The gym was nearly empty by the time Darius finished his hundredth free throw. The overhead lights hummed softly in the silence, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood. His teammates had left thirty minutes ago, their voices and laughter fading down the hallway as they headed home. But Darius stayed, dribbling the ball methodically at the top of the key, his mind working through problems that had no easy answers.
Jace Carter. The name sat in his head like a weight he couldn't shake off.
He'd spent the last three days watching film of Jace's game, breaking down every move, every shot, every dribble sequence. The more he watched, the more he realized how big the gap was between what Jace could do and what he could currently defend.
Darius drove to the basket, pulling up at the free throw line for a jump shot. The ball clanged off the rim. He grabbed it and reset, trying again. Miss. Another rebound. Another reset.
His body was tired, but his mind wouldn't let him stop.
The Hustle System had been quiet for most of his solo training session, but now it activated, text appearing in his vision like a friend finally deciding to speak up after watching someone struggle.
Query detected: You are seeking defensive strategies for high-level offensive threat.
Darius stopped dribbling and wiped sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. He didn't say anything out loud, but his thoughts were clear enough. Yeah. I need something. Anything. Because right now, I don't see how I stop him.
Assessment: Current physical limitations and psychological barriers prevent direct individual defensive success against target: Jace Carter.
Darius felt his jaw tighten. The system wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know, but hearing it stated so plainly still stung.
So what am I supposed to do? Just let him cook me?
Negative. Complete defensive shutdown is unlikely, but disruption is achievable. Recommend implementation of strategic defensive approaches designed to limit efficiency rather than eliminate threat entirely.
Darius bounced the ball once, his mind already turning over the possibilities. Like what?
The system paused, and Darius could almost feel it calculating, running through databases of defensive schemes and historical matchups.
METHOD ONE: Aggressive Ball Denial
Concept: Prevent offensive player from receiving ball in preferred scoring positions. Requires high energy expenditure and physical contact off the ball. Success rate increases with help from teammates.
Implementation: Body positioning between target and ball handler. Hand pressure on hip or chest. Constant movement to mirror cuts and screens. Priority: Deny catch in middle of floor and top of key.
Darius nodded slowly. He remembered that strategy. When he was Che, smaller guards used to try this on him all the time. It was exhausting for the defender, but it worked when executed with discipline. The goal wasn't to stop him from getting the ball completely, just to make every catch difficult, contested, uncomfortable.
METHOD TWO: Force Weak Hand
Concept: Identify and exploit minor preference in ball-handling or shooting. Jace Carter demonstrates 68% efficiency when driving right versus 71% when driving left. Marginal difference, but exploitable under pressure.
Implementation: Overplay strong side. Force baseline drives toward help defense. Accept mid-range pull-ups over three-point attempts. Calculated risk management.
Again, Darius recognized this one. Teams used to overplay his right hand when he was Che, trying to force him left into traffic. It worked sometimes, especially when he was tired or when help defense was positioned correctly.
METHOD THREE: Defensive Variety
Concept: Prevent offensive player from settling into rhythm. Alternate between pressure defense and space defense. Mix in traps at unpredictable moments. Create mental uncertainty.
Implementation: First possession: full court pressure. Second possession: drop coverage. Third possession: trap at half court. No pattern. Force constant adjustment.
Darius smiled slightly despite himself. Yeah, he remembered this one too. The best defenders he'd faced as Che never played him the same way twice. They kept him guessing, kept him thinking instead of just reacting on instinct.
METHOD FOUR: Physical Engagement
Concept: Utilize contact within legal parameters to disrupt timing and rhythm. Minor bumps, body positioning, hand checks when referee sight-line is obscured.
The system paused here, and Darius felt his chest tighten even before the next message appeared.
Warning: This method requires acceptance of physical contact. Your current psychological barriers may prevent effective implementation. Recommend gradual exposure therapy if this approach is selected.
Darius looked away from the imaginary text, his eyes finding the basket at the other end of the court. The system was right. He knew it was right. But knowing something and being ready to do it were two different things.
The other three methods. They might work?
Probability of reducing offensive efficiency by 15-20%: Moderate to High, assuming perfect execution and team defensive support. Probability of complete defensive shutdown: Less than 5%.
Darius bounced the ball harder, the sound echoing through the empty gym. Fifteen to twenty percent. That meant if Jace was going to score forty-seven points like he did against Metro Hawks, these methods might bring it down to around thirty-eight or forty. Still a lot. Still probably enough for his team to win.
But it was something. It was better than nothing.
Alright. Show me the drills. I'll start working on the ball denial and forcing weak hand. I can do those without worrying about contact.
Acknowledged. Defensive drill protocols uploading now.
Darius spent the next twenty minutes running through scenarios in his mind, visualizing Jace's movements and how he would counter them. He practiced his defensive slides, his closeout technique, his hand positioning for denying passes. Every rep was deliberate, focused, driven by the knowledge that in three days he'd be tested in ways he hadn't been tested since waking up in this body.
He was mid-drill when Coach Anderson's voice cut through his concentration.
"Darius. It's almost eight o'clock."
