The second quarter was a masterclass in controlled fury. The Titans, their confidence restored, became an extension of Alex's will. He was a conductor, and they were his orchestra, each play a note in a symphony of calculated aggression.
"Zone B! Sixty percent chance of a skip pass!" Alex yelled from the sideline.
On cue, Diego cheated into the passing lane, his deflection leading to a fast break. Marcus, instead of forcing the issue, drew the defense and dropped it off to a trailing Ben for a thunderous, two-handed dunk. The 99% finish sent a jolt through the Northwood crowd.
The run continued. 11-0 became 16-4. The score was 27-26, Southside clinging to a one-point lead. The arena, once a partisan roar for the Spartans, was now buzzing with the shocked energy of a real fight.
Southside's Coach Masters called a desperate timeout. The smirk was gone from Jamal Reynolds's face, replaced by a scowl of frustration. The Titans had not only climbed back into the game; they had stolen the momentum entirely.
In the huddle, the air was electric. The players were gasping, but their eyes were bright with the thrill of the battle.
"They're rattled," Alex said, his voice calm amidst the storm. He wiped the whiteboard clean and drew one single, decisive play. "They're going to come out in a man-to-man press. They're trying to create chaos again. We're not going to let them."
He looked at Samir. "Samir, you are the key. The inbound pass to Marcus has an 85% success rate. But the pass to you, curling off Ben's screen, has a 92% rate. You take the ball. You are the point guard. You run the play."
Samir's eyes widened, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The noise of the crowd seemed to amplify.
"I... I can't," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "The pressure..."
Before Alex could respond, Marcus stepped in. He put a hand on Samir's shoulder, his grip firm.
"Look at me," Marcus said, his voice low and intense. "You're the smartest guy on this court. You see it before it happens. That's why he picked you. You got this. We got you."
It wasn't a speech. It was a transfer of trust. Samir looked from Marcus's determined face to Alex's steady gaze. He saw Ben give him a small, encouraging nod. He saw Diego clap his hands once, sharply.
The 92% in Alex's vision, which had been flickering, stabilized into a solid, emerald green.
Samir took a deep breath, his shoulders squaring. "Okay," he said, his voice stronger. "Okay."
The whistle blew. As predicted, Southside launched into a frantic full-court press. The ball was inbounded to Marcus, who was immediately double-teamed. But instead of panicking, he immediately fired a pass to the spot where Samir was supposed to be.
And Samir was there.
He caught the ball cleanly, already in motion. He didn't dribble wildly. He took two decisive dribbles, saw the defense collapsing, and fired a cross-court laser to Diego, who was streaking ahead on the wing. The pass was perfect, hitting him in stride.
Diego drove, drew the last defender, and dished to a cutting Marcus, who laid the ball in for an easy two.
Northwood 28, Southside 27.
Their first lead.
The Northwood side of the arena exploded. It was a thing of beauty. A five-player, seamless, game-leading possession born from trust and execution.
The rest of the half was a brutal, possession-by-possession war. Southside answered with a tough shot from Reynolds. The Titans came back with a patient set that ended with a Ben hook shot. Back and forth they went, two heavyweights trading blows.
When the halftime buzzer finally sounded, the score was tied, 38-38.
The Titans walked off the court not as underdogs who had overperformed, but as equals. They were drenched in sweat, their chests heaving, but there was a new light in their eyes. They had stared into the abyss of a blowout, and instead of falling, they had climbed out.
In the locker room, Alex didn't need to give a fiery speech. The proof was on the scoreboard.
"They gave us their best shot," Alex said, his voice quiet but carrying to every corner of the silent room. "And we took it. And we're still standing. The system works. Your heart works. Now, we finish this."
He looked around at his team—at Marcus, the leader; at Ben, the pillar; at Diego, the spark; at Samir, the mind.
"You've already won the hard part," Alex said. "You've earned each other's trust. The second half isn't about Xs and Os. It's about who wants it more."
He let the silence hang for a moment, then clapped his hands once.
"Now, let's go take what's ours."