"Why you asking?" Darius said, his voice still steady but now carrying a question of its own.
Jace didn't answer right away. He crumpled his paper towel and tossed it in the trash with the kind of casual precision that probably came naturally to everything he did. Then he turned slightly, leaning his hip against the counter, his eyes still on Darius through the mirror.
"Your big man," Jace said, ignoring Darius's question entirely. "Number four. Eli, right? He's good. Real good in the paint."
Darius felt something shift in his chest, but he kept his face neutral.
"And your captain," Jace continued, his tone conversational, like they were just talking basketball at a park. "Daren. Number twelve. He can shoot from anywhere. Watched him hit some tough shots against the Striders."
Darius stood there, his hands still slightly damp from the water, his mind processing what was happening. Jace was asking about Eli and Daren. About his teammates. But not about him. Not about the point guard who'd helped orchestrate the comeback. Not about the player who'd be guarding him in a few hours.
The silence stretched between them, filling the bathroom with this awkward tension that neither of them seemed to know how to break. Darius just stared at Jace's reflection, his jaw working slightly, trying to figure out what to say or if he should say anything at all.
Jace's expression changed, just a little. His eyebrows drew together slightly, and his head tilted a fraction of an inch. "You good, man?"
But Darius wasn't thinking about answering. His mind was stuck on one singular, burning realization that made his chest feel tight and his hands want to clench into fists.
Jace Carter, the best player in the tournament, the kid everyone came to watch, the phenomenon who'd dropped forty-seven points like it was nothing, was standing here asking about Eli and Daren.
Not him.
Like Darius was just another player on the roster. Like he wasn't worth studying. Like he wasn't a threat.
Darius knew, somewhere in the rational part of his brain, that this shouldn't matter. That taking it personally was childish. That Jace probably had good reasons for focusing on the team's leading scorer and their dominant big man.
But that rational part wasn't in control right now.
Because the thing that had always gotten under Darius's skin, even back when he was Che, even when he was dropping thirty points a game in college, was being overlooked. Being underestimated. Having an opponent look past him like he wasn't worth their attention.
It was disrespect. Plain and simple.
And Darius hated being disrespected on a basketball court more than he hated losing.
The bathroom door swung open, breaking the tension like a hammer through glass.
A kid walked in, probably sixteen or seventeen, wearing a jersey that was soaked through with sweat. His face was flushed, his hair matted to his forehead, and he had that post-game exhaustion written all over him. He stopped when he saw Jace, and his tired expression immediately shifted into something brighter.
"Yo, Jace! What's good, bro?" The kid walked over and dapped Jace up, that familiar hand-slap-to-shoulder-grab that basketball players did everywhere.
"What's up, Marcus," Jace said, and his whole demeanor changed. More relaxed. More open. Like talking to this random kid was more natural than the awkward bathroom interrogation he'd just been conducting with Darius.
Marcus gestured to his soaked jersey. "Just finished murking Lincoln Academy. Thirty-two points, eight assists. We're moving on to the finals, baby!"
"That's what's up," Jace said, genuine congratulations in his voice. "Y'all played a good game."
"Yeah, but you know what I'm looking forward to?" Marcus's grin got wider, more competitive. "Playing you in the finals. That's the matchup everybody wants to see. Me and you going at it for the championship."
Jace smiled, that easy confidence never leaving his face. "You think you're getting past the semis?"
"Without a doubt. And when we do, I'm coming for that head, Jace. You know I don't back down from nobody."
"I'd expect nothing less."
Darius stood there, two sinks away, watching this entire exchange like he was invisible. Like he wasn't even in the room. His hands gripped the edge of the counter, the porcelain cold under his palms.
That was it. That was his limit.
He pushed off the counter and walked toward the door, his movements controlled, his face giving away nothing. But inside, his mind was screaming. Inside, every competitive instinct he'd ever had was firing at maximum capacity.
He reached for the door handle.
"Yo, who was that?" Marcus's voice carried across the bathroom.
Darius paused, his hand on the door, his back still to them.
"One of the players from Bayview," Jace said, his tone casual, dismissive. Not mean. Just... indifferent. Like Darius was just another face in the crowd of opponents he'd see and forget.
Darius pushed through the door and let it swing shut behind him.
The hallway was brighter than the bathroom, the fluorescent lights making him squint slightly. But he didn't slow down. He walked back toward the Bayview locker room with measured steps, his breathing controlled, his face a mask of calm.
But his mind was racing.
His mind was on fire.
He knew it was childish. He knew he should be above this. He knew that getting emotional about not being recognized was exactly the kind of mental mistake that lost games.
He didn't care.
Jace had asked about Eli. About Daren. Like they were the only threats on the team. Like Darius was just some role player who happened to be on the court when the real players did their thing.
And that other kid, Marcus, already talking about playing Jace in the finals. Already assuming Bayview would lose. Already looking past them like the semifinal game was just a formality.
Something cold and sharp settled in Darius's chest. Not anger. Not exactly. It was more focused than that. More dangerous.
It was determination with teeth.
He reached the locker room and pushed through the door. His teammates were scattered around, some getting treatment from the trainer, others going through their pre-game rituals. Music was playing from someone's phone.
Malik looked up from where he was retaping his ankle. "Yo, took you long enough. You fall in or something?"
Darius walked past him toward his locker without responding.
"D? You good?"
"I'm fine," Darius said, his voice flat.
Malik's eyes narrowed. He knew his cousin well enough to recognize when "fine" meant the exact opposite. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"Man, don't give me that. You look like somebody just—"
"I said I'm fine, Malik." Darius's voice had an edge to it now, sharp enough that Malik actually leaned back slightly.
They stared at each other for a second, and Malik saw something in Darius's eyes that he'd never seen before. Not anger. Not frustration. Something colder. Something that looked almost dangerous.
Malik raised his hands in surrender. "Aight, man. Whatever you say."
Darius sat down at his locker and started going through his pre-game routine mechanically. Stretching his hamstrings. Rolling out his calves. Checking his shoes for the third time even though he knew they were fine.
But his mind wasn't on any of that.
His mind was on Jace Carter asking about Eli and Daren.
His mind was on Marcus talking about the finals like the semis were already decided.
His mind was on those three words: "One of the players from Bayview."
Not even knowing his name.
Darius's hands tightened on his shoe laces as he tied them, pulling the knot maybe a little tighter than necessary.
They didn't see him as a threat. They didn't see him as someone worth knowing. They didn't see him as someone who could change the outcome of a game.
Fine.
He'd make them see.
He'd make them remember his name.
He'd make them regret every second they spent worrying about everyone else on the team instead of worrying about him.
And when this tournament was over, when they were looking back trying to figure out what went wrong, he'd be the reason. Not Eli. Not Daren. Him.
Darius Kingsley.
The player nobody bothered learning about until it was too late.
He finished tying his shoes and sat back against his locker, his eyes closed, his breathing steady.
But behind his eyelids, all he could see was the scoreboard. And in his mind, Bayview's number kept climbing higher and higher while everyone else's stayed frozen.
They wanted to overlook him? Perfect. Let them.
Nothing motivated Darius more than someone thinking he wasn't worth their attention.
And today, in about three hours, Jace Carter was going to learn that lesson the hard way.