Halftime didn't sound like relief.
It sounded like a door slamming.
The tunnel swallowed the team, and the roar of the arena became muffled, distant, like a storm behind walls. The fluorescent lights in the corridor were harsh, too white, and they made sweat look like fear.
XH's ribs hurt with every breath. He tried to keep his face neutral, tried to keep his shoulders loose, tried to look like a captain who still believed the game was a game.
But his body didn't believe him.
The red board stamp sat behind his eyes like a bruise.
FAIL.
And then, like his brain was punishing him for surviving, another thought arrived.
What if you choke.
The thought didn't feel like a sentence. It felt like a hand closing around his throat.
He kept walking. He kept moving. He kept pretending.
Inside the locker room, the door shut and the world changed.
The air was thick with sweat, disinfectant, and something metallic. The benches were cold. The coach's voice was loud, trying to make strategy sound like salvation.
"Down by one. We're alive. We're alive. We execute. We stop ball. We rebound. We don't argue with the whistle. We don't look at the stands. We play our game."
Play our game.
XH nodded like he heard it.
His ears were ringing.
Not metaphorically.
Actual ringing, like a high thin note stuck in the back of his skull.
JP sat down hard, elbows on knees, breathing fast. TZ paced in short circles, wiping his face with a towel. NS stood near the board, calm as ever, listening, eyes steady.
XH's hands shook slightly when he reached for his water bottle.
He tightened his grip to hide it.
The bottle felt slippery.
He drank too fast.
The water didn't feel like it touched his thirst.
He swallowed again.
Still thirsty.
A sharp pulse of fear hit him.
Not fear of losing.
Fear of failing.
Fear of being poor and failed and cut off and forgotten.
The coach kept talking, voice overlapping itself.
"Spacing. Screen. Switch. We cannot give them easy threes. We cannot foul. XH, you take the wing. NS, you bring up. JP, you cut—"
The words blurred.
XH stared at the floor.
The floor was speckled gray. The kind of gray that looked like it could be anywhere. Any building. Any institution. Any place where you got evaluated.
What if you bottle it.
The thought returned, sharper.
What if you miss the last shot.
What if you panic.
What if you become the story they want.
XH tried to breathe slow.
His lungs refused.
His chest tightened like a belt being pulled.
He forced air in through his nose.
It came in too shallow.
He tried again.
It came in even less.
The ringing in his ears grew louder.
White light flickered at the edge of his vision.
It wasn't the locker room lights.
It felt like something else.
A different kind of white.
A blur.
A flash.
And then, faintly, like a sound coming from far away down a long road, a siren.
XH's head snapped up.
The locker room was still the locker room.
No sirens.
Just the coach talking.
Just JP breathing.
Just TZ pacing.
Just NS calm.
XH swallowed hard.
The siren stayed anyway, buried under everything.
A phantom sound.
Or a memory he hadn't lived yet.
He pressed his palm against his thigh, grounding himself in pain. The pressure helped for half a second.
Then the thirst returned, brutal and dry, like sand in his mouth.
He licked his lips.
His tongue felt heavy.
He drank again.
The water still didn't fix it.
The panic rose like a tide.
He couldn't stop it.
He couldn't control it.
He couldn't even name it without making it bigger.
The coach's voice became background noise.
XH's thoughts came in fast, ugly bursts.
No cushion.
No backup.
No rich father.
No mansion.
No driver.
No second program.
No safety net.
If I fail, I go home and what.
What.
Work a small job.
Become mediocre.
Watch other people become doctors while I become the guy who "almost" did.
Watch June shine while I disappear.
Watch Kitty move on while I become a cautionary tale.
XH's chest tightened so hard it hurt.
He stood up suddenly, too fast.
The room spun slightly.
JP looked up immediately. "You good."
XH's voice came out rough. "Bathroom."
He didn't wait for permission.
He walked to the corner of the locker room instead, where shadows gathered behind a row of lockers, away from the coach's voice, away from eyes.
He crouched there like he could hide from his own mind.
His breathing got worse.
Fast.
Short.
Shallow.
He put his forehead against his knees.
The siren sound grew louder again.
A white blur filled his vision for half a second.
It felt like headlights.
It felt like an ambulance.
It felt like something cold and bright and inevitable.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
His throat was so dry it felt like swallowing glass.
