The sharp, rhythmic squeak of sneakers against the hard court and the heavy thud of a ball against the backboard created the only soundtrack for the team's ongoing practice.
A group of students, the school's main basketball squad, were engaged in a fierce drill, focusing on honing their dunking skills. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and determination.
At the heart of the action stood Ethan, their captain. He was instantly noticeable—tall, with a strong, athletic build, a shock of blonde hair that caught the light, and a pair of keen, almost startling brown, doe-like eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He was undeniably handsome, the kind of guy who drew attention simply by existing. Right now, however, his good looks were overshadowed by a palpable impatience.
"What is this, why are you all moving so slow?" Ethan's voice cut across the court, crisp and demanding, his arms crossed over his chest. "Why are you all acting like you haven't eaten anything all day? Will you guys inject some speed into this? Let's see some fire and movement okay!"
The team members, pushing their tired bodies through the demanding routine, responded in a chorus of slightly breathless affirmation. "Yes, Captain Ethan!"
Ethan didn't ease up, though. He continued coordinating the fast-paced practice, his focus sharp, his attention to detail absolute.
Yet, as he watched his teammates—a separate, nagging thought began to take hold. He found himself glancing toward the entrance of the court, a low-lying, almost anxious question forming in his mind: Where in the world is Coach? He knew the coach had scheduled a mandatory evaluation session for this afternoon, and his uncharacteristic absence was throwing off the team's rhythm, or at least Ethan's own sense of order.
It was almost as if his unspoken question had conjured the man. Just as the thought solidified, the coach finally materialized, striding with his familiar, purposeful gait onto the court. He looked harried but pleased. But it wasn't the coach's arrival that truly grabbed Ethan's attention. It was the person following close behind him.
The new arrival was also tall,matching Ethan's own impressive stature—a height for which Ethan was widely known and often complimented.
The boy had dyed his hair a striking, unusual shade of whitish silver, a look that screamed deliberate defiance and a desire to stand out. His attire was a stark contrast to the team's functional practice gear; he wore what looked like premium athletic wear paired with expensive, stylish sneakers.
Everything about him suggested a meticulous, almost arrogant attention to his appearance.
A pair of small, silver earrings dangled lightly from his ears, catching the light as he moved his head, and his eyes, a shocking, icy shade of blue, swept across the court with a bored confidence.
He was certainly good-looking, possessing a sharp-edged, almost dangerous kind of beauty that was utterly different from Ethan's softer, more approachable appeal. But it was the signature smirk—a small, arrogant upturn of one corner of his mouth—that truly sealed Ethan's judgment. A cold certainty settled in Ethan's gut: this boy was going to be trouble. Unadulterated, unnecessary trouble.
The coach, completely oblivious to the silent, charged standoff, paused and waved a hand in Ethan's direction. "Ethan, my boy, can you hold off for a minute and come here?" he called out, his voice booming slightly in the open space.
Ethan immediately dropped his coordinating role, his sense of duty overriding his initial curiosity and immediate dislike. He gave a quick, sharp nod and jogged toward the coach and the new student. His steps were light, reflecting his athletic conditioning.
The coach greeted him with a wide, bright, almost overly enthusiastic smile. "Ethan, this is Jayden," the coach announced, placing a friendly, heavy hand on the new boy's shoulder. "He just transferred to our school this semester, and he's expressed a strong interest in joining our basketball team.
I've heard quite a bit—glowing reports, in fact—about him being a star player at his former school. But you know me, I don't want to hand out a spot based on hearsay alone. I brought him here to try out for the team, right now."
Ethan felt his eyebrows twitch ever so slightly. A tryout, without prior notice, in the middle of a focused practice. It was disruptive.
He let his gaze drift over the boy named Jayden, performing a comprehensive, slow appraisal from the tips of his stylish sneakers up to the top of his silver hair.
He searched for any sign of genuine humility, any spark of team spirit, but all he could perceive was that same infuriating, cocky demeanor—the pure essence of a looming troublemaker.