Darius stopped and turned to see Coach standing near the gym entrance, keys in hand, his expression somewhere between amused and concerned.
"Yeah, Coach. I know."
"Practice ended an hour ago. Most guys are already home eating dinner." Anderson walked closer, his shoes squeaking slightly on the court. "Where's Malik? He usually waits for you."
"He left with everyone else. Said his legs were dead from practice."
Anderson nodded, studying Darius's face. The kid was sweating through his shirt, his breathing elevated, but his eyes were sharp and focused. Not the eyes of someone who was exhausted. The eyes of someone who was obsessed.
"You're thinking about Jace," Anderson said. It wasn't a question.
"Yeah."
"And you're trying to figure out how to guard him."
Darius didn't answer right away. He just bounced the ball once, then caught it and held it against his hip.
"I watched his whole game, Coach. Forty-seven points. Made it look easy. And I'm supposed to be our best perimeter defender." He shook his head. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."
Anderson was quiet for a moment, then he stepped closer and put his hand on Darius's shoulder. "Nobody expects you to shut him down completely. That's not realistic. But you know what you can do? You can make him work for everything. Make him earn every point. Tire him out. Frustrate him. That's how you defend elite scorers. You accept they're going to get theirs, but you make sure they leave everything on that court to get it."
Darius met his coach's eyes. "I can do that."
"I know you can." Anderson squeezed his shoulder once, then let go. "But you can't do it if you're exhausted before the game even starts. Go home. Get some rest. We'll work on the game plan tomorrow."
"Can I stay for thirty more minutes? I want to run through a few more drills."
Anderson looked at him for a long moment, then sighed and pulled out his keys. "Thirty minutes. Then I'm locking up whether you're done or not. Understood?"
"Yes, Coach. Thank you."
Anderson walked toward the exit, then paused and looked back. "Darius. You're one of the hardest workers I've ever coached. But don't forget, basketball is a team game. You're not guarding Jace alone."
"I know, Coach."
"Good. Thirty minutes."
The door closed behind him, and Darius was alone again with just the ball, the court, and the echo of his own thoughts.
He got back to work.
Across the city, in a different gym with the same empty silence, Jace Carter was running through his own routine. The ball moved through his hands like it was part of him, each dribble precise and controlled. He crossed over at the top of the key, exploded to the rim, and finished with a reverse layup that barely touched the net.
He grabbed the ball as it fell through and immediately reset at the three-point line. One dribble. Pull up. Swish. Reset. Two dribbles. Step back. Swish. Reset. Behind the back. Spin move. Floater. Swish.
Every shot was automatic. Every move was executed with the kind of confidence that only came from ten thousand hours of repetition.
The gym door opened and Terrell Hayes walked back in, his gym bag already slung over his shoulder. He'd left ten minutes ago but something made him come back.
"Yo, Jace. You riding with me or what?"
Jace didn't stop his routine. He caught the ball, dribbled twice, and shot from the wing. "Nah, I'm good. You can head out."
"You sure? It's getting late."
"I'm sure." Jace grabbed his rebound and reset at a different spot. "Got a few more things I want to work on."
Terrell stood there for a moment, watching his teammate go through the motions with that same mechanical precision he always had. "Aight, man. Don't stay too long. We got practice tomorrow."
"I know."
Terrell turned to leave, but something made him pause at the door. He looked back at Jace, who was now working on his pull-up jumper from different angles, and for the first time, he really saw it.
The focus in Jace's eyes wasn't normal. It was something else. Something deeper. The way he moved through his drills with zero wasted motion, zero hesitation, zero doubt. The air around him felt different, charged with this quiet intensity that was almost unsettling.
It reminded Terrell of videos he'd seen of professional players training alone in empty gyms at three in the morning. That same eerie dedication. That same single-minded pursuit of perfection.
Jace wasn't just good at basketball. He lived it. Breathed it. Everything else was just noise.
Terrell found himself thinking about the conversation they'd had after watching Bayview win. Jace had said he preferred playing the Striders because they would've been a better challenge. At the time, Terrell thought it was just Jace being Jace, confident to the point of arrogance.
But watching him now, alone in this gym, still working even though they'd won by forty points and he'd scored forty-seven, Terrell realized it wasn't arrogance. It was something purer than that.
Jace didn't want easy wins. He wanted to be tested. Pushed. Forced to reach deeper into whatever well of talent he had inside him.
And Terrell understood in that moment why he'd chosen to play on this team, why he'd accepted being the second option, why he was okay with Jace getting all the attention and hype.
Because being around someone like this, someone who approached the game with this level of intensity and commitment, made you better just by proximity. It raised your standards. It made you question whether you were really giving everything you had.
Terrell adjusted his bag on his shoulder and made a quiet promise to himself. Whatever it took to help Jace win this tournament, he'd do it. Set screens, play defense, grab rebounds, whatever. Because players like Jace didn't come around often, and when they did, you did everything you could to make sure they reached their potential.
He walked out of the gym, leaving Jace alone with his routine, and the sound of the ball swishing through the net echoed down the empty hallway long after the door closed.