Our bench had lost the light it normally had, now it just felt like a war zone medical tent. Jensen looked like he had just been dug up from a shallow grave, his jersey soaked through, kicking a stray water bottle out of pure frustration. My bandaged head was already turning a faint pink from the leaking blood, and every breath I took felt like a tiny knife twisting between my ribs.
Me: Coach, please. I wanna play the full ten minutes of this final quarter.
Coach John: Don't even think about that. Treasure explicitly said tha---
Me: I don't care what Miss Edwards said!. With all due respect, I'm not sitting out. If we lose this match, i wanna know i lost fighting.
Coach John: watch the tone
Me: (sniffing) I'm sorry coach
Coach John: (staring hard at me, then sighing) look. I get it, you wanna die fighting. You wanna go down without regrets. But you're a sixteen year old kid with parents who worry about you. The lat thing i need is you getting broken beyond fixing. You're bleeding from your head, you can't breathe without feeling pain, you're tired. I can't risk you playing the full quarter. Left for me, I wouldn't want you in at all.
Me: I promise you coach. I'm Fine, I can do this, I swear.
Coach John: you're not playing the full quarter.
Me: (sighing heavily)
Coach John: But here's what we can do. Everyone listen up!, slam your glucose packets right now. We need a recovery bridge.
We all huddled in, ripping open the glucose gel packets, practically begging the sugar to hit our bloodstreams instantly. Coach John slapped his clipboard, laying out a desperate, defensive blueprint.
Coach John: Jensen, James, Keima. You three are running on fumes. I am giving you exactly two minutes to breathe and gather your energy before you go in there to fight. Damian, you're in for James. John, you're in for Keima. Milo, you're coming in for Jensen.
Milo: Yes, Coach.
Coach John: Milo, your only job is their speedster. Praise Tito thinks he's a bullet?. You are his shadow. Let him run, but you stay glued to his hip. The rest of you, Damian, John, Jace, Matt. Form a strict wall around our arc. Do not chase them outside. Stop any inside movement, completely lock down the paint, and only pull out one person at a time to challenge when they rotate. We just need to survive the first two minutes. Am I clear?
Team: Yes, Coach!
The buzzer sounded for the start of the fourth quarter. I slumped onto the bench next to James and Jensen, our chests heaving as we watched the substitutes march onto that cracked, treacherous floor.
The first sixty seconds were pure, unadulterated chaos. Milo played out of his skin, chasing Praise across the court like a dog looking for a bone, completely disrupting their quick-transition offense. Jarquin looked visibly frustrated by our sudden shift to a slow, suffocating defensive wall. If you're familiar with football, this is what we call haramball. It's boring, we all hate playing this way but we don't have much of a choice right now. King tried to force an isolation drive down the center, but Damian and Matt rotated heavily, creating a wall of legal bodies that forced King into a heavily contested mid-range brick.
But you can't keep a toxic, hyper-talented team down for long with just substitutes. With 08:45 on the clock, Agent 0 drew a horrific, phantom shooting foul on John. The referee blew his whistle with absolute glee, sending Agent 0 to the line where he easily sank both. Starling 57 - 62 Jarquin.
On our next possession, Jace tried to anchor the offense, bleeding the clock down to ten seconds before hitting a beautiful step-back mid-range jumper to answer back. Starling 59 - 62 Jarquin. Then, the wheels started falling off our bench wall. Praise realized Milo was strictly tracking him, so he used a heavy off-ball screen from Paul to break free. King spotted the sliver of space and whipped a bullet pass straight to Praise, who exploded baseline, completely breaking John's ankles on a secondary rotation before laying it in.
By the time the clock ticked down to 08:00, King had picked off a lazy pass from Damian, transitioning it into a flashy, uncalled-travel dunk that sent the Jarquin crowd into an absolute frenzy.
The scoreboard flashed: STARLING 59 - 66 JARQUIN.
Coach John: (screaming at the scorer's table) REFS!. TIMEOUT!.
Jensen, James, and I stood up from the bench, wiping the sweat from our eyes as the glucose finally started screaming through our veins.
Me: (slapping Jensen's jersey) It's just 7 points right?. Nothing we can't comeback from
Jensen: (laughing) Yes my delusional friend. Nothing we can't comeback from.
We checked back into the game, but the momentum was heavily riding on Jarquin's side. The glucose gel was finallly hitting my system, giving me a jittery, artificial surge of adrenaline, but it couldn't mask the dull, heavy throb in my skull or the sharp heat in my chest. Stepping back into the court, the air in the gym felt twice as thick as it had before the timeout. The Jarquin crowd was beating a rhythmic cadence against the metal bleachers, a suffocating wall of sound that made my ears ring.
