The last practice before the Cascade Striders matchup ended with the usual chaos. Guys were laughing, towels flying, someone was doing an off-key impression of Coach Anderson's pregame speeches. The energy was high, loose, exactly what you wanted going into a quarterfinal game.
Darius was halfway through stuffing his gear into his bag when Coach Anderson's voice cut through the noise.
"Darius. My office. After you finish packing up."
The locker room went quiet for exactly half a second. Then it erupted.
"Ooooh, somebody's in trouble," Kenny sang out.
"What you do, D?" Marcus asked, grinning wide.
Eli smirked from his locker. "Probably got caught sleeping during film session."
"Nah, Coach probably wants to tell him he's starting," Daren said, trying to be the voice of reason but even he had this playful look on his face.
Darius just shook his head, fighting back a smile. "Y'all are weird."
"You're the one getting called to the principal's office," Troy added.
Malik, still moving slow from practice, laughed. "Just don't come back crying, cuz."
Darius threw a towel at him. "Shut up."
Truth was, he wasn't nervous. Not really. Coach had been watching him close these past few weeks, giving him more minutes, more responsibility. This was probably about starting against the Striders. Had to be. His numbers were solid, his defense was improving, and the team played better when he was on the floor. The math made sense.
He finished packing, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed toward Coach Anderson's office. The teasing followed him all the way to the door.
When he knocked, Coach's voice came through clear and firm. "Come in."
Darius stepped inside. The office was exactly how he remembered it from the tour. Trophies on the shelves, framed photos of championship teams, newspaper clippings yellowed with age. Coach sat behind his desk, hands folded, expression unreadable.
"Close the door," Coach said.
Darius did, then stood there, suddenly feeling like maybe this wasn't about what he thought.
"Sit down."
He sat.
Coach leaned back in his chair, studying him for a moment. Not in a bad way, just like he was thinking about how to say something.
"Is this about my training?" Darius asked, unable to hold back the question.
Coach nodded slowly. "Yeah. It is."
Darius's chest tightened just a little. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No." Coach shook his head. "Your training's been good. Real good, actually."
Relief washed through him and he couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his face. "Okay, so..."
"But I don't think you should start this weekend."
The smile died.
Darius blinked, trying to process what he just heard. "Wait, what?"
Coach's expression didn't change. "I'm not starting you against the Striders."
"Why?" The word came out sharper than Darius intended, but he didn't care. "Coach, I've been working my tail off. My stats are good, my defense is solid, the team flows better when I'm out there. If I'm good enough, why am I not starting?"
"Because I need to watch you," Coach said simply.
"Watch me do what? I've been doing everything you asked."
"I know you have." Coach's voice stayed calm, measured. "And I see the work you're putting in. But this isn't just about skill, Darius. You're still developing. You're still adjusting."
Darius felt frustration bubbling up. "So are half the guys on this team. But they're starting."
"They don't have the same concerns you do."
The words hung in the air like a weight.
Darius wanted to argue, wanted to push back, wanted to make Coach see that he was ready. But before he could get a word out, Coach raised a hand.
"I wanted to tell you now," Coach continued, "so you don't get your hopes up. I know you've been working toward this. I know you want it. But I'm not going to rush you into something that might not be good for you long-term."
"Coach, I can handle it."
"Maybe. But that's not a risk I'm willing to take right now." Coach leaned forward, his tone shifting slightly, becoming less firm and more... protective. "You're going to get more minutes this game. Significant minutes. And if you play well, if we advance to the next round, there's a high possibility you'll start then. But for now, I need you to trust my judgment on this."
Darius sat there, jaw tight, hands gripping the armrests of the chair. Everything in him wanted to keep arguing, to make his case, to demand the spot he'd earned. But he could see it in Coach's eyes. This wasn't a negotiation. The decision was made.
"Is that all, Coach?" Darius asked quietly.
"That's all. Get some rest. Big game Saturday."
Darius stood, grabbed his bag, and walked out without another word.
Behind him, Coach Anderson watched the door close and let out a slow breath. He knew that conversation hurt. He also knew it was necessary.
Game day arrived faster than expected.
The gym was already buzzing when Bayview walked in for warmups. The Cascade Striders were on the other end, moving through their shooting drills with this calm efficiency that was almost eerie. No wasted motion. No showboating. Just crisp passes, clean rotations, shots falling like clockwork.
Darius stood near the baseline, pretending to stretch but really just watching them. His eyes tracked their movements, the way they communicated without talking, the way every player seemed to know where the next pass was going before it left someone's hands.
On the opposite end, two Striders players stood near the three-point line, casually chatting while waiting for their turn in the drill rotation.
"Bayview's solid," one of them said, a tall guard with cornrows. "Daren's legit. And Eli? That dude's a problem in the paint."
"Yeah, they got pieces," the other one replied, shorter but stocky, built like a linebacker. "But we handled teams like this before. Just gotta stay disciplined."
"True. Though I heard they got some new kid who went off against the Titans."
"New kid?"
"Yeah, I don't know his name, but word is he was a big part of why they won that game. Supposed to be nice."
The shorter player glanced across the court, scanning Bayview's side. "Which one?"
"I don't know, bro. I just heard about him."
Meanwhile, Darius hadn't moved. His eyes were still locked on them, studying their body language, their movements, the way they held themselves. Not aggressive. Just... watching. Learning.
Daren noticed.
"Yo, D," he called out, jogging over. "You good?"
"Yeah," Darius said without looking away.
"Then why you staring at them like that? Focus on yourself, man. Get your warmup in."
"I am warming up."
Daren raised an eyebrow. "You're standing still."
"This is part of my warmup."
"Staring at the other team is part of your warmup?"
"Yeah." Darius finally turned to look at Daren, his expression calm but intense. "I'm getting ready."
Daren studied him for a second, then just shook his head and smiled. "Aight, man. You do you."
Back on the Striders' side, the taller player with cornrows suddenly stopped mid-sentence. "Yo, why is that dude staring at us?"
The shorter one followed his gaze and saw Darius, standing completely still on the opposite baseline, eyes locked in their direction. Not blinking. Not moving. Just... watching.
"That's creepy as hell," the shorter player muttered.
"For real." The taller one shifted uncomfortably. "How long has he been doing that?"
"I don't know, but I don't like it."
A chill ran through both of them, the kind you get when you realize someone's paying way too much attention to you. They exchanged a glance, then quickly moved forward to rejoin their drill rotation, both of them trying to shake off the weird feeling crawling up their spines.
Across the court, Darius finally blinked and turned back to his own team's warmup.
He was ready.
And the Cascade Striders were about to find out just how ready.