The gym buzzed with unusual energy. It wasn't just another practice day. A crowd had gathered near the entrance, whispering and craning their necks to see who had just walked in. Marcus felt it before he saw it: a shift in the air, like gravity pulling in a new direction.
Adrian Cole had arrived.
He was everything the whispers promised tall, broad-shouldered, confident in a way that wasn't loud but impossible to ignore. He walked with ease, the kind of ease that came from years of being cheered by thousands. A few of the younger players hurried over, eager to shake his hand. Cameras flashed from the edges of the gym where local reporters had slipped in.
Marcus kept dribbling, refusing to look too long. But his heartbeat betrayed him.
Hammond, never one to be starstruck, stepped forward to greet Adrian. "Good to see you back," he said firmly.
Adrian smiled, that polished smile people recognized from magazines. "Good to be here, coach. Thought I'd stop by, see how the next generation is doing."
The words were casual, but his eyes scanned the court like a hunter surveying new ground. They lingered, just for a second, on Marcus.
Walt muttered under his breath, "Showtime."
Practice resumed, but the rhythm was broken. Every player wanted to impress Adrian. Shots were rushed, passes too sharp, bodies colliding in their urgency. Hammond barked orders, but even he couldn't calm the storm of adrenaline.
Marcus, however, found himself focusing harder. He wasn't going to chase attention. He let the others scramble while he played his game solid defense, smart passes, clean shots. By the end, Hammond's voice rang across the court.
"Marcus, stay consistent. That is what wins games."
Adrian clapped slowly from the sideline, his smile sharp as glass. "Not bad. Kid's got discipline. Rare to see that these days."
It was a compliment, but Marcus heard the edge in it. Kid.
Later, in the locker room, players buzzed about Adrian's visit. Some joked about how they'd soon be playing alongside him, others just replayed every glance he'd given. Marcus sat in silence, tying his shoes.
Walt dropped onto the bench beside him. "He is already in your head, isn't he?"
Marcus shook his head. "No. But I know what he represents."
"Yeah," Walt said. "Every reason Lena's parents might like him more than you."
Marcus didn't reply. He didn't need to. The thought had already carved itself deep inside him.
That evening, fate twisted the knife further. Marcus was walking toward the café where he often met Lena when he saw them. Adrian and Lena, standing outside the door, her parents beside them. Adrian was speaking animatedly, his hand gesturing as if painting pictures in the air. Her father laughed, her mother's face glowed with approval.
Lena saw Marcus before he could turn away. Her eyes flickered, just for a moment, with something unreadable.
"Marcus!" she called, stepping toward him.
Adrian's smile widened as he turned, as if he'd been waiting for this moment. "So this is the guy," he said smoothly. "Marcus, right? I've heard your name."
Marcus extended his hand, steady despite the storm inside. "Adrian."
Their handshake was firm, neither yielding.
"I caught your practice," Adrian said. "You've got potential." His tone was friendly, but every word dripped with condescension.
Marcus forced a small smile. "Appreciate it."
Lena quickly intervened. "Why don't we all sit?"
They went inside, though Marcus felt like an outsider at his own table. Adrian commanded the space effortlessly, telling stories of the league, the travel, the luxury. Her parents leaned in, hanging on every word. Marcus sipped his coffee in silence, feeling invisible.
But Lena's gaze kept drifting toward him. Small, stolen glances. The kind that Adrian noticed too.
After an hour, Adrian excused himself with a gracious smile and a promise to see them all soon. When he left, the silence at the table was heavy.
Lena's father spoke first. "That young man has achieved so much already. He is an example of what discipline and vision can bring."
Her mother added, "And he has such presence. Imagine the opportunities if…" She let the sentence hang, but the meaning was clear.
Lena's jaw tightened. "Opportunities should not decide who I care about."
Her father frowned. "Sometimes they should."
Marcus rose, unwilling to sit there another second. "Thank you for the coffee," he said politely, though his chest burned. He didn't look at Lena until he was outside.
She caught up to him in the street. "Marcus, wait."
He turned, his voice low. "Your parents want him for you. He's everything I am not."
"And yet, I'm here with you," she said fiercely. "Do not let them write our story for us."
Marcus stared at her, torn between hope and fear. He wanted to believe her, but Adrian's shadow loomed large.
That night, lying in bed, Marcus replayed every moment. Adrian's smile. Lena's parents' admiration. Lena's eyes.
The fight ahead was no longer just about basketball. It was about proving that he was more than his past, more than his mistakes.
And for the first time, Marcus realized this battle could break him in ways the court never could.