Jensen brought the ball up, his face locked in that deadpan, hyper-focused mask he gets when he's pushed to the absolute brink. Praise met him immediately at the timeline, picking him up full-court, his sneakers slapping loudly against the concrete as he crouched low, his mouth moving a mile a minute.
Praise: Can't breathe, can you?. Look at you. You guys are done. How about you just pack up and go home.
Jensen: (protecting the ball with a low, heavy crossover) How about you just shut up
Jensen gave a sharp head-fake to the left, hesitated just long enough to make Praise shift his weight, and then exploded down the right side of the lane. It was a pure, explosive burst of remaining will. The Jarquin defense collapsed instantly, three white jerseys flashing in front of the rim to challenge him. Without looking, Jensen wrapped a spectacular, blind pass around Agent 0's hip, sending the ball skipping straight to James in the corner. James didn't hesitate. He rose up, his form picture perfect, and buried a smooth three-pointer that barely rippled the net. Starling 62 - 66 Jarquin.
Our bench went crazy, but there was no time to celebrate. King was already walking the ball up the other side, gesturing for a spread floor, draining the energy out of the room by operating with a terrifying kind of patience. How the hell is this dude not tired?.
He used his massive frame to shield the ball from me, pounding it into the floor waiting for the defense to break. He drove hard left, using his shoulder to bump me right in my aching chest. I gasped, stumbling back half a step, and that sliver of space was all he needed. He dropped a slick pocket pass through the paint to Paul, who was cutting baseline. I tried to recover, but Paul caught it in stride and finished with a thunderous, two-handed flush right over Matt's outstretched arms, the rim rattling violently long after he let go. Starling 62 - 68 Jarquin.
With 06:10 on the clock, we tried to answer. James tried to duplicate his success from the corner, but Agent 0 chased him off the three-point line with a hard, aggressive closeout. James was forced to improvise, driving into the teeth of the defense and tossing up a tough, contested floater. The ball rattled violently around the iron, hanging on the rim for a split second before rolling out.
Beluolisa snatched the defensive rebound for Jarquin and pushed the pace instantly, launching a full-court outlet pass to Praise. Praise caught it at the opposite three-point line and tried to show off, driving inside and spinning through the air for a flashy layup. But Jensen had tracked him the entire way. Jensen timed his jump perfectly, rising up and cleanly swatting the ball against the backboard with a sickening smack.
Me: (screaming) MY BALL!
I snatched the rebound out of the air, my head throbbing from the sudden, jarring motion, and pushed the ball up the floor. My vision was blurry at the edges, the sweat stinging my eyes, but I saw Jace streaking down the right wing. I gathered myself and threw a risky, one-handed bullet pass right through the eye of a needle, slicing between two recovering Jarquin defenders. Jace caught it in stride, got fouled heavily across both arms by Paul, but somehow maintained his balance to scoop the ball high off the glass and into the hoop.
The referee blew the whistle, an undeniable foul, one free throw. The Starling crowd erupted as usual. Why??. I think they're all dumb, they should have gotten used to the weird ass refreeing. Jensen stepped up to the free-throw line, wiped his brow with his jersey, and calmly knocked down the free throw. Starling 65 - 68 Jarquin. We were breathing down their necks, just three points away.
Jarquin didn't panic though. They were too toxic, too experienced to let a run break them. I get Coach's point now, I'm dying here and even though I don't want to admit it, I don't think I can go the full match.
With 04:50 remaining, King completely slowed the game down again. He didn't even bother running a play. He just stood at the top of the key, bleeding the shot clock down from twenty, staring directly into my eyes with a smug, mocking grin. Every second that ticked off felt like a minute to my lungs. With about five seconds left on the shot clock, without a single screen or warning, he pulled up from deep, well behind the high school arc and hit a cold-blooded, contested three right in my face. It didn't even touch the rim. Starling 65 - 71 Jarquin.
The psychological toll was heavier than the physical one. On our next trip down, the exhaustion finally caught up to my decision-making. Jensen tried to feed me on a backdoor cut, but my legs didn't react fast enough to the pass, it honestly felt like they were stuck in wet cement. Agent 0 anticipated the bounce pass perfectly, picking it off and triggering a fast break. He tossed it up to King, who attempted a layup but luckily for us Matt came out from no where to save our ass.
The gym was starting to get wayyy too loud for me. The Jarquin players were flexing, yelling at our bench, and my lungs felt like they were filled with hot sand. Every breath was a struggle.
