The whistle shrieked at 5 AM. Kenji's eyes snapped open, muscle memory from months at Frank's facility pulling him from sleep. Six days had passed since the three new kids weirdly arrived, and their impact rippled through the facility in ways that surprised him.
"Move! Floor in ninety seconds!" Coach Martinez's voice boomed down the hallway.
Kenji rolled from his bunk, automatically moving toward the section where the older players gathered. Jason was already up, methodically checking his gear with typical precision. Around them, the sixteen and seventeen-year-olds who formed Frank's advanced group prepared for another day in the crucible.
The gymnasium felt arctic under harsh fluorescent lights. Frank Michaels stood at center court, clipboard ready, his keen eyes tracking every movement as players sorted themselves into training groups.
"Advanced conditioning first," Frank announced. "Age group separations maintained."
Kenji lined up with the other advanced players along the far baseline—Anthony Davis, Daniel Rivera, Kevin Phillips, and the core group of older players who'd earned their positions through months of surviving Frank's system. Across the gymnasium, he could see the younger players forming their own lines, including the three newcomers who'd made such an immediate impact.
"Think the kids will keep up?" Anthony asked quietly, nodding toward where Naseru, Ethan, and Big Mo stood with the other twelve and thirteen-year-olds.
"Frank doesn't make mistakes with placement," Kenji replied.
The whistle shrieked.
Sixteen advanced players exploded across the hardwood. Kenji settled into his practiced rhythm—the efficient stride he'd perfected through months of Frank's brutal conditioning sessions. Around him, players who'd survived multiple elimination cycles pushed through another test of sustained excellence.
After the first sprint set, he could hear Coach Jackson working with the younger group on the adjacent court. Big Mo's distinctive voice carried across the gymnasium—enthusiastic, determined, never complaining despite the demanding pace.
"Fifteen seconds rest!" Coach Martinez called.
Kenji bent over, hands on knees, drawing deep breaths. The advanced group showed appropriate strain—these sessions were designed to push elite-level athletes to their limits.
From the corner of his eye, he could see the younger players finishing their own conditioning set. The three newcomers moved with the same efficiency they'd shown all week, keeping pace with players their own age while somehow looking like they had more in reserve.
The whistle sounded again.
Individual skills training reinforced the facility's hierarchy. Kenji found himself on Court One with the other advanced players, working under Coach Rodriguez's demanding eye. The baseline moves he'd been perfecting for months required constant refinement—footwork, timing, precision that separated good players from elite ones.
"First step sells everything," Rodriguez barked. "Your defender reads your intentions from that initial movement."
Kenji dribbled along the baseline, feeling the rhythm in his bones. Plant, head fake left, crossover right, drive to the rim. Each repetition building muscle memory that would serve him in crucial moments.
On Court Two, he could see some of the younger players working fundamentals with Coach Martinez. The three newcomers were there, their technical skills impressive for twelve-year-olds but appropriately placed with their age group.
"Advanced players focus on your own development," Rodriguez called out, noting how some older players were distracted by the younger group's abilities. "Competition exists at every level."
Kevin, working nearby, wiped sweat from his forehead. "Those kids are making some of the thirteen-year-olds look ordinary."
"Frank will sort it out," Kenji replied, staying focused on his own drills.
During the afternoon break, the advanced players clustered around the water station, discussing strategy and performance. Kenji found himself listening to conversations about the facility's changing dynamics.
"Scout was here yesterday," Daniel mentioned. "Heard him asking Frank about the new arrivals."
"Twelve-year-olds getting scout attention?" Anthony looked skeptical.
"Frank's been taking notes every session," Kevin added. "Kid with the surgical ball-handling—Naseru—he's been breaking down defenses like he's got the playbook memorized."
"What about the defensive specialist?" Daniel asked.
"Ethan. Kid's reading offensive sets before they develop. Martinez says he's never seen anticipation like that at any age of the facility."
"And the big one?"
"Big Mo. Raw power, but he's learning technique fast. Jackson's got him working post moves that college freshmen struggle with. What are these newbies?"
Kenji processed this information while working through his shooting routine. The three newcomers were clearly exceptional, but they were still twelve-year-olds training with their age group. His focus needed to remain on his own development—the baseline moves, court vision, and leadership skills that would determine his future.
Afternoon scrimmages revealed Frank's systematic approach to player development. The advanced group ran full-court games while younger players worked on half-court fundamentals on the adjacent courts.
Kenji found himself matched up against Derek Thompson, a physical seventeen-year-old who'd been at Frank's facility for over a year. The game was intense—every possession mattered, every mistake catalogued by Frank's analytical eye.
"You getting soft, Anderson?" Derek growled after Kenji scored on a baseline drive. "Spending too much time watching the little kids play?"
"Just focused on winning," Kenji replied, setting up for defense.
