The whistle blew, and Darius jogged onto the court, his hand slapping the scorer's table official's palm. The Eastbrook student section erupted immediately, their chant transforming into something more targeted, more vicious.
"FRESH-MAN! FRESH-MAN! YOU'RE GONNA CHOKE!"
"NUMBER SEVEN! YOU'RE TRASH!"
"GO BACK TO THE BENCH!"
The band hit a crescendo, drums pounding a rhythm that matched the crowd's mockery. Signs waved in the student section—someone had literally made a sign that said "RIVERSIDE SUBS = GARBAGE" in red letters.
On the Riverside bench, Jonathan Cruz leaned toward Terrell Jackson, both of them watching Darius take his position on the wing. "Kid's walking into a buzzsaw for his first game. That's rough."
"Yeah," Terrell muttered, his eyes tracking the crowd's hostility. "Crowd's going to try to eat him alive. Hope he's ready for it."
Marcus Thompson sat forward, his towel draped over his shoulders. "First official minutes with first string and it's in this atmosphere? Man, that's trial by fire."
Game Time: 4:59
Derek Williams inbounded the ball to Darius, who caught it at the top of the key. The Eastbrook crowd immediately got louder, screaming anything to distract him. Their point guard Marcus Davis picked him up at half court, his pressure immediate and aggressive.
But Darius's face showed nothing. No nervousness. No hesitation. Just calm. His dribble was controlled as he crossed half court, his body language suggesting he'd done this a thousand times before.
He called for a screen from Khalil at the top of the key. Khalil set it solid, and Darius used it to turn the corner. Eastbrook's defense rotated, their help coming from the weak side. Darius pulled back, reset, then attacked again with a quick first step that got him into the paint.
Their center stepped up. Darius rose up from twelve feet, his form textbook perfect despite the contact, despite the noise, despite everything.
The ball rotated backward, arced high, and dropped through the net without touching the rim.
Riverside 12, Eastbrook 17
Game Time: 4:41
The Eastbrook crowd barely paused. If anything, they got louder, determined not to let one basket slow their momentum. "LUCKY SHOT! LUCKY SHOT!"
But on the Riverside bench, Derek leaned back slightly. "Okay. Kid's not rattled."
Marcus Davis brought it back for Eastbrook, and the home crowd lifted them immediately. He crossed half court and ran a set, the ball swinging from side to side. Their shooting guard Tyler Green came off a double screen, caught the ball on the right wing, and rose up with Derek contesting.
Three-pointer. Good.
Riverside 12, Eastbrook 20
Game Time: 4:19
The gymnasium exploded. The band blasted their fight song. Students were jumping up and down. The noise reached levels that made the rafters vibrate.
"LET'S GO EAGLES! LET'S GO EAGLES!"
Darius brought it back up, his dribble unhurried despite the eight-point deficit. He crossed half court and immediately looked to attack. Marcus Davis pressured him, but Darius hit him with a quick hesitation move that created just enough space to survey the floor.
He swung the ball to Henderson on the right wing. Henderson caught it, attacked his closeout, and kicked it to Davis in the corner. Davis shot a three-pointer that clanged off the rim. Eastbrook grabbed the rebound.
Game Time: 3:54
Fast break. Marcus Davis pushed the pace, his speed in transition making Riverside's defense scramble. He drove into the paint and finished with a floater over Khalil's contest.
Riverside 12, Eastbrook 22
Game Time: 3:37
Ten-point deficit. The crowd was in absolute pandemonium. The atmosphere felt like a living thing, pressing down on Riverside's substitutes, trying to suffocate them.
Darius brought it back up, and this time he attacked immediately. His first step was explosive, getting him past Marcus Davis's initial pressure. He drove into the paint where Eastbrook's center stepped up to help.
Darius jumped and kicked it to Henderson cutting baseline. Henderson caught it and finished with a layup through contact. The whistle blew.
And one. Henderson made the free throw.
Riverside 15, Eastbrook 22
Game Time: 3:14
Seven-point game. A small run, but not enough to quiet the crowd.
Eastbrook came back down, and their offense ran through Tyler Green again. He caught the ball on the left wing, came off a screen, and rose up for another three.
Derek's contest was perfect, his hand right in Green's face. But Green's form was too good, his confidence too high.
Swish.
Riverside 15, Eastbrook 25
Game Time: 2:51
Ten-point deficit again. The Eastbrook student section was losing their minds, their chants reaching new creative heights: "RIVERSIDE'S OVERRATED! CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP"
On the Riverside bench, Jonathan watched Darius bring the ball back up. The freshman's face still showed nothing. No frustration. No panic. Just that same calm focus.
"He's not folding," Terrell observed quietly. "Thought the crowd would get in his head by now."
"Maybe it will," Marcus Thompson said. "Give it time."
Game Time: 2:29
But Darius didn't look like someone whose confidence was cracking. He brought the ball up and ran a set, the offense flowing through him naturally. Screen from Khalil, rejection, second screen from Henderson. The ball moved from Darius to Derek to Henderson.
Henderson drove and kicked back to Darius on the wing. Open three.
Darius rose up, his form smooth despite the crowd screaming, despite students waving their arms behind the basket, despite everything designed to distract him.
The shot felt good leaving his hands. Perfect rotation. High arc.
It hit the front of the rim, bounced up, and fell through.
Riverside 18, Eastbrook 25
Game Time: 2:06
Seven-point game. The Eastbrook crowd's noise dropped for just a second—not much, but enough to notice.
Eastbrook brought it back, and this time they went inside to their power forward Andre Mitchell. He posted up Davis, their backup forward who was giving up thirty pounds. The mismatch was obvious.
Mitchell backed him down with two powerful dribbles and finished with a layup. Davis tried to contest but couldn't match the physicality.