With 03:40 remaining Jarquin resumed play, King executed a vicious double-crossover on me. I planted my feet, refusing to bite, but as he exploded past my hip, he deliberately dug his elbow straight into my bruised ribs. The impact took the remaining air completely out of my lungs. I collapsed hard onto the uneven court, my head bouncing off the floor right near that stupid, familiar crack.
No whistle. King kicked the ball out to Beluolisa, who calmly sank a two
STARLING STRIKE 65-73 JARQUIN HIGH | Q4 | 03:24 REMAINING
The buzzer didn't even sound. I was just flat on my back, the deafening roars of the hostile Jarquin crowd sounding like they were underwater. A tear ran down the side of my face, mixing with the sweat and the fresh blood seeping through my bandage.
Me: (huffing) I'm tired. I can't anymore.
Jace: (jogging over) now's not the time to be saying that.
Me: (letting out a tear, clutching my chest) you don't understand Jace. I can't, i-i just can't anymore.
Jensen: (dropping to his knees, grabbing my shoulders) hey hey hey. Look at me, we're getting through this together.
Me: (crying openly now) I can't breathe anymore, all my ribs hurt, the refree is choosing to be blind. And we're losing. I don't wanna lose.
Jace reached down, grabbing the front of my jersey with both hands while staring right into my soaked eyes.
Jace: neither do we. But we can't let them see us weak. We can't let them have the last laugh after all the shit they've pulled. We have to push for this remaining three minutes.
Jensen: (wiping the blood and tears from my forehead with his jersey) I know you're hurting, believe me I know. But us losing will hurt more, so please wipe your tears.
Me: I'm sorry. I'm sorry guys but I can't. I don't have the strength to anymore. I can't even breathe.
Jensen: (cutting me short) remember what you said?. When you said your parents gave you a name to testify to your birth?. Remember what you said your name meant?.
Me: (sniffing) my strength will never fail.
Jensen: Then live up to your name. Your strength won't fail you, right?. Or was all that just talk. You think we aren't tired too?. Uhh.
Jace: You think we have unlimited stamina?. You think our lungs don't hurt too?. Be a fucking man, what happened to you going down fighting, was all that just talks?.
Jensen: You're the wonder kid of Starling Strike for heavens sake. You've always found a way when we had none. How about you do that now. You love the chaos right?, I don't know about you, but this is quite chaos-y
Jace: (slapping my chest) come on, We're the unholy trinity. It's time we showed them why we're called that.
Me: (sniffing) I don't wanna lose. I don't wana.
Jace: good, now let's go. We have just three minutes to wrap things up.
Me: (sniffing then sighing) do you guys trust me?.
Jensen: where's this coming from?.
Me: do you guys trust me?.
Jace: yes we do
Jensen: no I don't, last time you asked this we all know how it ended.
Me: (chuckles) I know. But I'll need your trust on this
Jensen: fine. I trust you.
Me: good. Now listen. Let me handle King.
Jace: fuck no
Jensen: yeah fuck no
Me: trust me. Just trust me. Now, no matter what happens, no matter how much I ask for a pass. As long as I wave my right hand, do not pass the ball to me. And when you see me man-marking King, let him be, but stalk him close enough to still the ball
Jensen: getting the ball off that demon is hard, or are we forgetting how good he is?.
Me: trust me, I'll make it work. Relay this to James too. You're both decent thieves.
Jace: already worked out a plan I see
Me: yeah. I think so. Inform everyone else. We start with Girallo. Slow tempo. We force them to our pace. Let's go.
My plan was simple, really reckless but simple. Now, you might be thinking, why would I give out such bizarre instructions?.
You'll see. Matt made the inbound pass to Jensen and I immediately found my way to King. It's time I put my plan to bed.
Me: you know?. For someone who was said to be the bigger threat, you're being outperformed by praise who was a bench player.
King: (silent)
Fuck!. For my plans to work, I need him to take the bait.
Me: All you've been doing all day is fouling. That's literally your game plan. Have anything else in mind?. I mean, even Simon who was ejected played better than the shit I'm witnessing from you.
King: maybe when you start leading you can talk
There it is, almost biting. One more strike.
Me: how can I?. When you're literally scared. You're scared of Starling's best player.
King: (scoffs) and who's that?. You?.
Me: for a fact. Just can't say the same about you.
King: And what's that supposed to mean?.
There we go, now let's reel him in slowly
Me: Starling's best vs Jarquin's best. That's if you really are.
King: I am. What's the challenge?.
Me: 1v1. First to five baskets win. Not counting free throws. You in?.
