The chain net rattled as the ball dropped through. Bryce grabbed it before it hit the cracked pavement, the rough texture biting into his palms. Late August in Detroit meant the heat hadn't let up yet, even with the sun dipping low enough to paint the sky in streaks of orange and purple.
Across from him, Ezekiel "Zeke" Lawson stood at the top of the key, hands on his knees, breathing hard. At six-foot-six, he looked like he'd been carved out of stone—shoulders wide, arms long, legs built like pistons. His white tank top clung to his chest, dark with sweat, and his black shorts hung past his knees.
Bryce was five-ten on a good day. Maybe five-eleven if he lied. He had muscle—his arms and core were solid from years of grinding—but standing across from Zeke made him feel small. Always had.
"Run it back," Bryce said, tossing the ball to Zeke.
Zeke caught it, rolled his shoulders, and grinned. "You sure? I'm up 9-2."
"Ball don't lie."
Zeke's grin widened. "Aight. Check."
Bryce slapped the ball back to him. Zeke took two dribbles to his right, then exploded left. Bryce stayed with him—barely. His feet shuffled, hips low, hand up to contest. Zeke rose up from fifteen feet, elevation easy, effortless.
Swish.
"Ten-two. Game point." Zeke tossed the ball back to Bryce. "One more?"
Bryce checked it without a word. He drove right this time, crossed back left, created just enough space for a mid-range jumper. He rose, released—
Zeke's hand swatted it away. Not even close. The ball bounced toward the fence, and Bryce jogged after it, chest tight.
When did the gap get this big?
He remembered being twelve, thirteen—back when he could keep up. Back when people still said, "Yo, Bryce and Zeke gonna run the city when they hit high school." Back when it felt possible.
But puberty hit Zeke like a freight train. Grew six inches in a year, added muscle like it was nothing, jumped out the gym without trying. Meanwhile, Bryce stayed the same. Got a little stronger, a little craftier, but that was it.
Now Zeke was headed to the league. Everybody knew it. And Bryce?
He grabbed the ball from the fence and walked back.
Zeke was sitting on the pavement now, back against the pole, breathing steady. He looked up as Bryce approached, and his expression shifted. The grin faded.
"Yo, B. I gotta tell you something."
Bryce stopped, ball tucked under his arm. The way Zeke said it—like he'd been holding it in all day—made Bryce's stomach drop.
"What's up?"
Zeke stood, brushed the dirt off his shorts. He didn't meet Bryce's eyes.
"I'm transferring."
The words hung in the air. Bryce heard them, processed them, but his brain refused to make sense of it.
"Transferring? Where?"
"La Lumiere. In Indiana." Zeke finally looked at him. "My pops got me the offer last week. Full ride. They said I'd get national exposure, play against the best competition, get ready for D1."
Bryce nodded slowly. His grip on the ball tightened.
Of course. Of course he's leaving.
"That's... that's dope, bro. For real." Bryce forced a smile. "When you leave?"
"Next week. Classes start September first."
Next week. Seven days. Bryce had known this summer would end, that high school would start, that they'd finally run together at Douglass like they'd been talking about since middle school. Except now—
"Yeah, man. That's big time." Bryce dapped him up, pulled him into a quick hug. "You gonna kill it out there."
Zeke's face relaxed. He'd been tense, like he thought Bryce might blow up on him. "Yo, you know we still gonna link up. I'll be back for Christmas break, Thanksgiving, all that. We gonna run it then."
"For sure." Bryce handed him the ball. "One more game before you go?"
Zeke hesitated, then grinned. "Aight. But I'm not going easy on you."
"Never asked you to."
They played until the streetlights flickered on. Bryce lost every game. 11-4, 11-6, 11-3. It didn't matter how hard he worked, how crafty he got with his footwork, how much he tried to out-think Zeke—athleticism won. Every time.
By the end, Zeke was barely sweating. Bryce's legs felt like concrete.
"Aight, I gotta bounce." Zeke grabbed his bag from the side of the court. "My moms wants me home for dinner. She's been trippin' all week about me leaving."
Bryce nodded. "Yeah, go ahead. I'm gonna shoot around for a bit."
Zeke slung his bag over his shoulder, then paused. "Yo, B. For real though—you gonna be nice this year. Douglass is lucky to have you."
Bryce forced another smile. "Appreciate it, bro."
They dapped up one more time. Zeke walked toward the street, his silhouette shrinking under the glow of the streetlights. He turned back once, waved, then disappeared around the corner.
Bryce stood there, ball in his hands, staring at the empty court.
The sound of a car passing broke the silence. Then another. Then nothing.
He dribbled the ball once. Twice. The echo bounced off the surrounding buildings, lonely and hollow.
We were supposed to do this together.
The thought hit him harder than he expected. He'd spent the last three years watching Zeke grow into something untouchable, something elite, while he stayed the same. And he'd told himself it was fine. That he'd figure it out. That hard work would close the gap.
But it didn't. It never did.
Bryce walked to the free-throw line, squared up, and shot. The ball clanged off the front rim.
