The third day of Foundation Week came with a buzz that seemed to electrify the entire campus. It was finals day — the grand culmination of academic and sports competition. But among them all, the most anticipated was the basketball championship: Sports Department vs. Regular Department.
The bleachers were overflowing. Students waved banners, painted faces, and screamed chants for their teams. The sound of drums and megaphones echoed inside the gym, making the air hum with excitement.
Everyone was talking about it — not just because of the match itself, but because for the first time ever, the Regular Department had made it to the finals. Excitement rippled through the campus; students from all departments were eager to see how far the underdogs could go.
Before the tip-off, the Sports Department's cheer squad performed — flipping, tumbling, and dancing in perfect synchronization. The crowd went wild, the sound almost deafening.
Flynn sat at the bench, eyes scanning the court as Dylan stretched with his teammates.
"Big crowd," Flynn muttered under his breath, gripping his towel.
Coach blew his whistle. "Alright, boys, stay focused. Play smart, don't rush. Regular Department's got nothing to lose — so play your hearts out."
Dylan smirked, bumping fists with his teammates. This is it.
From the first whistle, it was obvious the Sports Department wasn't going easy. Their players towered over Dylan's team — strong, tall, and relentless.
Dylan dribbled past one defender, then another — but his layup was blocked cleanly by a wall of muscle.
"Tch." He clicked his tongue, jogging back to defense. They're fast... too fast.
Every time the Regular Department tried to score, the Sports team countered effortlessly. The cheers from the Sports Department's side roared through the gym, shaking the air.
"Come on, Dylan!" Flynn shouted from the bench, voice almost drowned by the noise.
Dylan glanced briefly toward him — a mistake. His attention slipped, and the ball was stolen from his hands.
"Focus, Dylan!" the coach barked.
Right... focus. But it was hard. Between the pressure, the chants, and that one familiar voice cheering for him... his rhythm was off.
The first quarter ended with the scoreboard flashing 30–19, Sports Department leading.
Dylan wiped sweat from his forehead, panting as he sat on the bench.
"Relax," Coach said, clapping his shoulder. "We'll adjust. They're big, but they're slow to rotate. Find your gap. Play smart."
Flynn leaned closer. "You good?"
"Yeah," Dylan said, forcing a grin. "Just warming up."
"Don't push yourself too much," Flynn said quietly.
Dylan chuckled. "You worried?"
"Just don't make me sub in too early," Flynn replied dryly, though there was concern in his eyes.
Second Quarter.
Things didn't get easier. The Sports team tightened their defense, closing in with heavy screens and rough plays. The Regular team fought hard, but fatigue began to set in.
By halftime, the gap had grown wider. One of Dylan's teammates limped off the court, clutching his ankle.
"Damn it..." Dylan muttered, hitting his chest with a fist. "They're too physical."
Coach called timeout. "Flynn, you're in next quarter. Dylan, set up plays with him once he's in. You two can read each other — use that."
Flynn nodded, standing up to stretch. Dylan looked at him briefly, smirking despite the pressure. "Finally decided to join the fun, huh?"
Flynn rolled his eyes. "Just don't mess up."
Third Quarter.
When Flynn stepped onto the court, the atmosphere shifted. The crowd buzzed.
"Number 8, Flynn Luz!" the announcer called, and the girls screamed his name from the stands.
Dylan couldn't help but grin. Of course they'd scream for him. That's my man.
"Alright, let's show them," Dylan muttered.
And just like that — the tide began to turn.
Dylan dribbled up the court, passed to Flynn at the three-point line. Flynn faked left, stepped right — swish. Clean shot.
The crowd erupted.
"Nice one!" Dylan shouted.
"Focus," Flynn replied, though a small smirk tugged at his lips.
Play after play, they fell into rhythm — Flynn assisting, Dylan finishing; Dylan driving, Flynn catching the rebound and shooting. Their chemistry on court was undeniable.
