Los Angeles | 2009
Leo's POV
The game starts in your head. Long before the whistle, before the first squeak of sneakers on the hardwood. For me, it started on a cracked asphalt court three blocks from my house, a world away from the quiet, upper-middle-class life my parents had built. My dad's a lawyer, my mom's a homemaker; our life was supposed to be neat, planned out, safe.
But the court wasn't safe. It was loud, fast, and run by older kids who didn't care about my dad's closing arguments. They just cared if you could play. I fell in love with the challenge, the raw, unfiltered competition. Basketball became my drive, the one thing that was completely mine, and I got good at it.
Good enough to be the best player on the school team, but that was its own kind of problem. It felt like a one-man fast break. I needed a partner, someone who spoke the same language, who saw the angles and felt the rhythm of the game in their bones. David's my boy, a wall on defense, but he's not a killer. He's happy to let his natural gifts—that crazy wingspan and his latest growth spurt—do most of the work for him while he thinks about what junk food he's going to buy with his allowance. He didn't have the same thirst for a real challenge.
Then, six months ago, Bradley Naird walked into the Northwood gym.
I'll never forget that first tryout game. He passed me the ball—not to where I was, but to the exact spot I was going to be a half-second later. It was a revelation. It was like he saw a version of me that was faster and smarter than I was, and he was daring me to catch up. For the first time, I wasn't just playing; I was in sync.
He, David, and I became fast friends after that, practicing at his insane private court almost every day. I've been more dedicated, more committed than ever, and my game has grown more in these six months than it did in the two years before. David's gotten taller, which, I'll admit, makes me a little jealous. But my time will come. I can feel it. And when I get that height, combined with the work I'm putting in? It's going to be over for everyone else.
It all starts today. The sun was hot, the air tasted like salt and asphalt, and a dozen basketballs beat a chaotic rhythm against the blacktop. Venice Beach. This was my kind of church.
Today was the first match of the three-on-three streetball tournament I'd signed us up for. David had been a little reluctant at first, complaining about the heat, but his attitude changed the second I mentioned the prize money. Two thousand dollars for the winning team in the under-14 division. Split three ways, that's six hundred and sixty-six bucks each. David's eyes had glazed over. I could practically see a universe of burgers and candy bars swirling behind them. Whatever it takes to get him motivated, I guess.
The setup was raw, just how I liked it. This was an open court tournament, with no polished hardwood in sight. The courts were worn, sun-bleached asphalt, surrounded by chain-link fences that rattled every time a stray ball hit them. The ocean breeze carried the distant sounds of the boardwalk, but here, the only thing that mattered was the game. The tournament was spread over two weekends: four group stage games to survive this one, then single-elimination playoffs next week. Simple. Brutal. My kind of challenge.
A ref with a whistle hanging from his neck called our court number. "Knights! You're up!"
It was time. I looked at my crew as we took our place on the baseline. David was stretching his long legs, a goofy, sugar-fueled grin already on his face. And Bradley... he was already in the zone, his eyes scanning our first opponents, breaking them down, running the calculations, his expression calm and focused.
He was the strategist. David was the muscle. And I was the fire. I felt that familiar, furious fighting spirit start to burn in my chest. Yeah. We were going to wreck 'em.
Just before the ref was ready to toss the ball, Bradley pulled us into a tight huddle, his voice low and focused, cutting through the noise of the other courts.
"Listen up," he said, his eyes flicking between me and David. "We're running a zone defense. No man-to-man unless I call it. It's hot, and we've got two games today. We can't burn ourselves out chasing them all over the court." My first instinct is always to get in my man's face, to bring the pressure, but he was right. A full day of that in this heat would be a killer.
He looked at David. "You own the paint. Your job is protecting the rim. Nothing gets past you. Leo and I are on the wings." He turned to me. "We get a rebound or a steal, we go hard and fast. Quick scores, then we hustle right back. A solid defense is what wins a tournament like this, not flashy offense. Got it?"
We both nodded. It was a smart plan. Be the captain, Bradley.
I looked at the guys on the other side as we lined up for the jump ball. They were just like us, fellow school-going boys from somewhere else in the county, probably used to being the best players on their own block. They wore mismatched jerseys and had a confident, scrappy look about them, but they didn't seem like a true unit.