He grabbed the rebound, shot again. Clang.
Again. Clang.
Why? Why him and not me?
He fired the ball at the backboard as hard as he could. It ricocheted off the metal, flew into the fence, and rattled against the chain-link before dropping to the pavement.
Bryce stood there, fists clenched, chest heaving.
I worked just as hard. I wanted it just as bad. So why the fuck am I still here?
He tilted his head back and screamed.
"FUCK!"
The sound tore out of his throat, raw and broken. It echoed across the court, swallowed by the night.
He grabbed the ball, wound up, and hurled it at the backboard with everything he had. It slammed into the metal with a deafening BANG, bounced off the rim, and rolled to a stop near the three-point line.
Bryce dropped to his knees, hands covering his face.
I'm not good enough. I'm never gonna be good enough.
The heat from the pavement seeped through his shorts. His hands shook. His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts.
And then—
Warmth.
It started in his chest, spreading outward like a wave. Not painful, but intense. His vision blurred, and for a second, he thought he was passing out.
But then the blur sharpened.
A translucent screen appeared in front of him, hovering in the air like something out of a video game. The edges glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
[CONTRACT SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
Bryce blinked. Rubbed his eyes. The screen didn't disappear.
[SLOTS AVAILABLE: 2/2]
[COOLDOWN: 30 DAYS PER CONTRACT]
[TOUCH A TARGET TO VIEW AVAILABLE TALENTS]
He stared at it, breath caught in his throat.
What the hell is this?
The screen shifted, text scrolling upward.
[SYSTEM OVERVIEW:]
CONTRACT A TALENT FROM ANY INDIVIDUAL PERMANENT SELECTION (NO SWAPS) GAIN INITIAL BOOST + FEEDBACK FROM TARGET'S TRAINING UNLOCK ADDITIONAL SLOTS VIA ACHIEVEMENTS
Bryce's hands dropped to his sides. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his ears.
This is insane. I'm losing it.
But the screen stayed. Solid. Real.
He thought of Zeke—just walking away, headed to La Lumiere, about to leave him behind.
The screen flickered.
[TARGET DETECTED: EZEKIEL LAWSON]
[LAST CONTACT: 8 MINUTES AGO]
A new menu appeared.
[Notable TALENTS:]
VERTICAL LEAP: 49.5" (ELITE)
SPEED: 88/100 (HIGH)
STRENGTH: 85/100 (HIGH)
HEIGHT: 6'6" + GROWTH POTENTIAL (LIMITED)
Bryce's eyes locked onto the first line.
Vertical Leap: 49.5".
Zeke could touch his head to the rim. Could dunk from a standstill. Could jump over people like they weren't even there.
And Bryce? He could barely grab rim on a good day.
If I had that...
His finger hovered over the option, trembling.
This is crazy. This isn't real. It can't be real.
But what if it was?
What if he didn't have to get left behind?
He pressed VERTICAL LEAP: 49.5" (ELITE).
The screen flashed.
[CONFIRM CONTRACT?]
[WARNING: SELECTION IS PERMANENT]
[COOLDOWN WILL BEGIN IMMEDIATELY]
Bryce didn't hesitate.
[CONFIRM]
The screen exploded into light.
The warmth in his chest turned into fire. It shot down his spine, flooded into his legs, wrapped around his calves, quads, hamstrings. His muscles tensed, twitched, reshaped.
Bryce gasped, hands slamming into the pavement to keep himself upright. His legs felt like they were being torn apart and put back together at the same time.
And then—
It stopped.
The screen faded. The warmth disappeared. Bryce was on his hands and knees, breathing hard, sweat dripping onto the asphalt.
What the hell just happened?
He pushed himself to his feet, legs shaky. His calves felt different. Denser. Springier. Like coiled steel ready to explode.
He looked at the rim. Ten feet high. Same as always.
Did it actually work?
He took a few steps back, then jumped.
Hard.
His head snapped toward the rim. The world blurred. His hand shot above the backboard, fingers brushing the top of the square.
He landed, stumbled, barely caught himself.
Holy shit.
He stared at his hands, then at the rim.
I just—
He jumped again. This time, he grabbed the rim with both hands, hung there for a second, then dropped.
His heart was racing. His hands were shaking.
This is real. This is actually real.
He grabbed the ball, took three steps, and launched.
The rim was at eye level. No—below eye level. He cocked the ball back, threw it down with both hands.
SLAM.
The chain net exploded outward. The backboard shook. Bryce landed hard, legs burning, but he didn't care.
He'd just dunked.
Easily.
He grabbed the ball again, sprinted from half-court, gathered 2 steps past the free-throw line, and rose.
Windmill. Clean. The ball ripped through the net.
He landed, stumbled, fell onto his back, chest heaving.
The sky above him was dark now, stars barely visible through the Detroit haze. The streetlights hummed. A car horn honked somewhere in the distance.
Bryce lay there, staring up, the ball resting on his stomach.
I'm not getting left behind anymore.
He sat up, legs still tingling, and looked at the rim one more time.
Then he smiled.