrayed. There is... a difference. Betrayal... can be...fixed. You...are...their captain. You... will fix it."
"How?" he whispered. "How... do I...fix...any of this?"
"You... you...cannot...fix...Kian," Alicia said, her voice full of a sad, hard-won wisdom. "Only Kian... can...fix Kian. And he... he can't...fix...your team. Only you... can do that."
She stood up. "You... you are... not... a fraud, Leo. You... are... a leader. So...lead. Go...talk...to them. Tell them... the truth. Your truth. That... your brother...is...a...broken...genius... and...you...used...his...help... because...you...wanted...to win. Be...honest. Be...a captain."
Leo looked at her. She was... right.
"And Kian...?" he asked, his voice small.
"Kian... will come home," she said, her own voice trembling. "He... he always... comes home."
It was just after midnight. The Vance estate was dark, every light off, the entire house holding its breath.
Kian walked, his legs sore, his mind clear, up the long gravel driveway. He let himself in the front door, the click of the lock echoing in the marble hall.
He was a ghost. He moved, silently, up the grand staircase.
He paused at the top. Leo's door... was closed.
Kian stood there for a long time. He wanted... to knock. He wanted... to say... something.
But... what? 'Sorry I fixed your team so well they mutinied'?'Sorry I'm not... Dad?'
The words were... stupid. They were useless.
Disappointment is just data.
An apology... is not...data. It's...noise.
Kian turned. He went to his own room. He didn't turn on the light. He just... sat... at his desk, the glow of his laptop illuminating his face.
He opened a new file.
He began to type.
He typed for three straight hours. He downloaded film from the school's server. He analyzed it. He created charts. He diagrammed plays.
He wasn't just giving answers. He was showing his work.
SUBJECT: PICK-AND-ROLL DEFENSE (VANCE, L.)
FLAW: Passive 'Go-Under' Strategy. Allows open mid-range shots for shooting PGs (e.g., Javi Rojas).
SOLUTION: 'Hard Hedge & Recover'.
STEP 1: On-ball defender (Leo) fights over the screen. Forces the ball-handler to the baseline.
STEP 2: Screener's defender (Marcus) HEDGES. He must jump out, hard, above the screen, cutting off the drive.
STEP 3: Leo recovers to his man. Marcus recovers to his. It is a... two-person... rotation.
RISK: Leaves the roller (Marcus's man) open for a 0.5-second window. This is... unavoidable. It requires... weak-side... rotation... from the... 3-man (Julian).
CONCLUSION: This is hard. This requires trust. This is... the only way... you will... stop... St. Jude's.
He did this... for everyone.
SUBJECT: SAM MILLER. FLAW: Shot Selection (Emotional).
SOLUTION: 'The Corner Office'. 85% of shots must come from the 'spot'.
SUBJECT: DYLAN RILEY. FLAW: One-Dimensional (No Left).
SOLUTION: The floater. He... cannot... develop... a left-handed... layup... in... one season. It's... impossible. He can... develop... a... one-handed... right... floater... from the... left side... of the... lane. It... is... a... counter... to his... own... flaw.
It was 4:00 AM. He had created a bible. A thirty-page, hyper-detailed, brutal analysis of every single flaw... and every single solution... for the Crestwood High "Wave."
He printed it. The warm pages hummed in his hand.
He walked out of his room. The house was dead silent. He walked down the hall to Leo's door.
He... couldn't... knock.
So... he slid... the entire...thirty-page...manifesto... under his brother's door.
It made a soft...shuffling...sound.
Kian turned. He went back to his room.
He hadn't apologized. He hadn't fixed... them.
But... he had... given... Leo... the keys. He had... given him...the entire...lab.
He fell onto his bed, his clothes still on. He was... empty. He was... done.
Two hours later, at 6:00 AM, Leo Vance's alarm went off.
He sat up, his body aching, his head pounding. The shame... the guilt... of his...fight...with Kian...had...kept him...awake...all night.
He... he had... to face...his team. He... he had...to...apologize. He... had...no idea...what...to say.
He swung his legs over the bed. His feet... hit...something.
He... looked down.
A stack... of paper.
He... he picked it up.
He read the cover page.
CRESTWOOD 'WAVE' SCOUTING ANALYSIS & SOLUTION PROPOSALS.
PREPARED BY: K. VANCE.
Leo... stared. He... opened... it.
He saw... his own name. 'FLAW: Passive 'Go-Under' Strategy.'
He saw Dylan's name. 'FLAW: One-Dimensional.'
He saw Sam's name. 'FLAW: Shot Selection (Emotional).'
He saw... solutions. He saw... diagrams. He saw... data.
He... he read...Kian's...solution...for Dylan. 'The floater. It is a counter to his own flaw.'
Kian... hadn't just...scolded... Dylan. He... had...found...a...solution...for him.
Leo... realized... what this was.
This wasn't... a...scouting report.
This... was...an apology.
This... was...Kian's...way...of...saying..."I'm sorry."
This... was...Kian...giving...him...everything. Handing him...the...'brain'.
Leo... held... the...papers...to his...chest.
He... knew... what...he...had...to do.