Darius sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, eyes shut tight. Around him, the gym was alive — sneakers squeaked, whistles echoed, voices bounced off the walls. But none of it reached him. Not yet. He wasn't ready to hear the noise until he understood what he was walking into.
Inside his mind, the Hustle System activated. The interface hovered in the dark, pulsing steadily. It didn't distract him. It aligned with him. The numbers were clean, the layout familiar. But the silence behind it was louder than usual.
"You've progressed well," the System said. "Especially considering your physical limitations."
"I know," Darius replied, scanning the stat sheet. The numbers were solid. Earned. But not enough. Not for this game. Not for what he was watching unfold.
"I still freeze when I drive," he whispered. "Every time I try to charge the rim, my body locks up."
He hesitated, then asked, "Is there any way to boost my stats temporarily? Like a takeover?"
"Yes," the System answered. "But it's locked. You need to reach Level 20."
The screen shifted, revealing his current overall ability.
Overall Rating: 14
Darius exhaled slowly. Fourteen. It was progress — but nowhere near what he needed. No boosts. No takeover. Just raw stats and grit. Just the same fear waiting at the edge of the paint.
"So I'm stuck," he muttered. "I can't drive. I can't finish inside. Only option is to shoot or playmake." He clenched his jaw. "But what's the point of playing if I can't attack the rim?"
The System didn't answer. It never did when the question wasn't about performance. It wasn't built for doubt.
Darius opened his eyes.
The game was already underway. The scoreboard read Titans 6 – Bayview 4. Tyrese had just fed Khalil for a clean finish inside, and Eli had answered with a strong layup off a screen. But the tension in the gym was thick. The crowd leaned forward, sensing something different about this matchup. Something heavier.
Khalil was posted deep in the paint, locked in a physical battle with Eli. Tyrese lobbed the ball high. Khalil leapt early, catching it mid-air with one hand. Eli rose with him, contesting the catch, but Khalil twisted his body and dropped the ball in off the glass before landing hard. Titans 8 – Bayview 4. The crowd gasped. Eli didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed. That wasn't the same Khalil from last year. This version was stronger. Sharper. Meaner.
Bayview responded quickly. Daren pushed the ball up the court, and Malik swung it to Eli at the elbow. Khalil stepped up to meet him, but Eli didn't hesitate — he jabbed, spun, and drove hard to the left. Khalil recovered fast, but Eli used his shoulder to create space and finished with a soft floater off the glass. Titans 8 – Bayview 6. The crowd roared. Eli turned back, breathing hard. He was keeping up — for now.
But it wasn't just about scoring. Every time Khalil touched the ball, Eli's body tensed. Not from fear — from memory. Last season, Khalil had been raw. Strong, but unrefined. Eli had handled him. This year, Khalil was different. He moved with purpose. He didn't waste steps. He didn't hesitate. And Eli could feel it — the shift in power.
Southside Titans slowed the pace, then ran a set. Tyrese dribbled to the wing, then fired a pass inside. Khalil caught it with his back to the basket, Eli pressing into him. Khalil faked a spin, then powered through Eli's chest, rising with both hands and slamming the ball down hard. The rim shook. The gym exploded. Titans 10 – Bayview 6. Phones came out. Darius leaned forward, eyes wide. That wasn't just a dunk. That was a message. And it was aimed at Eli.
Bayview didn't fold. Daren called for movement. Malik set a screen, Eli rolled off it and caught the ball near the baseline. Khalil was there again, arms wide, feet planted. Eli hesitated, then rose for a jumper. Khalil jumped with him — but Eli released early, a soft arc that dropped clean through the net. Titans 10 – Bayview 8. The bench erupted. Eli didn't celebrate. He just turned and ran back, jaw clenched.
But Southside kept pressing. Tyrese ran a pick-and-roll with Khalil, who slipped the screen and caught the ball in stride. Eli rotated over, but Khalil didn't go for power this time — he faked the shot, stepped through, and finished with a reverse layup. Titans 12 – Bayview 8. No contact. No wasted motion. No emotion.
Bayview ran a quick set. Daren drove, kicked to Malik, who found Eli again at the elbow. This time, Eli faced up, took one hard dribble, and pulled up for a jumper. Swish. Titans 12 – Bayview 10.
But the Titans answered immediately. Tyrese pushed the pace, Khalil sprinted the lane, and caught a bounce pass in stride. Eli was there — but half a step late. Khalil rose and finished with a clean finger roll. Titans 14 – Bayview 10.
The next play was chaos. Bayview missed a shot, and Southside grabbed the rebound. Tyrese took off, weaving through defenders. Khalil ran the floor like a forward, long strides eating space. Tyrese lobbed it ahead. Khalil caught it in full motion and launched himself into the air. The dunk was violent. The rim bent. The crowd lost it. Titans 16 – Bayview 10.
Gasps. Shouts. Even Bayview's bench went quiet.
Darius leaned forward, eyes locked on Khalil. That wasn't just athleticism. That was dominance. And Eli was absorbing all of it — every dunk, every bump, every glance. He wasn't just guarding Khalil. He was carrying the weight of last year's win, this year's expectations, and the pressure of being the one who had to hold the line.
Eli wiped sweat from his brow, breathing hard. He was still battling, still scoring — but Khalil was winning the war. Every possession felt heavier. Every bump, every jump, every sprint — Khalil had more. And Eli knew it. He didn't show it, but Darius could see it in the way Eli's shoulders tightened after each play. In the way he didn't look at the bench. In the way he kept his jaw locked, refusing to speak.
Bayview was holding their own, but barely. The scoreline said five points. The feeling said more.
And Darius could sense it. Not just Khalil. The whole Titans squad. They were sharper. More connected. More dangerous than last year. But it was Khalil who set the tone. Khalil who made the gym feel smaller. Khalil who made Eli look human.
Darius sat still, watching. He wasn't afraid of Khalil. He was afraid of what Khalil represented — a player who had figured out how to finish. A player who didn't freeze. A player who didn't hesitate when the rim was in sight.
He looked down at his hands. They were steady. But he knew what they'd do if he drove. He knew what his legs would do. He knew what his body remembered.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and whispered to himself.
"I need to level up."