The game had reached its boiling point. The court was loud with sneakers and shouting, but the tension ran deeper than noise. Every possession felt like a test of will. Players weren't just running plays — they were throwing punches with their bodies, their decisions, their pride. Bayview and the Titans were locked in a rhythm that punished hesitation. And through all of it, Darius sat on the bench, fists clenched, eyes fixed on the floor. His legs bounced, not from nerves, but from pressure. He wasn't anxious. He was ready. And he was tired of waiting.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, tracking every cut, every rotation, every shift in momentum. He wasn't watching the score. He was watching the rhythm. Khalil had started leaning into power, forcing his way through contact. Eli was absorbing it, but losing ground. Tyrese had stopped looking for teammates and started isolating. Darius saw it all. And he couldn't take it anymore.
I didn't come here to watch, he thought. I came here to play.
Khalil drove hard into the paint, lowered his shoulder, and pushed through Eli's chest. Eli held his ground, but Khalil twisted mid-air and dropped the ball in off the glass. The crowd roared. Titans up by three. Darius didn't react. He stayed locked in, tracking the recovery, the inbound, the spacing. And then, finally, the voice he'd been waiting for.
"Darius," Coach Anderson said, stepping beside him. "Get yourself ready. You're about to get on."
Darius turned, stunned for half a second. But the moment the words landed, he was already peeling off his tracksuit pants, stepping beside the coach, watching the game like a soldier waiting for the signal. Bayview responded with a clean finish inside — a sharp cut, a bounce pass, a layup. Titans 52 – Bayview 51. The gym was electric. The tension was thick. And Darius stood there, waiting.
Then the whistle came. Daren was being subbed off.
Heads turned. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some leaned toward each other, questioning the decision.
"I don't know if that's the right move," one said. "He's been keeping the team together this whole time. This might mess up their rhythm."
Across the court, the Titans' coach narrowed his eyes. Taking off your captain and shot creator for a newcomer in a moment like this? He didn't say it aloud, but the thought lingered.
"Interesting…" Tyrese mumbled, watching Darius jog onto the court.
Khalil's eyes narrowed. It's him again.
The Titans restarted with a set play. The ball moved quickly — top to wing, wing to corner, back to the top. Khalil caught it and drove hard, trying to bulldoze past Eli again. But just as he rose to finish, a hand slipped in from the side — quiet, undetected, perfectly timed.
Darius.
The ball popped loose and bounced toward the sideline. The Titans scrambled to recover, and managed to keep possession, but the rhythm had cracked. The ball found its way to Tyrese, now facing Darius for the first time.
Tyrese stood tall, scanning the defender in front of him. He doesn't look dangerous. He doesn't look athletic. He doesn't look like a threat. I don't get what Khalil had been talking about.
But Darius wasn't watching Tyrese's body. He was watching his patterns. The way he always took two dribbles to the right before shifting left. The way he hesitated just before pulling back. The way his eyes flicked toward the corner before he moved.
He always resets with a left-hand drag after the second crossover, Darius thought. That's the moment.
Tyrese made his move — two dribbles right, crossover, hesitation, drag.
Darius was already there.
The ball was gone.
"What the—" Tyrese gasped. "It's as if he knew where I'd go."
Darius took off, the ball in his hands, Tyrese chasing behind. He crossed half court with space, but instead of rushing to the rim, he slowed. The crowd leaned forward, expecting a layup. But Darius waited.
Coach Anderson frowned from the sideline. Why did he slow down? He had the lane.
Darius stood tall, bouncing the ball calmly in his left hand, eyes scanning the floor. Eli was trailing on the left. The defense was shifting. And then — a ping. A signal. A moment. He passed, no look, to the right. The ball landed perfectly in his teammate's hands, who finished with ease. The crowd gasped. The bench rose. Darius turned and jogged back, expression calm.
Coach Anderson smiled to himself. Daren and Darius… no different in playmaking.
The Titans came again, trying to reset. But the rhythm was off. A rushed jumper missed. Eli grabbed the rebound and took off, sprinting across the court with speed and purpose. Darius ran with him, alone on the wing. Eli passed. Darius didn't hesitate. No second touch. He palmed the ball forward to the corner, where his teammate rose and hit the shot.
Bayview took the lead.
The crowd erupted.
Darius stood there, heart pounding. His chest felt light. His legs buzzed. He didn't know if it was the kid in him or the moment itself, but he couldn't hold back the smile.
The Titans called timeout — their first of the match.
Players headed to their benches. Malik ran over, hyped and breathless.
"Okayyy!! I see you dropping dimes left and right, playa!"
Darius shrugged, chuckling. "I mean…"
Across the court, Tyrese and Khalil watched him. Darius was smiling. Malik was bouncing beside him.
"I told you something wasn't right about that guy," Khalil said.
Tyrese nodded, eyes narrowed.
They sat down, and the Titans' coach stepped forward, interrupting their quiet conversation.
"I was hoping to introduce him in the fourth quarter," he said, voice low. "But it seems like their new point guard will be a problem."
He turned toward the bench. There, sitting quietly at the edge, was a player no one had noticed until now. He stood slowly, stretching, eyes locked on the court. He didn't speak or do anything he just there quietly waiting for his chance to play.
The coach smiled, then turned back toward the floor.