The first time they called him "King Kyle", it didn't feel real.
It started after the first district game of the season. Rose Heights was down by 10 at halftime. Rico was chucking shots like he had something to prove to the sun, and the team was falling apart, blaming each other for missed switches and airballs.
Kyle?
He said nothing.
He just walked out in the third quarter and dropped 18 straight points.
Putbacks, coast-to-coast layups, footwork in the post, and two spin-move fadeaways that made the crowd lose its mind. Final buzzer? Rose Heights by 6. The gym shook.
And as he walked off the court, sweat pouring, teammates slapping his back, a kid in the stands shouted:
"BIG UP, KING KYLE!"
It spread like wildfire.
That same night, someone edited a slow-mo video of Kyle dunking in a crown filter and posted it to IslandHoops247. Caption:
"Kyle Wilson: The Crown of Rose Heights?"
Two thousand likes in under an hour.
The next morning, things were different.
Teammates who used to ignore him suddenly wanted to stretch next to him. He walked into the locker room, and the usual trash talk was replaced by dap-ups, nods, and fake British accents: "Make way for the king, lads."
Everyone smiled.
Except Rico.
He sat in the corner with his headphones on, scowling at the praise being handed out like candy at a street fair.
Coach Barrett noticed too. During film review, he paused the tape where Kyle boxed out three defenders for a rebound and kicked it out to Andre for a clean three.
"That's leadership," Coach said. "Unspoken. That's how yuh win."
Kyle didn't speak. He just felt the temperature rise in the room.
Every compliment felt like fuel on a fire no one wanted to name.
Practice that evening
Rico hacked Kyle on a drive.
Hard.
Ball flew.
Kyle hit the floor.
Silence.
Coach didn't blow the whistle. Just watched.
Kyle stood slowly, jaw clenched.
"You good?" Rico said, smirking.
Kyle dusted himself off. "Yuh always foulin' when yuh can't guard straight."
Rico stepped in close.
"Yuh act like this yuh team. Yuh forget who had the throne before yuh even knew how to lace up proper."
Kyle held his stare. "Then take it back."
Game Two of the Season
The gym was packed again.
But something had shifted. The crowd now came for one name.
"KIYAALE! KIYAALE!"
Banners with his name. A cardboard cutout of his BayPoint jersey printed from a phone shop in Sam Sharpe Square.
Coach didn't even hesitate.
"Ball runs through Kyle tonight. Rico, you spot up. Catch and shoot."
Rico didn't respond.
Didn't nod.
Didn't look up.
The game started slow.
Kyle was double-teamed every touch.
He adjusted—started diming out to open shooters. Andre hit two corner threes. Malik finished a clean alley-oop. Defense began collapsing inward.
Third quarter, Rico got the ball on a breakaway.
Instead of passing to Kyle—who was wide open—he forced a 1-on-3 drive.
Blocked.
Fast break the other way.
Bucket.
Coach slammed his clipboard.
Timeout.
"Rico," he barked. "Run the damn play!"
Rico just wiped his face with a towel. Didn't even make eye contact.
After the timeout, Kyle gathered the team.
Not the coaches.
Just the players.
"If we don't move like one, we dead. Ain't no king if the castle crumble. Play together or we fall."
Some nodded.
Rico didn't.
But the next two possessions? He passed.
Not to Kyle—but to the open man.
They won by 12.
Locker Room
Everyone cheered. Kyle sat on the bench, lacing his shoes slowly.
Rico stood across the room.
Then tossed his jersey at the bin.
"Y'all want a king?" he muttered. "Then y'all better pray he don't choke when it matters."
The room went quiet.
Kyle didn't flinch.
He stood. Walked to Rico. Face to face.
"You can't lead if yuh fight the team you supposed to be lifting."
Rico laughed dryly. "You ain't lifting nothing. You just getting lucky. Let's see how far that crown carry yuh when the real teams come knocking."
He walked out.
That night – Rooftop court
Ghost was already there, shooting alone in the moonlight.
Kyle joined him without a word.
After a few minutes, he spoke.
"People calling me King now."
Ghost didn't turn. "They love yuh now. But love is light. Breeze carry it easy."
Kyle shot a corner jumper. Swish.
"Rico hate me."
"Because yuh shine brighter than he expected."
"I didn't ask for this."
"Nobody ever ask for the crown. But if yuh wear it, wear it heavy."
A week later – In the Classroom
Whispers again.
Only this time, not about ball.
"Kyle think him too nice now."
"Him skip line in the lunchroom."
"Mi hear say Coach giving him free passes on grades."
None of it was true.
But in Rose Heights, perception was reality.
And reality?
Didn't always care about truth.
Next Game – Unexpected Trouble
Rico didn't show up.
Coach was furious. Team played sloppy. Kyle tried to pick up the slack—27 points, 12 boards, 5 blocks—but they lost by 3. First loss of the season.
Afterward, the crowd didn't chant.
They just… stared.
Someone whispered, "So much for King Kyle."
Back at Practice
Coach called the team in tight.
"You want to win? Then fix the fracture."
Kyle looked around.
Everyone was divided.
Some still believed.
Some were slipping.
Some were waiting for Kyle to fall.
Later that evening – At Home
Kyle sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, scrolling through comments.
"Overrated."
"One trick pony."
"Without Rico, him crumble."
He locked the screen.
His mother walked in quietly, carrying a mug of tea.
"Why yuh look like yuh carrying bricks on yuh back?"
He didn't answer.
She handed him the mug. Sat beside him.
"You climbing. But yuh looking down. Look forward, son. Or the weight gon' pull yuh back."
Final Scene – Kyle alone on court
Ball bouncing.
One light above flickering.
Kyle whispering to himself.
Not trash talk.
Not motivation.
Just one question:
"Can I lead… if no one wants to follow?"
He shot the ball.
It bounced off.
Then he caught it.
Squared up.
Shot again.
Swish.