The ball spun in the air, slow and deliberate, like it was teasing the gym. The buzzer had already sounded, but no one moved. Not the players. Not the coaches. Not the crowd. Every eye was locked on the rim. Every breath was held.
It landed softly, kissed the iron, and rolled — once, twice, three times around the edge. The gym stayed frozen. Even the sound of sneakers had stopped.
Then it dropped.
Out.
No score.
The Titans sighed. Shoulders sank. Bayview exhaled. A wave of relief passed through their bench. The crowd groaned, disappointed. They'd wanted the drama. The buzzer-beater. The moment. But it wasn't meant to be.
Players walked toward the locker rooms, heads down, jerseys damp with sweat. Darius didn't speak. His body was tense, his hands clenched. He hadn't played a single minute. And it burned.
I've never sat this long, he thought. Not as Che. Not ever. This isn't what I came here for.
He didn't feel like part of the team. Not really. He'd warmed up. He'd studied the matchups. He'd stayed ready. But the minutes never came. And now the first half was gone.
Malik jogged up beside him, breathing hard. He was trying to smile, trying to keep the mood light.
"Shoo," he panted. "That game is mad intense, man. Coach has to let you in. I'm not sure I'll make it to the end."
He saw the frustration in Darius's face — the tight jaw, the way his steps were too controlled. Malik tried again.
"But I can see you still got it," he said. "Better than that first game you played."
Darius forced a smile. Malik could tell it wasn't real.
"You just need to score," Darius said. "Then you'll feel like part of the team."
Malik laughed. "I swear, just one bucket. That's all I need."
They entered the locker room. The mood was serious. The coach was already waiting, arms folded, eyes sharp. The players took their seats, sweat still dripping, hearts still racing.
"You're doing well," the coach said. "But we need more. Just a little more. Relax. Breathe. Think. We finish this game by playing smart, not desperate."
No one spoke. Heads nodded. Eyes stayed forward.
Daren walked over to Eli, who sat with a towel over his head, eyes closed, sweat running down his arms.
"You good?" Daren asked.
Eli lifted his head. His eyes were focused. "Yeah. I'm good."
"That's good."
Eli didn't say more. He didn't need to. His mind was still on Khalil — the way he moved, the way he read the floor, the way he never seemed rushed. Eli had held his own, but it hadn't been clean. He knew Khalil would come harder in the second half. And he knew he couldn't afford to chase.
Darius sat quietly, staring at a single spot on the locker wall. He didn't speak. He didn't move. Around him, the team buzzed — players talking about missed shots, defensive switches, moments they wanted back.
He didn't join in. He didn't feel like he'd earned the right.
Eli noticed Darius's silence but didn't say anything. He was locked in his own thoughts — about Khalil, about the second half, about the pressure that never really left.
Daren walked over and tapped Darius's shoulder.
"You like daydreaming, don't you?" he said.
"Nah," Darius replied. "Just thinking. About playing. This is how I stay locked in."
"Don't worry about that, man. Relax a little. You'll get your shot."
Darius nodded, but his eyes didn't shift. He wasn't waiting for permission. He was waiting for the moment.
Minutes passed. The halftime break was over. One by one, the players stood and headed back to the court. Darius left last, Eli walking behind him. Just before they reached the tunnel, Eli tapped his shoulder.
"That need to play… keep it up."
Darius turned, caught off guard. Eli looked awkward, like he didn't know why he'd said it.
Darius just nodded and kept walking.
Why did I say that? Eli thought. That was so cringe.
He shook his head, regretting it immediately. But something about Darius's silence had gotten to him. Something about the way he held himself — like he was already in the game, even if no one had called his name.
Both teams walked out. The crowd welcomed them with fresh energy. The starting five returned — Eli, Darius, Khalil, Tyrese. The second half was about to begin.
Bayview had the ball.
Daren dribbled up the court, scanning, calculating. But before he could even make a move, Tyrese lunged, stole the ball clean, and took off.
He finished with an easy layup, untouched.
That's for the shot I missed, Tyrese thought. I'm not letting that moment define me.
He didn't look at the crowd. He didn't look at the bench. He looked straight ahead, already thinking about the next play.
The second half had begun.
And the war was back on.