The final two minutes of the second quarter felt like trying to swim upstream against a current that kept getting stronger.
Darius brought the ball up, his mind working overtime to find an opening that wasn't there. Julian Hayes shadowed him like a second skin, patient and precise. Every screen Bayview set was met with a switch or a quick recovery. Every pass Darius made was contested. Every drive he attempted was cut off by perfectly timed help defense.
He swung the ball to Daren on the wing. Daren caught it, took one dribble, and pulled up for a jumper. Cameron Wells was right there, hand up, forcing a difficult shot.
The ball clanged off the rim. Derek Grant secured the rebound, turned, and immediately passed to Julian.
The Striders pushed. They weren't running, just moving with purpose, like water finding the path of least resistance. Julian crossed half court and immediately swung the ball to Mason Lee on the left wing.
Mason caught it and attacked the baseline. Devon tried to stay in front of him, but Mason used a quick crossover to create just enough space. He rose up for a mid-range jumper.
The ball went through.
Striders 64, Bayview 60.
"Come on, we need a bucket!" Eli shouted, clapping his hands hard enough that the sound echoed.
Darius pushed the pace, trying to catch the Striders before they could set their defense. He drove hard into the paint, but Derek was already there, his long arms cutting off the driving lane. Darius kicked it out to Luis in the corner.
Luis caught it and shot a three-pointer. The ball hit the side of the rim and bounced away.
Andre Simpson grabbed the rebound. The Striders didn't rush. They walked the ball up court, letting the clock run down to under a minute in the half.
Julian ran another set. The ball moved from him to Cameron to Andre to Derek, each pass crisp and purposeful. Derek caught it in the high post, faced up against Eli, and shot a turnaround jumper.
Swish.
Striders 66, Bayview 60.
Coach Anderson called timeout with forty seconds left in the half.
The Bayview players walked to the bench, and the frustration was written all over their faces. Devon's shoulders were slumped. Luis was shaking his head. Even Marcus looked uncertain, his usual confidence shaken.
"Listen to me," Coach Anderson said, his voice cutting through their spiral. "They made adjustments. That happens. Now we make ours. One possession at a time. We are still in this game."
But his words felt hollow in the face of what was happening on the court. The Striders weren't just winning. They were suffocating Bayview's offense, taking away everything that had worked in the first quarter.
The timeout ended. Darius brought the ball up with thirty-five seconds on the clock. He called for a screen from Eli. Julian fought through it, staying attached. Darius drove left, but Derek was there again, forcing him to pick up his dribble.
Darius jumped and kicked the ball out to Daren at the top of the key. Daren caught it with fifteen seconds left. He drove hard to his right, got into the paint, and rose up for a floater.
Cameron Wells rotated over and tipped the ball. It bounced off Daren's leg and out of bounds.
Striders ball with eight seconds left in the half.
Julian took the inbound and slowly dribbled up court, letting the clock drain. He crossed half court with three seconds left and pulled up from just inside the three-point line.
The shot went up as the buzzer sounded.
It hit the back of the rim, bounced up, and fell through.
Striders 68, Bayview 60.
The Striders jogged off the court calmly, like they'd just completed a routine drill. No celebration. No theatrics. Just quiet confidence.
Bayview walked off slower, heads down, the weight of the last few minutes hanging over them like a cloud.
The Bayview locker room was tense. Devon sat on the bench with his head in his hands. Luis stared at the floor, his jaw tight. Marcus leaned back against his locker, eyes closed, trying to process what had just happened.
Daren stood in the middle of the room, pacing, his competitive fire refusing to let him sit still. "We can't fold like this. Not now."
"They're everywhere, man," Devon said, his voice strained. "Every time I try to get open, there's two guys on me."
"Because they are playing as a team," Darius said from his spot near the door. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "They rotate perfectly. They help at the right time. They trust each other."
"So what do we do?" Luis asked, looking up at Darius.
Before Darius could answer, Coach Anderson walked in with Assistant Coach George. The room went quiet.
Coach Anderson stood in front of them, his clipboard in hand, but he wasn't looking at it. He was looking at his players, reading their faces, their body language, the doubt that was starting to creep in.
"I know what you are thinking," he said, his voice steady but firm. "You are thinking they are better than us. You are thinking we do not belong on this court with them."
No one responded, but the silence was answer enough.
"And maybe they are better," Coach continued. "Right now, in this moment, they are executing better than we are. But that does not mean we quit. That does not mean we stop fighting."