Jayden, clearly aware of being scrutinized, held Ethan's gaze. He returned the look with an air of unruffled confidence, the smirk on his face growing infinitesimally wider. "It's nice to meet you," Jayden said, his voice low and smooth, a hint of challenge woven into the politeness.
Ethan, despite his instant and profound reservations, was too well-mannered to be openly rude. He forced a neutral expression and offered a curt reply. "It's nice to meet you too," he said, the words falling flat.
With the brief introduction concluded, the coach turned his attention to the rest of the squad. He clapped his hands loudly to get their attention. "Can all of you gentlemen stop practicing for just a moment!"
The team members obediently cut their drill short. They gathered around the coach and Ethan, jogging in with a mixture of fatigue and expectant curiosity, their faces glistening with sweat. "Good evening, Coach," they chimed in unison, their voices respectful.
"Good evening," the coach replied, his voice full of energy. "As you can see, we have a new student here. His name is Jayden. He is here right now to try out for the team, and I want to see him play a quick, live scrimmage to assess his skills."
The coach turned to Jayden, his expression practical. "Jayden, go ahead and take four of the members as your teammates. The other five will be your opponents for this round."
He then looked directly at Ethan, his eyes twinkling. "And since we're one man over with Jayden making the numbers uneven, Ethan will be sitting this round out. This needs to be snappy, ten minutes max. Alright, gentlemen, organize your teams, be quick about it, and Jayden, show me what you've got."
With a mixture of relief and irritation, Ethan moved to stand beside the coach, a silent spectator. He watched as his teammates—loyal, skilled, and currently exhausted—circled around Jayden, who appeared entirely unconcerned by the scrutiny.
The selection process was swift, the boys knowing instinctively who paired best with whom. Jayden, however, made his choices with a cool, tactical precision that immediately piqued Ethan's professional interest.
The first player Jayden selected was Adam, the versatile small forward of their main team. Adam was a phenomenal athlete, a natural leader in his own right, and notably, he was the same height as Ethan and just as strikingly handsome—another head-turner.
The fact was, all the primary members of their team were exceptionally attractive, a running joke and point of pride within the school that they were a team of "handsome players who turn heads" wherever they went.
Next, Jayden chose Logan Bennet, their powerful power forward. Logan was undeniably good-looking, but he was a little shorter than the rest of the starting five, compensating for his height with brute strength and incredible court awareness.
The third pick was Zach, their towering center, and the tallest member of the squad. His height was his defining characteristic and a clear strategic advantage for any team.
Finally, Jayden's last choice was Hunter Lawson, their shooting guard. Hunter, though capable and dedicated, wasn't a permanent member of the main team; he was part of the backup squad. Their main shooting guard had transferred out the previous semester, and Hunter had been substituting reliably, holding the position until a long-term replacement could be found.
Ethan stood beside the coach, his brow furrowing almost immediately. He did a quick mental roster check. Jayden had deliberately chosen the small forward, the power forward, the center, and the shooting guard.
That meant only one position was left unfilled in Jayden's chosen squad: the point guard.
A deep frown set on Ethan's face. He knew the implications instantly. Ethan himself was the team's primary point guard and the appointed leader. They even had a solid backup point guard on the reserve team.
The obvious conclusion, the one Ethan disliked instinctively, was that Jayden saw himself as the team's missing piece—the new point guard.
But why? Ethan's thoughts raced, a combination of tactical confusion and personal frustration. The team didn't need another point guard; they needed a permanent, high-caliber shooting guard for the main rotation. What was the coach trying to accomplish by bringing in yet another ball-handler? The entire scenario felt illogical and redundant.
The scrimmage started before Ethan could fully process his discomfort. The opposing team—the five members not chosen—took their positions, ready to challenge the newcomer. The initial play was quick and decisive.
And it was in that first twenty seconds that Ethan realized how completely wrong he had been in his initial assessment.
Jayden was not a point guard.
The initial relief Ethan felt at this realization was immediately supplanted by a growing, sharp concern. As the ten-minute timer began its countdown, Jayden began to play, and the more Ethan watched, the more his brow continued to furrow, until by the final minute, his eyebrows were so tightly squished up that they looked painfully compressed.