Riverside 18, Eastbrook 27
Game Time: 1:44
Nine-point deficit. The margin kept hovering around that same range—close enough to feel competitive, far enough to feel insurmountable with this crowd lifting Eastbrook after every basket.
Darius brought it up, his breathing controlled, his mind processing at full speed. The Hustle System pulsed softly, highlighting passing lanes, defensive gaps, opportunities that appeared for microseconds.
He crossed half court and immediately saw it—Eastbrook's defense was sagging toward Khalil in the paint, overcompensating for his dominance. Their rotations were good, but there was a pattern. Every time Darius drove middle, their weak side rotation came from the corner. Every time.
Game Time: 1:21
Darius attacked off the dribble, his first step explosive. Marcus Davis stayed attached, fighting through a screen from Khalil. Darius drove into the paint, drawing Eastbrook's defense like gravity.
Their center stepped up. Their power forward rotated from the weak side. Both defenders converging on Darius, who was now in the air, seemingly trapped.
But Darius had seen this rotation three times already. Had noted it. Had catalogued it. Had been waiting for the perfect moment to exploit it.
He jumped, his body twisting mid-air, and threw a pass that seemed impossible—a behind-the-back laser that threaded between two defenders and found Khalil cutting from the weak side.
Khalil caught it in stride, already elevating. Eastbrook's center tried to recover, jumping to contest. But he was too late, too slow, too far out of position.
Khalil rose up and threw down a dunk so violent the entire gymnasium felt it. The contact sent Eastbrook's center—Isaiah Brooks—stumbling backward before his legs gave out completely. He hit the floor hard, the impact echoing through the sudden silence that had fallen over the home crowd.
Riverside 20, Eastbrook 27
Game Time: 1:09
For just a second, the gymnasium was quiet. The band stopped mid-note. The student section's chants died in their throats. Everyone was processing what they'd just witnessed—not just the dunk, but the pass that made it possible.
Darius stood at the three-point line where he'd released the pass, his eyes scanning the crowd. The student section. The band. The parents. All of them staring at the court where Isaiah Brooks was being helped up by his teammates.
Then Darius turned toward the Eastbrook student section specifically. Made direct eye contact with the front row. And slowly, deliberately, brought his index finger to his lips.
Shhhhhh.
The gesture was simple. Universal. Unmistakable.
Be quiet.
For exactly two seconds, the crowd was too shocked to respond. Then the rage hit.
"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"
"DISRESPECTFUL LITTLE—"
"SIT DOWN, FRESHMAN!"
The boos cascaded down from the stands like a physical wave. Students were on their feet screaming. Some were pointing. One person threw a foam finger toward the court that landed harmlessly near the baseline.
And Darius laughed. Not mockingly. Not cruelly. Just genuinely amused by the reaction. His face broke into a wide smile as the crowd's fury reached new heights, their coordinated chants dissolving into incoherent screaming.
On the Riverside bench, the mood had completely shifted. Jonathan Cruz was on his feet, a smile on his face. "Yo, this kid is different."
Terrell was laughing. "Man just shushed their entire student section after that dunk. That's wild."
Even Derek—stoic, focused Derek—was shaking his head with something like admiration. "Freshman's got some real audacity. Respect."
Coach Martinez's expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that might have been satisfaction. This was what he'd promoted Darius for. Not just skill. Not just basketball IQ. This.
The ability to compete when the pressure was highest. To thrive when everyone was against you. To make plays that shifted momentum and then have the confidence to back it up with attitude.
Game Time: 0:54
The referee blew his whistle, signaling Eastbrook's timeout. The home coach was furious, screaming at his team as they jogged to the bench. The crowd was still in chaos, their anger at Darius's disrespect mixing with disbelief at the play itself.
As both teams walked to their benches, Darius jogged past the Eastbrook student section one more time. They were screaming at him, calling him everything short of profanity that would get them kicked out.
One student yelled: "YOU'RE STILL LOSING!"
Darius just smiled and pointed at the scoreboard, then at himself, mouthing words that the student could read even without sound: "Not for long."
The student section exploded again, their fury reaching levels that made security start moving toward the front rows just in case.
Darius reached the Riverside bench, and Derek dapped him up immediately. "That was nasty. Both the pass and the shush."
"Crowd wanted to get in my head," Darius said, his breathing controlled despite playing at full intensity. "Figured I'd return the favor."
Khalil walked past and nodded once—his version of acknowledgment. "Good pass."
Coach Martinez gathered the team, his voice cutting through the chaos. "That's the energy we need. Making plays, backing it up with confidence. Keep executing."
As the timeout continued, as Eastbrook's coach diagrammed desperate adjustments, as the crowd's anger slowly transformed back into coordinated chants designed to lift their team, Darius sat on the bench and felt it.
That rush. That feeling he'd missed from his previous life. The joy of competing when everyone wanted you to fail. The satisfaction of making plays that silenced hostile crowds. The pure, unfiltered competition that made basketball more than just a game.
He'd missed this.
And now he had it back.
Game Time: 0:46
The timeout ended. Both teams returned to the court. The Eastbrook crowd had found their rhythm again, their chants resuming with renewed fury. They wanted revenge for that shush. Wanted their team to embarrass this disrespectful freshman who thought he could talk trash in their house.
But Darius wasn't thinking about revenge or embarrassment or any of that. He was thinking about the next possession. The next play. The next opportunity to prove that the shush wasn't just bravado.
It was a promise.
The ball was inbounded to Marcus Davis, who brought it up court with the crowd behind him, the noise reaching levels that made communication nearly impossible.
Darius positioned himself defensively, his body low, his hands active, his face showing that same calm confidence that had been there since he checked in.
The Eastbrook crowd was screaming. The band was playing. The atmosphere was suffocating.