The silence in the gym on Thursday was profound. It was the day before the state finals, and Alex had canceled their usual high-intensity practice. Instead, the Northwood Titans sat in a circle at center court, the squeak of sneakers and the bounce of balls replaced by the low hum of the ventilation system.
Marcus was there, but his energy was contained, his gaze fixed on the polished wood between his feet. The letter from the scout was a ghost in the room, its presence felt by everyone.
Alex stood before them, a tablet in his hand, but he didn't turn it on. He had no percentages to share today.
"Tomorrow," he began, his voice calm and steady, "is just a game. The same dimensions, the same ball, the same rules."
A few players shifted, skepticism on their faces.
"I know," Alex continued, a faint smile touching his lips. "It doesn't feel that way. It feels like the most important thing that will ever happen to you. And in some ways, it is. But the outcome—the win or the loss—that's not what I'll remember."
He started to walk slowly around the inside of the circle, making eye contact with each player.
"I'll remember the first day, when Ben passed up a ninety-eight percent layup because he was afraid to fail." Ben flushed but met his coach's gaze. "I'll remember Diego trying a behind-the-back pass into the third row." A few chuckles broke the tension. Diego grinned.
"I'll remember Samir, too scared to shoot, now running our offense with a steady hand. I'll remember Marcus..." Alex paused, and the entire circle held its breath. "...putting the team on his back when we needed it, and learning when to trust his teammates even more."
He stopped walking and faced them all.
"The system was never about the numbers. The numbers were just a language. A way for us to learn to talk to each other on the court. To see the game through the same eyes. The system was about trust. It was about believing that the pass to an open teammate is always the right play, even if it means you don't get the glory."
He looked directly at Marcus. "The most dangerous player isn't the one who can score from anywhere. It's the one the defense can't predict because he might score, or he might make the pass that leads to the pass that leads to the easiest bucket of the game. That's a player you can build a dynasty around. That's a leader."
Marcus didn't look away. The defiance was gone, replaced by a deep, thoughtful intensity.
"Southside is bigger. They're faster. They're the favorites," Alex stated, no drama in his voice. "On paper, they should win. But the game isn't played on paper. It's played right here." He tapped his temple. "And in here." He tapped his chest over his heart.
"They have plays. We have a system. They have a star. We have a team. They're playing for a trophy. We're playing for each other."
He let the words hang in the quiet gym.
"No practice today. I want you to go home. Eat a good meal. Get a full night's sleep. Don't think about basketball. Think about why you started playing in the first place. Remember the joy."
He dismissed them. As the players stood, their movements were quiet, purposeful. There were no loud jokes, no frantic energy. It was the calm of focused determination.
As they filed out, Marcus lingered. He approached Alex, his hands shoved in his pockets.
"Coach," he said, his voice low. "That player... the one you can build a dynasty around. What's his percentage?"
Alex looked at his star, seeing not a rebellious kid, but a young man searching for a path. He saw the numbers, of course. He saw the 78% chance Marcus would revert to hero-ball under pressure, and the 92% chance they would win if he fully bought into the system.
But for the first time, he ignored them.
"There is no percentage for that, Marcus," Alex said softly. "That's a choice."
Marcus held his gaze for a long moment, then gave a single, sharp nod. "Okay."
He turned and walked away, leaving Alex alone in the vast, silent gym. The eve-of-battle tension was still there, a thick blanket over the city. But inside this room, there was a new foundation. Not of data and probability, but of something far stronger, and far more fragile.
The machine was ready. Tomorrow, they would find out if it had developed a soul.