He tried to drink again but his hands shook.
The bottle slipped.
Water spilled onto the floor.
He stared at the spilled water like it was betrayal.
He couldn't even hold a bottle.
How was he supposed to hold a whole future.
His breath hitched.
A sound came out of him that was almost a laugh and almost a sob.
He pressed his palm against the floor to steady himself.
The floor felt cold.
Cold like metal.
Cold like a hospital railing.
That thought snapped him open.
XH's eyes widened.
He breathed in too hard.
He couldn't get enough air.
His chest seized.
Panic attack.
He knew the term.
He'd studied it.
He'd written definitions on notes.
But definitions didn't help when your own body became the case study.
He felt himself slipping.
Not into sleep.
Into something else.
Into a place where the edges of reality softened.
Where the locker room walls felt too far away.
Where sounds became distorted.
Where the siren didn't feel like imagination anymore.
He heard voices in the distance.
Not the coach.
Not JP.
Not TZ.
Muffled voices.
Urgent.
Like paramedics.
Like strangers telling him to stay awake.
XH's throat tightened again.
He tried to gulp air.
He couldn't.
His hands shook.
He pressed them to his face, trying to force himself back into the room.
He whispered to himself, barely audible.
"Not now. Not now. Not now."
His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
A footstep approached.
XH flinched.
He expected JP.
Or TZ.
Or the coach.
Instead, a softer sound.
A pause.
Then a voice low enough to feel like it was placed gently.
"XH."
Kitty.
XH's head snapped up.
Kitty stood in the men's locker room, hair pulled back, eyes wide with worry, cheeks pale like she had run here on pure instinct.
She shouldn't have been here.
Girls weren't supposed to come in.
Rules.
Protocols.
But Kitty had never been the kind of person to let rules win over someone she cared about, not when it mattered.
XH stared at her like she was a hallucination.
Kitty stepped closer slowly, palms visible, as if approaching a cornered animal.
"It's me," she whispered.
XH's mouth opened, but no words came out.
His breathing was still fast.
His hands still shook.
Kitty crouched down beside him, not touching yet, giving him space.
Her voice was calm.
Not overly sweet.
Not dramatic.
Just steady.
"Look at me," Kitty said softly.
XH tried.
His eyes flicked to hers.
Kitty nodded once like that was enough.
"Breathe with me," she said.
XH's breath hitched.
Kitty didn't get angry.
She didn't tell him to calm down like people who didn't understand.
She made it simple.
"In," Kitty said quietly, inhaling slow.
XH tried to match it.
His chest fought it.
Kitty stayed patient.
"Again," she whispered.
"In."
XH inhaled, a little more this time.
Kitty exhaled slow, demonstrating.
"Out," she said.
XH exhaled, shaky.
Kitty nodded again, eyes glossy but controlled.
"Good," she whispered. "Again."
The siren in XH's head lowered slightly.
The white blur faded at the edge of his vision.
The thirst remained, but it stopped feeling like death.
Kitty reached for the bottle on the floor, picked it up, and held it out gently.
"Small sip," she said.
XH's hands trembled as he took it.
He sipped.
The water finally felt real.
His mouth stopped feeling like sand for half a second.
Kitty watched him like she was watching someone return from far away.
"Why are you here," XH managed, voice rough.
Kitty's eyes softened.
"Because you weren't coming back," she whispered.
XH swallowed hard. "I was."
Kitty shook her head slightly. "Not like you."
XH's throat tightened.
He looked away, ashamed, angry at himself for being seen like this.
Kitty's voice stayed gentle but firm. "You don't have to do this alone."
XH's laugh came out bitter. "I have to."
Kitty's eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, in refusal.
"No," Kitty said. "You want to. That's different."
XH's chest rose and fell slower now, but his heart still pounded.
He stared at the spilled water again.
Kitty followed his gaze.
Then she said quietly, like she was telling him a truth he forgot.
"What happens, happens," Kitty whispered. "But you still show up. You still play. You still try."
XH's jaw clenched. "If I lose, I'm finished."
Kitty's face tightened.
She leaned in slightly, voice low.
"You think everyone else has cushions," Kitty said. "You think you're the only one scared."
XH looked at her, confused.