The advanced scrimmage demanded everything—court vision, decision-making under pressure, the ability to elevate teammates while maintaining individual excellence. Kenji used his footwork to create space, his basketball IQ to exploit defensive weaknesses, his developing leadership skills to orchestrate team success.
During a timeout, he could hear Coach Jackson working with the younger group nearby. Big Mo's voice carried clearly—"Slam-damn, Coach! That move felt smooth!"—followed by Jackson's gruff instruction about positioning and leverage.
"Stay focused on your own game," Frank called out to the advanced group. "Excellence requires complete attention."
The second half became a chess match between veteran players who understood Frank's system. Kenji found himself reading Derek's tendencies, anticipating defensive rotations, making the kind of instinctive plays that separated good players from great ones.
Final score: 72-68, Kenji's team winning on a baseline drive he'd perfected through months of repetition.
The locker room after scrimmages buzzed with analysis and exhaustion. Advanced players who'd survived multiple elimination cycles understood the constant pressure to maintain excellence.
"Good game out there," Anthony said, unlacing his shoes. "That baseline move in the fourth quarter was textbook."
"Repetition and focus," Kenji replied, toweling sweat. "Rodriguez has been breaking down the footwork piece by piece."
"What do you think about the facility changes?" Daniel asked. "Three new kids stirring up the dynamics."
"Frank knows what he's doing," Kenji said. "System's bigger than any individual players."
"Still, they're impressive for twelve-year-olds," Kevin observed. "Making everyone work harder just by being here."
Kenji nodded. That was true—the facility's competitive energy had intensified since the newcomers arrived. Not because of direct competition between age groups, but because excellence at any level inspired everyone to raise their standards.
Later, in the cafeteria, Kenji sat with his usual group of advanced players. Across the room, he could see the three newcomers eating with other younger players, their conversation animated but controlled. Jason sat nearby, observing the facility's evening routines with his typical quiet attention.
"Jason's been tracking the new kids," Daniel mentioned, noting Kenji's glance. "Says their development curves are unusual."
"Unusual how?" Anthony asked.
"Frank's had them for eight months. They're his students, trained in his methods."
"Frank recruits from everywhere," Kenji said. "Bound to find exceptional talents."
"Maybe. But Jason thinks there's more to their story."
Kenji found himself curious about that assessment. His brother's observations had proven accurate in evaluating player potential and background. If Jason saw unusual patterns, there was probably substance behind his analysis.
The dormitory settled into quiet around eleven PM. Advanced players were exhausted from another day of proving themselves worthy of Frank's continued investment. Kenji found his mind processing the week's developments—how the facility's energy had shifted since the three newcomers arrived.
"Can't sleep?" Jason's voice came from the nearby bunk, quiet but alert.
"Too much to think about," Kenji replied softly. "Week's been intense."
Jason shifted in his bunk. His younger brother was usually absorbed in whatever he was working on by this time, but tonight he seemed equally restless.
"The new kids adapted fast," Jason said simply.
"You notice everything," Kenji observed. "What's your read?"
"They know Frank's system already."
Kenji considered that. His little brother rarely offered lengthy analysis, but when he spoke, it was usually accurate. "Makes sense if Frank's had them for eight months."
"Guardian rights," Jason said quietly. "Heard Frank mention it."
"Legal custody?"
"Yeah."
From across the dormitory came the quiet sounds of younger players settling in for sleep. Somewhere among them were Naseru, Ethan, and Big Mo—Frank's proteges who'd made such an immediate impact.
"That explains the skill level," Kenji said.
"Explains the pressure too."
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the dormitory's night sounds—distant conversations fading into sleep, the occasional creak of bunks, the urban rhythm of Chicago filtering through windows.
"Think they'll make it?" Kenji asked eventually.
"Frank doesn't make mistakes," Jason replied simply.
"How far you think they'll go?"
Jason was quiet for a long moment. "Far."
Kenji found himself nodding in the darkness. His younger brother's assessments were usually understated but accurate. If Jason thought the newcomers were special, there was substance behind that judgment.
"What about you?" Jason asked. "Baseline work looking good."
"Getting there. Frank thinks I'm close to something."
"College level?"
"Maybe. Still work to do."
"Always is."
As sleep finally began to claim them, Kenji reflected on the conversation. Jason's observations were typically brief but insightful—the three newcomers were Frank's long-term investment, trained in his philosophy from the ground up.
Moments later Jason stood up and went to curl up against Kenji.
"Honest to god, Jase… I'll always be right by your side little brother. I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to cling to me."
Tomorrow would bring another day of training, another test under Frank's demanding system. But tonight, in the quiet darkness, two brothers shared the kind of economical conversation that said everything necessary without wasting words.
The foundation was solid. The next phase would test everything they'd built.
But for now, they had each other, and that was enough.