The ref's whistle pierced the air, and he tossed the ball high. David's ridiculous wingspan did the work, his long fingers tipping it perfectly in my direction.
I caught it on the run. Pure instinct took over. I saw a seam in their disorganized defense, a clear, straight line to the basket. I didn't think; I just exploded forward, the blacktop a blur under my feet. Two hard pounds on the asphalt, a gather step. I went up for the layup, the rim right there, an easy two points to set the tone.
Then, out of nowhere, a hand shot in and swatted the ball from my fingertips just as I released it. It wasn't a clean block, just a messy, disruptive streetball play that sent the ball careening out of bounds.
A collective "Oh!" from the small crowd of onlookers. The ref pointed. Their ball. I landed back on the court, a hot surge of frustration flashing through me as our opponents high-fived. Okay. So it was going to be one of those games.
My brief flash of frustration was cut short by Bradley's voice, calm and steady as always. "Zone defense. Leo, you and I take the wings. David, protect the paint. They score, we get back. No easy buckets."
We snapped into position as the Tigers inbounded the ball. Their shooting guard, a quick kid with shifty eyes, brought it up. He gave me a fake dribble, trying to force a drive inwards, but I didn't bite. Instead, he whipped a pass to their center, who had found a soft spot in our zone. The kid took a quick mid-range shot over David's outstretched hand and drained it. (Tigers 2, Knights 0)
"It's good! Let's run!" Bradley commanded. I took the inbound and passed it to our strategist. He directed traffic with a simple nod, calling for a high screen from David. The play was a classic, but on this court's chaotic geometry, it worked. The screen gave me just enough space to make a hard cut to the basket. Brad's pass was already on its way, a perfect bounce that hit me right in stride for an easy layup. (Leo: 2 pts)
The game fell into a fast, frantic rhythm. The Tigers were quick, scoring on a tough, driving layup. We answered right back, with Brad drawing the defense before dishing it to David under the rim for a simple bucket. (David: 2 pts). They were scrappy, though. A skip pass found their guard open in the corner, and he launched a high-arcing three that dropped through the net without touching the rim. The small crowd of parents and onlookers cheered. (3 pts). Brad took control. On our next possession, he didn't even hesitate. He used another screen from David, and as the defense scrambled to recover, he pulled up from well behind the painted line. Swish. All net. (Brad: 3 pts)
The buzzer signaled the end of a brutal first quarter, all tied up. (Tigers 7, Knights 7)
The second quarter was an even more physical battle. David was a monster on defense, swatting one of their layup attempts into the chain-link fence, but their center was crafty, grabbing a long rebound and scoring on a tough putback. (2 pts). We came back, and I managed to shake my defender with a crossover and hit a jumper from the baseline. (Leo: 2 pts). They kept attacking, getting another two on a well-executed pick-and-roll that left David a step behind. (2 pts). But Bradley answered immediately, weaving through traffic for a slick layup of his own. (Brad: 2 pts)
We were trading blows, neither team giving an inch. I saw an opening and took it, a flash of movement on a fast break. Brad saw it too, hitting me with a long pass for my final basket of the half. (Leo: 2 pts). But they were relentless, their guard hitting another long jumper to tie it up again. (2 pts)
With the clock winding down, they got the ball to their best player, the shooting guard. He faked a drive, stepped back, and launched a deep three-pointer that rattled in as the parents on their side erupted. (3 pts)
There were only a few seconds left. I inbounded the ball to Bradley. He took two frantic dribbles and drove hard to the basket, throwing up a wild shot as the buzzer sounded. He missed, but the ref's whistle cut through the noise. A shooting foul. He was going to the line for two shots with no time on the clock.
The court went quiet. He spun the ball in his hands, took a breath, and shot. The first one was perfect. Swish. (Brad: 1 pt). He shot the second, but it was just a little long, bouncing off the back of the rim.
The ref signaled the end of the half. We had fought hard, but we were still trailing.
End of First Half: Tigers 16, Knights 14.
During the short halftime break, Bradley was all business. "They're getting tired, but so are we. Stay smart. The zone is working."
