The silence in the arena stretched for an eternity.
I was still on my knees, my whole body shaking, every muscle fiber screaming. I looked up at Coach Valerius, who stood over me like a mountain, his face impossible to read. This was it. The final judgment. I had won the duel, but I had done it in the ugliest way possible. I braced for the inevitable. Don't waste my time, kid.
He finally spoke. His voice was low, and it carried across the silent court.
"That," he began, and I flinched, "was one of the ugliest, sloppiest, most pathetic displays of Aetherball I have seen all day."
The other players who were watching started to mutter. A few of them smirked. From the doorway of the locker room, I could see Jax watching, a look of vindicated pride on his face.
The coach wasn't finished. He wasn't even looking at the other players. His eyes were locked on me.
"Your shots are weak. Your stamina is a joke. You have absolutely no power to speak of. On paper, based on every measurable stat the league values, you are without a doubt the worst player on this court."
Every word was a hammer blow. He was just confirming what everyone, including me, already knew. He was confirming what Jax had spit at me just moments before. I was a zero. A rat who had won with tricks. My brief moment of victory turned to ash in my mouth. This was it. He was just spelling out the reasons before he kicked me out.
Then, his voice changed. The hard edge softened just a fraction. It was still gravelly, still stern. But there was something else there now. Something I couldn't place.
"But…"
That one word silenced the whispers. Every eye was on him.
"The scoreboard doesn't lie," he said, gesturing with his chin towards the giant screen that still read KAI: 3, JAX: 2.
"And it says you won."
He started to pace, his gaze sweeping over the remaining hopefuls. "You want to know how he won? All of you, who are stronger and faster? You think it was luck?"
He stopped and pointed a thick finger at me. "He won because he was the only player today who was actually using his head."
My own head snapped up.
"He didn't win with power," the coach continued, his voice rising, lecturing all of us. "He won because he understood positioning. He won because he saw his opponent was arrogant and sloppy, and he used that. He frustrated a stronger player into making mistakes. And when he had that player on the ropes, he had the guts to do the one thing no one expected."
He looked directly at Jax in the doorway. "A power player like Jax has a high floor. But a player who is all power and no brains has a very, very low ceiling. I've seen hundreds of them. They are a dime a dozen."
He turned back to me. The intensity in his eyes was staggering.
"What I saw today was a kid with no engine. A car with no gas. But what I also saw was perfect form. Impeccable defensive footwork. And a mind that sees the game on a different level. In twenty years of coaching, I've learned something: I can't teach heart, and I can't teach brains. But I can teach power. I can build the engine."
He let the words hang in the air. The whole arena was waiting.
"I'm building a team to win championships. Not just playground brawls. Power is a tool. But strategy, discipline, and the will to survive… that's what makes a champion."
He looked down at me one last time.
"I told you not to show up today, Kai. You did anyway. You proved you have guts."
He took a deep breath. This was it. The final decision.
"Jax is on the team. His power is undeniable, and we need a hammer. But a hammer isn't enough."
He scanned the faces of the last few players, then his eyes settled back on me, still kneeling on the floor.
"Kai."
My name. He said my name.
"You get the last roster spot."
The words didn't register at first. They felt like a language I didn't speak. Then they hit me. The last roster spot. I was on the team.
The coach wasn't smiling. "You're a project. A calculated risk. Understand this: right now, you are a liability. Your stats are a liability to this team. You will work harder than anyone else. You will be in the training room before everyone else, and you will leave after everyone else. You will do exactly as I say. If you slack off for even one second, you are gone. Am I clear?"
I found my voice. It was hoarse. "Yes, coach."
"Good," he grunted. He turned to the rest of the players. "The rest of you, thank you for coming out. The final roster will be posted tomorrow. Practice starts Monday, 6 AM sharp."
He blew his whistle, and the tryouts were over.
The players started to disperse, talking in hushed, shocked tones. I was still on the floor, trying to process it all. I had made it. After everything. I had actually made it.
My whole body felt light, all the pain momentarily forgotten. And in that moment of pure, unfiltered triumph, a new notification appeared in my vision. The quiet, beautiful hum of my own private world.
[Quest Complete: Survive high school tryouts]
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