The buzz in the Northwood gym for the first playoff game was a different species entirely from the skeptical murmurs of a month ago. This was a deep, electric hum of anticipation. The stands were packed, and a student had even painted "TRUST THE %" on his chest. The viral "Robot Coach" video felt like ancient history.
From the tip-off, the system was a well-oiled machine. They weren't just playing basketball; they were executing a precise, violent ballet. Alex called out plays, his voice a calm metronome against the roaring backdrop.
"Fist Down! Seventy-two percent!"
The players moved as one. The ball zipped from Samir to Diego, to Marcus on the wing. The play was designed to get Marcus a driving lane, but the defense, having scouted them, over-committed. Alex saw the probability shift instantly.
"Baseline! Ninety-one percent!" he barked, correcting the play.
Marcus, already driving, didn't force a contested layup. He drew the defense and fired a bullet pass to the corner where Diego stood, waiting. The ball left Diego's hands in a perfect arc. 91% glowed and held.
Swish.
The net snapped. The crowd erupted.
This was the new narrative. Not a robot giving orders, but a conductor leading a symphony of efficiency. The local sports reporter in the stands was scribbling furiously, his earlier skepticism replaced by keen interest.
The true moment of transformation came in the third quarter. They were running "Horns Flex," a play designed to create a mid-range jumper for Marcus. But Alex saw a better option materialize. As Marcus came off the screen, his defender went under it, while Ben's man cheated too far into the paint.
The probability above Marcus's head was a solid 68% for the jumper. Good, but not great.
But the probability of a lob pass to Ben, who was now cutting to the basket with a sliver of space, was 98%.
"Ben! Now!" Alex commanded, his voice cutting through the noise.
Marcus heard it. In a move that would have been unthinkable weeks ago, he didn't even look at the basket. He leaped, not to shoot, but to pass, lofting a perfect, high-arcing lob toward the rim.
Ben's head didn't snap to the sideline. He didn't hesitate. He saw the play unfold, trusted the number his coach had called, and launched himself upward. He met the ball at its highest point, his hand swallowing it before throwing it down through the hoop with a thunderous, one-handed dunk.
The 98% didn't just glow; it exploded.
The backboard shuddered. The roar of the crowd was a physical wave that seemed to shake the very foundations of the gym. It wasn't just a dunk; it was a statement. The System could produce beauty. It could produce power.
Ben landed, his usual timid expression replaced by a look of stunned, primal triumph. He turned, found Marcus, and pointed. Marcus grinned, clapping his hands. "That's what I'm talking about!"
On the sideline, Alex allowed himself a single, sharp nod. This was the synthesis. The data had provided the path, but the players had provided the soul. The "Ninety-Eight Percent Layup" had just evolved into the "Ninety-Eight Percent Dunk."
The game was a blowout. When the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read: Northwood 81, Opponents 58.
As the teams shook hands, the sports reporter, a man named Leo, intercepted Alex. "Coach Corbin! Leo from the Gazette. That was... incredible. That lob to Ben Carter... did you draw that up?"
Alex looked over at his team, now mobbing a beaming Ben. "We draw up the percentages, Leo. The players make the plays."
He turned and walked toward the locker room, the cheers of the crowd still ringing in his ears. The first playoff win was in the books. But as he walked, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. It was an alert from a national sports recruiting service.
The headline made him stop in his tracks.
"Diamond in the Rough?: Northwood's Ben Carter Catches Eyes with Stunning Playoff Performance."
The article mentioned his efficient stats and, buried near the bottom, a quote from a scout: "The system they're running is unorthodox, but you can't argue with the results. The coach over there, Alex Corbin, has them believing in something."
The world was starting to watch. The high school playoffs were no longer just about redemption. They were a launching pad.
And Alex knew the higher you fly, the harder your enemies try to shoot you down.