King: you bet
Me: you know what 1v1 means right?. You receive the ball, you drive yourself, beat your man and score. Are you sure you can handle that?.
King: That's a question for you
Me: (chuckle) then may the best man win.
Fucking idiot. Took the bait like an egotistic fool I knew he was.
Now while this was going on, the boys had already pushed forward with the ball, this and that happened and Jace got us a 2. I can't cover how it happened cause I literally didn't even see shit. Starling Strike 67-75 Jarquin High.
The referee blew the whistle, gesturing for Jarquin to inbound the ball.
Paul passed it in to Agent 0, who brought it up the court with a slow, arrogant bounce. He scanned the floor, waiting for King to create space. My eyes were completely engaged now. I ignored King's body entirely and just watched his feet and hands.
There it was. King pointed his finger at the hardwood right near the left wing, then began to step hard in the opposite direction to draw me away. It was his signature deception setup.
I know for a fact that He's going to snap back toward the ball for a ground pass.
The exact second Agent 0 whipped a hard ground pass toward the wing, I didn't chase King's fake. I sprinted straight into the predicted passing lane, bringing forth my inner Cheluchi, and snatched the ball mid-air with both hands.
King: What the—
Me: (screaming) REBOUNDING!. MOVE!
I didn't even try to sprint baseline, my chest still forbade it, but I whipped a lightning-fast chest pass to Jensen at the center of the court. Jensen took two hard dribbles, drawing Paul out of the paint. Remembering my scouting report from the second quarter, Jensen didn't shoot. He hit Paul with a heavy shot-fake.
The giant went flying into the air, his old knees completely locking up. Jensen waited patiently for the giant to crash back down to earth, then executed a slick, no-look bounce pass right through his frozen arms to me as I trailed into the paint. I rose up, sliding under Paul's massive frame, and dropped a smooth, uncontested layup into the net.
STARLING STRIKE 69 - 73 JARQUIN | Q4 | 02:18 REMAINING
King: (glaring at Agent 0) Secure the ball!. How are you letting a broken kid read your passes?!. Are you a freaking dullard?!
Agent 0: Shut up
Their chemistry was completely dissolving, just like I wanted. Now it's time to grill my caught fish.
Me: (to king) Are you really their best player?. You'll never see my people disrespect me.
King: Shut it.
Me: okay. I'm just saying. And just so you know. It's 1-0 in favour of yours truly.
I don't mean to tap myself in the back but, I'm such a genius. Why stress my brain when I can have them do our work for us. And you see that little taunt against King, trust me he'll lose his mind. Making things much more easier for me.
On the next possession, just as i predicted King got incredibly greedy, wanting to get back at me. He refused to pass to Praise, who was wide open on the baseline.
I shadowed King's hip, weaponizing my greatest weapon, my mouth.
Me: what's with the hold up superstar?. Come on, beat me.
Praise: (screaming at King) Pass the ball, pass the fucking ball!
King lost his composure completely. He ignored Praise, forcing a terrible, heavily contested fadeaway jumper straight over my extended arms. The ball hit the rim hard and clanged off. Matt fought like a demon under the glass, securing the defensive board and immediately outletting it to Jensen.
Jensen ran the floor, forcing the defense to collapse center, then whipped a pinpoint pass to Jace trailing on the wing.
Our sniper didn't even dip the ball. He just caught, elevated, and released.
Swish.
STARLING STRIKE 72 - 73 JARQUIN HIGH | Q4 | 01:05 REMAINING
The Jarquin coach was screaming on the sidelines, completely losing his mind, but he had no timeouts left.
Me: (to king) i meannnn, uhhh. I don't know?. You're shit. Really shit. Can't even make a fucking shot.
King: Shut up
Me: okay tiger.
paul brought the ball back in play and they spent the first 10 seconds just passing the ball around, praise made sure to inform his team to avoid passing to King. Fuck. Come on. Things were just getting really good. My thanksgiving turkey was almost ready for slaughter.
The ball found it's way to Agent 0 who slowly drove left pulling Jace with him before making a pass to the other side of the court towards king. But before the ball could get to him, praise popped out of no where and swiped the ball mid-air. He immediately pushed towards our arc aiming to take on Matt. Our mistake though, cause that wasn't even his plan. He popped the ball up to no one, no one being the 6 foot something father who's playing with children. Paul grabbed the ball and dunked a 2 pointer on our heads.