Jayden was indeed playing the shooting guard position, a realization that should have brought Ethan profound satisfaction, as their structural need was finally addressed.
Instead, he felt a rising sense of dread. Jayden was exceptionally talented, yes, his shots were flawless, his quickness electric. But he was also completely, dangerously reckless.
He was constantly rushing ahead for fast breaks—a move that was only effective if his teammates were right there with him. He was a solo artist, rarely, if ever, looking to pass the ball. Every possession seemed to be a personal challenge, a high-stakes attempt to score all on his own.
He finished plays with dramatic, unnecessary flair: powerful dunks that looked more like showmanship than strategy, and high-difficulty, contested three-pointers. He played as if he were the only one on the court, showing a profound, baffling indifference to the four teammates he had just selected. His ego was clearly his only teammate.
The coach signaled the end of the ten-minute evaluation. The whistle's sharp blast echoed the shock in Ethan's mind. Jayden's team had scored, of course, thanks almost entirely to Jayden's individual brilliance, but the victory felt hollow and unsustainable.
The coach turned to Ethan, his eyes alight with question and expectation. "Well, Ethan, my boy," he said, his voice cheerful, "what do you think? Give me your honest assessment of Jayden."
Ethan was ready. He didn't hesitate for a second. "He's talented, for sure," Ethan conceded, needing to be fair. "I won't deny that he has skill. But he is entirely too risky. Coach, talent means nothing—absolutely nothing—if you can't even trust your teammates on the court. He plays like a one-man army. He acts like the only player who matters."
He then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with a genuine look of tactical confusion. "Are you certain he was actually on a team back at his old school?"
The coach nodded, surprised by the intensity of the question. "Yes, I'm quite certain of that, Ethan. His records are solid."
Ethan nodded back, a slow, deliberate movement. The only logical explanation he could devise was an unflattering one for Jayden's former colleagues. "Then maybe," Ethan finally stated, his voice firm, "his former school's players were too weak, so he became accustomed to a solo playstyle. Because I genuinely can't fathom how someone who has been a part of a functioning team for any length of time can play with such a brazen disregard for teamwork."
Jayden, meanwhile, was walking toward the coach and Ethan, feeling incredibly satisfied with his performance. He had scored most of the points, showcased his best moves, and expected high praise. Instead, Ethan's final, cutting assessment—the accusation of recklessness and the dismissive theory about his former teammates—hit him full-force.
A furious wave of heat rushed through Jayden. He snapped, speaking without the slightest care about the team members . "Or maybe," Jayden shot back, his blue eyes flashing with genuine anger, "your team's too slow to keep up! How dare you blame me for being too brilliant! What on earth is your problem?"
That single accusation—calling the team members slow—was the line. It angered the team, and it infuriated Ethan. Logan Bennet, the powerful forward who had been on Jayden's team, stepped forward, his face flushed.
"Hey, what exactly do you mean we're too slow?" Logan challenged, his voice tight. "You didn't even pass the ball to us once! You played the entire game by yourself. How can you stand there and blame us?"
Jayden wheeled on the team members, his defenses up. "It's not my fault!" he retorted, gesturing wildly toward Ethan. "Your captain here started talking trash, insulting my play, and even insulting my former members at my old school! You can't blame me for getting angry and defending myself and my reputation."
Ethan stepped forward, his calm demeanor returning, but his eyes were hard. "I apologize for speaking carelessly about your former teammates," he stated, his tone flat but controlled. "But that is the only apology you'll get. Everything else I said is the truth.
You are too reckless, Jayden. You have a profound disregard for your teammates. That, in case you don't know, is a catastrophic flaw for anyone who has the slightest ambition to play basketball professionally."
Jayden took a step toward Ethan, his stylish clothes and silver hair seeming to vibrate with challenge. A predatory smile, devoid of humor, stretched across his face.
"Well, if you're so incredibly good," he said, his voice dropping to a low, mocking challenge, "why don't you play with me instead?"