Kitty swallowed hard. Her voice trembled slightly, but she didn't let it break.
"I'm scared too," Kitty admitted. "I just hide it better."
XH's throat tightened again.
Kitty continued, eyes shining. "You don't have to be a hero. You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to save your whole future in one shot."
XH's laugh was hollow. "But I do."
Kitty shook her head slowly. "No. You just have to give your best shot. That's it."
XH stared at her.
His breathing steadied more.
The siren sound faded into nothing again, like it had never existed.
The white blur stayed at the edge of his mind like a warning, but it stopped swallowing him.
Kitty's hand finally touched his forearm, light contact, warm skin, grounding.
"Look at me," Kitty whispered.
XH did.
Kitty's eyes were wet now.
Her voice was quiet but fierce.
"If you choke," Kitty said, "you choke."
XH flinched.
Kitty didn't stop.
"If you miss," she continued, "you miss."
XH's throat tightened.
"But you don't disappear," Kitty said. "You don't let them write you as a coward."
XH swallowed hard.
Kitty's thumb pressed lightly on his forearm, steady.
"You are not mediocre," Kitty whispered. "Not because you win, but because you keep standing up."
XH's eyes stung.
He blinked hard.
He didn't want to cry.
He couldn't afford to cry.
Kitty leaned closer, voice softer now.
"And I'm here," she said simply. "I'm here."
XH's chest rose and fell slower.
He finally felt like air belonged to him again.
In the distance, the coach's voice called for players to return.
Time.
Kitty glanced toward the locker room entrance.
"Go," she whispered.
XH didn't move immediately.
He stared at Kitty like he wanted to memorize this moment.
Kitty stood slowly, offering a hand up.
XH took it.
Her hand was warm.
Real.
He stood.
His legs felt shaky but holding.
Kitty stepped back, fixing her expression quickly, preparing to leave before staff noticed.
At the locker room entrance, June stood.
Not inside fully.
Just at the edge.
She had seen Kitty go in.
She had hesitated.
She had stayed outside too long.
Because NS had been talking to her in the hallway, voice calm, telling her not to worry, telling her to conserve energy, telling her that panic would ruin them, telling her that people like XH always survived.
June's mother's voice lived in the back of June's mind.
Stick with the most potential one.
June had hated that sentence.
June had followed it anyway.
And now June stood at the entrance, seeing Kitty beside XH, seeing XH's face steadier, seeing Kitty's hand leaving XH's arm like she had just pulled him back from a cliff.
June's eyes tightened.
Not hate.
Pain.
Jealousy.
Regret.
Because June wanted to be the one who went in.
June wanted to be the one who held him.
June wanted to be the one who mattered in the corner.
But she had hesitated.
And Kitty hadn't.
Kitty walked past June without saying anything.
Not rude.
Not smug.
Just moving, because time was short.
June's gaze followed Kitty for a second.
Then June looked at XH.
Her voice came low, controlled.
"You okay," June asked.
XH nodded once.
He didn't say thank you.
He didn't say anything romantic.
His voice was rough. "We need to win."
June nodded, eyes sharp. "Yes."
A beat of silence passed.
June wanted to say more.
XH didn't give her space.
He walked past her toward the court.
June stood there for half a second longer, feeling something twist in her chest.
Kitty had crossed a boundary for him.
June had stayed outside.
June hated that she cared.
June hated that it mattered.
Back on the bench, JP looked at XH's face and knew something happened, but he didn't ask.
TZ saw XH's steadier breathing and nodded once, like he was grateful and suspicious at the same time.
NS watched XH quietly.
His eyes narrowed for half a second.
Then his calm returned.
The second half horn sounded.
The arena roared again.
XH stepped back onto the court with ribs aching, throat still dry, heart still pounding, but his breathing finally under his control.
The white blur stayed at the back of his mind like a future shadow.
The siren stayed buried, faint, almost nothing.
And Kitty sat back in the stands, hands clasped, eyes glossy, watching him like she had just handed him a piece of himself.
June sat down too, posture perfect, but her hands clenched in her lap.
NS stood on the court, calm, mask intact.
VT watched from the sideline, smiling faintly.
The second half began, and the story moved forward, not just toward a scoreboard, but toward the moment where jealousy would become a blade and brotherhood would become a question no one could dodge anymore.