I was fired up, ready to go, but when the third quarter started, I could see David feeling the heat. He was a step slow getting back on defense, his hands on his shorts, breathing heavily. The Tigers' center backed him down for an easy two points. On the next possession, David was late on a rebound, letting them get a putback. Then he committed a sloppy reach-in foul, his third of the game.
"Come on, man! Get your head in the game!" I yelled, my frustration boiling over. My short temper was getting the best of me.
"Leo," Brad stepped in, his voice cutting through my anger. He put a hand on my shoulder. "Yelling won't help. We're down. That means we have to play doubly hard. You and me. We carry the load. Let's go."
His words were like a match to gasoline. If we had to play doubly hard, then I would go berserk. I called for the ball on every possession, a whirlwind of motion. I slashed to the basket for a tough, contested layup, screaming "And one!" even though the ref didn't call it. I took risky shots, pulling up for jumpers with a hand in my face. But they were falling. Bradley was the eye of my storm, feeding me the ball at the perfect moments, letting me rage against their defense. When they finally started to collapse on me, he took his own shots, hitting a three and a slick pull-up jumper. Even David, feeding off the energy, managed to get inside for two tough buckets on offensive rebounds. The quarter was a blur of furious, high-energy basketball. By the time the buzzer sounded, we had clawed our way back. We had the lead. (3rd Quarter Scoring: Leo 8 pts, Bradley 6 pts, David 4 pts)
But as the final quarter began, I felt it. The well was empty. My legs felt like cement. My "berserk" mode had burned through all my reserves. I tried to drive to the basket, to summon that same fire, but my legs were too heavy. I ran right into my defender, and the ref's whistle blew. Offensive foul. Frustration made me want to scream.
Bradley walked over as the Tigers took the ball out. "Breathe, Leo. Just breathe. We got this," he said, but as I looked at him, I could see he was getting tired too. The constant pressure of running the offense, of being the strategist, was taking its toll. How are we going to hold on? I thought, a flicker of doubt hitting me for the first time.
And then, I saw it. Bradley changed.
It wasn't a sudden burst of energy. It was the opposite. He went quiet. His movements, which were always precise, became impossibly fluid. It was like he had gone into a trance, his eyes slightly unfocused but somehow seeing everything at once. He was in a super state.
He got the ball on the wing, and without a single dribble, he rose up and shot. Swish. The Tigers brought the ball up, and David got a huge block. I grabbed the loose ball and passed it to Bradley. He took one dribble past half-court and pulled up again. Swish. The Tigers looked shell-shocked. On the next inbound, they double-teamed me, trying to deny Bradley the ball. He cut back, took the pass, and without even seeming to aim, let it fly. Swish. Three back-to-back three-pointers. Nine points in under a minute. I was mesmerised.
He wasn't just a shooter anymore. He was a force of nature. He drove the lane, the entire defense collapsing on him, and then the ball was just... in my hands. A perfect, no-look pass mid-dribble that I hadn't even seen coming. Easiest layup of my life. A possession later, he did the same thing for David. They were so focused on stopping him they left everyone else wide open, and he saw it all. He finished the game with a final, driving layup that sealed the victory.
The final buzzer sounded. The Knights had won the match. My teammates were celebrating, but I just stood there at half-court, watching Bradley. He wasn't celebrating. He was just breathing, his hands on his knees, looking like he'd just run a marathon. He wasn't just a strategist anymore. I had just watched him become a killer. (Final Quarter Scoring: Bradley 11 pts, Leo 6 pts, David 6 pts)
Final Score: Tigers 42, Knights 55.
Leo: 20
David:12
Bradley:23
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AN:
Alright Everyone the poll is now closed.
The result is for everyone to see. It was an overwhelming NO for me to change the way I'm writing the romance in the story. Thus I will stick to how I'm writing. Thank you all for your support.
Also guys the powerstones we really need to climb the rankings a little help to your author can go a long way in benefitting you. Extra chapters for you to read for the powerstones milestones we reach.
See ya tomorrow. As always you can read 15 Chapters ahead of the webnovel release on my p@treon/Rhagnar.