He walked closer to them, his eyes moving from player to player. "Eli, they have adjusted to you in the paint. So we adjust back. Flash to the high post. Make them guard you out there. If they collapse on you, kick it out."
Eli nodded, his jaw set.
"Daren, Darius, you two are going to have to create more. They are taking away our sets, so we improvise. Read and react. Trust your instincts."
Daren and Darius both nodded.
"And the rest of you," Coach said, his voice rising slightly, "stop waiting for someone else to save us. Every single one of you has to step up. Defense, rebounds, loose balls. That is how we get back into this game."
He paused, letting his words settle. "We have twenty minutes left. Twenty minutes to show them what Bayview basketball is about. Now let's go out there and fight."
The team stood up, energy slowly returning to the room. Daren clapped his hands. "Let's go! We're still in this!"
"Bayview on three!" Eli shouted. "One, two, three—"
"BAYVIEW!"
Across the hallway, the Cascade Striders' locker room felt like a completely different universe.
There was no tension. No panic. Just calm, focused preparation.
Julian Hayes sat on the bench, sipping water, his face showing no emotion. Cameron Wells was retaping his ankle. Mason Lee was stretching his hamstrings. Andre Simpson and Derek Grant were quietly going over defensive assignments.
Coach Sullivan stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, a slight smile on his face.
"Excellent first half," he said simply. "That is exactly what we practiced. Discipline. Execution. Trust."
The players nodded, their confidence unshaken.
"Bayview is going to come out aggressive in the third quarter," Sullivan continued. "They have to. They are down eight, and they know we are not going to give them easy baskets. So they will try to speed the game up. They will take risks."
He looked at Julian. "When they push the pace, do not match their speed. Stay in control. Make them play our game."
Julian nodded. "Yes, Coach."
Sullivan turned to the rest of the team. "Darius and Daren are their primary threats now. They will try to create off the dribble. Julian, Cameron, when they drive, you force them left. Derek, Andre, you collapse hard. Make them give up the ball."
"What if they start hitting threes?" Mason asked.
"Then we contest and live with it," Sullivan said calmly. "We do not abandon our principles. We trust the system. It has gotten us here. It will carry us through."
He walked to the center of the room, his voice becoming firmer. "This is what we have prepared for all season. A team that will not quit. A team that will fight until the final buzzer. But we have something they do not have. We have discipline. We have trust. We have each other."
The players nodded, their expressions calm but focused.
"Twenty more minutes," Sullivan said. "Let's finish what we started."
Back in the Bayview locker room, Darius sat alone for a moment, his mind racing. The noise of his teammates preparing around him faded into the background as he focused inward.
System, he thought, his internal voice sharp. I need options. They have figured us out. What do I do?
The Hustle System responded immediately, text appearing in his mind like a quiet whisper.
STRATEGIC ANALYSIS: Cascade Striders are exploiting your offensive predictability. Recommended approach: Increase aggression at the rim. Drive into contact. Draw fouls. Force their defense to commit.
Darius's jaw tightened. He knew what the system was suggesting. It wanted him to attack the paint, to challenge their defense directly, to put his body on the line.
But that meant contact. Hard contact. The kind that made his head scream with phantom pain, the kind that triggered memories of Che's final moment.
I can't, Darius thought back. Not yet. Give me something else.
WARNING: Avoiding interior scoring limits offensive efficiency. Your shooting range is strong, but Cascade's perimeter defense is elite. Without rim pressure, your team cannot create sufficient space.
I know that, Darius shot back internally. But I'm not ready for that. Not today.
There was a pause, as if the system was processing his refusal.
ALTERNATIVE APPROACH: Increase tempo. Force transition opportunities. Utilize passing angles to exploit their rotations before they set. Risk level: High. Success probability: Moderate.
Darius exhaled slowly, his mind working through the suggestion. Push the pace. Don't let them set their defense. Force them to play fast, uncomfortable basketball.
It wasn't perfect. But it was something he could actually execute.
That'll work, he thought. We go fast. We make them uncomfortable.
He stood up, grabbed his warmup jacket, and walked toward where Daren was standing.
"Yo," Darius said quietly.
Daren turned. "What's up?"
"We need to push the pace in the second half. Every possession. Don't let them set up. Make them run with us."
Daren's eyes lit up. "Now you're talking my language."
Darius nodded. "We can't play their game. So we make them play ours."
The halftime buzzer rang, signaling five minutes until the second half.