"Let's go, Flynn!"
"Nice pass, Dylan!"
The gym thundered with cheers.
Flynn glanced at him after another clean layup. "You're smiling too much."
"Can't help it," Dylan grinned. "You make me look good out here."
Flynn huffed. "Focus, idiot."
By the end of the third quarter, the score read 60–53, still in favor of Sports Department, but barely.
The Regular Department's side was on fire — drums, chants, and banners all for them.
Fourth Quarter.
From the start, it was clear the Sports team was getting desperate. Their movements turned rougher — elbows out, shoves harder.
"Ref!" Coach shouted after Flynn was knocked down again without a whistle.
Dylan ran to him. "You okay?"
Flynn winced, sitting up. "Yeah... just a bruise."
But when Flynn was fouled again a few plays later, something inside Dylan snapped.
His jaw tightened. "That's it."
The next time a Sports player tried to shove him, Dylan pushed back — strong, controlled, but firm. The crowd gasped, then cheered even louder.
From then on, Dylan played with fire. His passes were sharper, his shots cleaner, his defense tighter. Every time Flynn fell, Dylan was there — helping him up, shielding him, driving the team forward.
And then came the final minute.
Regular Department: 87 — Sports Department: 86.
Flynn passed to Dylan. The clock ticked down — 10 seconds. Dylan dribbled, faked a drive, and pulled up just beyond the line.
Swish.
The gym exploded.
90–86.
The Sports team's last attempt missed — and when the buzzer rang, the entire Regular Department stormed the court, screaming, laughing, and crying all at once.
"WE DID IT!" Dylan shouted, throwing his arms up.
Flynn ran toward him, smiling — really smiling this time. "You were insane out there."
"You too." Dylan grinned, holding out his hand. Flynn shook it — but Dylan pulled him into a brief, sweaty hug before Flynn could react.
The crowd's cheers only grew louder.
For the first time ever, Regular Department had won a game.
Students lifted Dylan onto their shoulders, chanting his name. Flynn laughed from the sidelines, shaking his head.
Across the crowd, Nicole stood watching, smiling faintly. We'll wait for you in the Star Department, she thought.
---
Later that night, the team celebrated their victory at a small open-air pub near campus. Music blared, bottles clinked, and laughter filled the night.
Flynn didn't really want to drink, he was exhausted from the long day. But he also didn't want to seem like a party pooper, so he reluctantly agreed to have a few drinks. "just one." Then another. And another.
Soon, his face was flushed, his words slurred.
"Dylan..." he mumbled, leaning forward. "You're... loud."
Dylan laughed. "And you're drunk."
"I'm not—hic—drunk," Flynn said, blinking slowly.
"Yeah? Then stand up."
Flynn tried — failed.
"Okay, that's enough." Dylan crouched down, letting Flynn's arms drape over his shoulders. "Let's go home."
Dylan said his goodbyes to his teammates and coach so they could head home first.
The night air was cool as they walked through the quiet street, Flynn's breath warm against Dylan's neck.
After a few steps, Flynn murmured softly, voice trembling. "You know... this is new for me."
Dylan tilted his head slightly. "What is?"
"Having... someone." Flynn's voice cracked faintly. "Someone who stays. Who... looks out for me."
Dylan blinked, his chest tightening.
Flynn chuckled weakly, almost tearful. "Ever since you came... everything's louder. Brighter. I don't know what to do with it."
For a moment, Dylan didn't speak. Then, softly, he said, "Just let it happen."
Flynn mumbled something unintelligible, then went quiet, head resting against Dylan's shoulder as they walked.
Dylan smiled to himself, shifting Flynn's weight slightly. "You're heavier than you look," he whispered, chuckling. "But you're worth carrying."
Under the dim street lights, the echoes of celebration faded behind them — leaving only the quiet sound of footsteps, the rustle of wind, and the steady rhythm of two heartbeats, closer than ever before.