STARLING STRIKE 72-75 JARQUIN HIGH
Shit, shit, shit. We don'teven have up to a minute. This time I made the inbound pass to avoid king. But oh would you look at this, those bastards decided to implement "haramball". Everyone was around their paint. So how did we reply?. Girallo. We just kept spamming passes from one point to another, this was our only option, we needed to create the space. Shit went south though when I threw a pass to Matt, who not only lost his timing, he also lost his handling. Agent 0 immediately intercepted the ball and broke away. With 20 seconds left on the game clock, he tried to drive, but Jace played like a man who had everything to lose, cutting off his lane. Agent 0 was forced to drop a panicky pass to Cheluchi, who attempted a desperate reach-in layup. Matt heavily contested the shot legally, causing the ball to roll off the rim. Jensen grabbed the loose ball and looked up at the clock.
12 seconds remaining. No timeouts.
Jensen: KEI!. TAKE IT!
Jensen fired a chest pass to me at the timeline. My entire body felt like it was shutting down, my vision was swimming, and I could feel the warm blood trickling down my neck. I crossed the half-court line, slowing the tempo down to an absolute crawl for one final play.
King came out to meet me, his eyes bloodshot, his teeth clenched.
King: Lets see what you can do. You aren't getting pass me.
I didn't answer. I looked at the floor. We were on the left side of their arc, the exact spot where that uneven, cracked hazard on the hardwood court had stolen my ball in the first and third quarters.
Lets play dirty.
I started a hard, heavy dribble, deliberately steering my path straight toward the crack. King shadowed me, his weight shifting forward. I hit him with a vicious, rapid double-crossover, pretending to drive hard left, right over the uneven surface. King swallowed the bait completely, lunging forward with a heavy reach-in attempt right over the hazard.
His front foot hit the uneven crack on the hardwood floor. His balance instantly vanished, his ankles giving way as he went stumbling backward onto the floor.
The perimeter was wide open. I pulled the ball back, gathering my feet behind the three-point arc, and peeked at the basket.
Praise saw the collapse and completely lost his mind, launching his entire body through the air like a literal bullet in a desperate attempt to block the shot. He didn't even touch the ball, his forearms smashed directly into my bruised face and shattered ribs, completely leveling me onto the floor.
TWEETTT!!
Right as the whistle blew, the loudest buzzer of the entire evening echoed through the stadium.
DUHHHHHHHHHH!
I was flat on my back, watching the ball arch through the air in absolute slow motion while the stadium went dead silent.
Smoosh. The ball rippled through the net. Three points.
STARLING STRIKE 75- 75 JARQUIN | Q4 | 00:00 REMAINING
The Starling bench went absolutely rogue, jumping over the chairs, but the referee was pointing firmly at the charity stripe.
Referee 1: Shooting foul!. Number 2, blue!. One shot!. The game cannot end on a defensive foul.
would you look at that?. The ref actually knows the rules, not like I understood one word he said.
Referee 1: Starling number 10, come take the shot.
Me: uhhh. Sorry sir i don't think I can. I think I'm bleeding again.
Referee 1: I don't care. The rules obviously states you take the shot, so come take the shot.
Jensen: the rule also states that if the player gets fouled during the play they ca--
Referee 1: Shut up. Number 10. Come take the shot.
Jensen and Jace dragged my broken body off the floor. My right elbow was completely scraped raw, my head was bleeding heavily, and I could barely stand straight.
Jace: (his voice shaking) Keima. One free throw. Just one, and we get this close to our dream.
Jensen: you got this. Okay?.
Me: (wiping blood from my eyes) I told you... I don't plan on losing today.
I stepped up to the free-throw line. The entire Jarquin arena was screaming, booing, flashing signs, doing everything humanly possible to shake my sanity. The referee handed me the ball, staring at me dead in the eyes, waiting for me to fail.
I bounced the ball once. Twice. The pain in my ribs was screaming, but my hands were completely steady.
I peeked at the basket, elevated slightly, and released the ball with perfect form.
The ball rolled around the rim once... twice... and dropped straight through the net. Yes... yes we did it
FINAL SCORE: STARLING STRIKE 76 - 75 JARQUIN
The final buzzer didn't need to sound. The Starling Strike players rushed the court, tackling me, Jace, and Jensen to the floor as the entire stadium dissolved into pure, glorious chaos. We had completed our journey to the east. Coach was on the sidelines losing it, even miss Edwards couldn't help but break out a smile. We won. We actually won. The team helped me up and we began chanting. The moment of the match and the mvp was about to be announced. I know for a fact I ain't getting any of those two but I didn't care. The treble is in our sight. Speaking of sights, what's wrong with mine?. Why is everything around me going dark?. Why's Jensen running at me worried?. Why does it feel like I'm falling?. Why's the world going dark?. I hate this.