March 3rd.
The air in the locker room was different.
Not tense. Not nervous.
Sharp.
Like a blade pressed against the edge of something greater.
Coach Alvarez stood in front of the whiteboard, silent for a moment. Then he circled one name—Madison Central.
"Best team we've faced all year," he said flatly. "Athletic wings, two 6'10 forwards, and a sophomore point guard already committed to North Carolina."
He capped the marker.
"They're not gonna give you anything. So go take everything."
Michael nodded once. "We didn't come this far to admire talent. We came to end resumes."
Tip-off.
The moment the ball left Marcus's hand on the jump, Madison swarmed.
Hard doubles. Bumping cutters. Talking constant trash.
Michael welcomed it.
He clapped after every foul they committed. Nodded after contested rebounds. Smiled when their point guard tried a reach-in.
"You'll need more than elbows and breath to slow me down."
Madison's coach paced. Because Michael wasn't just confident—he was surgical.
In the first five minutes:
A step-back three.
A full-court dime to Jamal in stride.
A backdoor cut that ended in a two-handed slam.
But Madison responded like champions.
Their bigs clogged the paint. Their shooters found space. Their North Carolina-bound guard had a wicked handle and touch.
At halftime: 39–39.
Locker room.
Jamal was breathing hard, bouncing one leg. Marcus iced a finger on his non-shooting hand.
Michael stood with his hands on his hips, eyes closed. Then opened them.
"We didn't climb to the top of the mountain to admire the view. This is where we bury people."
Coach Alvarez smirked. "That's a leader talking."
Michael turned to the team. "We've made every other team play our game. Let's not forget how."
Third quarter: chaos.
Madison went on a 10–2 run.
Michael called for the ball. And went to work.
Isolation. Crossover. Drive. And-one.
Full-court press? He broke it himself.
They trapped him at half court? No-look pass to the baseline.
By the time the fourth started, they were back up by five.
Final minutes.
Tie game.
Madison tried to isolate Michael on a switch.
He baited their star into a stepback, then exploded forward—clean block.
He snagged the loose ball. Pushed the break.
Jamal trailed, open for three. Michael kept it.
Euro-step. Contact. Whistle.
Free throws.
He stepped to the line. Tuned out the crowd.
Swish. Swish.
Final possession: Madison down two.
They ran a flare screen, their shooter got free in the corner—
Michael closed.
Leapt.
Blocked it clean.
Buzzer.
Final: 77–75. Michael: 26 points, 6 rebounds, 5 assists, 2 blocks.
They didn't celebrate loud.
Not yet.
Because one game remained.
One final climb.