The time flew by. Practices blurred into scrimmages, scrimmages into systems, and systems into something that started to look like real basketball. Every drill was sharper, every film session louder, every mistake more expensive. The boys stopped being individuals with baggage and started resembling an organism – loud, violent, cocky, but coordinated.
De La Salle came first. They weren't pushovers, and from the opening tip it felt like they wanted to make a statement. Nielsen, Ratinho, Peters, three guys who were already halfway out the high school door and into the D1-D2 pipeline, played like they were supposed to – excellent basketball. It didn't matter. The boys took the punches, punched back harder, and closed it out 120-105. No one celebrated. They expected to win.
Mater Dei came next. National champions. Ranked, scouted, and venerated. And they played like it. That roster was a machine – length, shooting, coaching, discipline. The boys still dragged them into a fight. The final was 130-100, Mater Dei on top, but nobody from either bench walked out thinking it was a fluke. The whispers afterward were the same everywhere: who the hell are these kids?
Talent was confirmed. Potential was obvious. Top-250 rankings weren't whimsical thinking anymore – they were real and they were close.
Then came the one that hit different.
Compton Magic.
Everyone knew the name. Everyone knew what it meant. You didn't just play the Magic – you prepared to get beaten.
And for Tyrone Mason… it wasn't just another game. The hotel gym was quieter than usual. The boys were stretching, tossing balls lightly, and running layup lines, but their eyes kept drifting to Mason. Something was different about him tonight – tense, distant.
Ector nudged Novak. "Yo, he's acting weird. Something's up."
Grigori leaned back, bouncing a ball lightly. "Maybe he's nervous about Compton Magic."
Tyrone shrugged when Jesus tried to get a reaction. "Nah, it's fine. Just another game."
"Fine, huh?" Ector said, spinning the ball on his finger. "Yo. You got funeral vibes, bro. We just dropped 100 on national champs."
Aliir chimed in, "Yeah, Tyrone, we're not here to judge… but you're, like… tense as a spring."
Tyrone gave a small smirk. "It's all good. Don't worry about it."
Jesus leaned over chewing on a gum. "Nah, tú no estás bien. You look like somebody died. You got problems, we clown you first, then fix it after."
Novak crossed his arms, leaning in. "Nah, bro. Something's bugging you. Spill."
Tyrone shook his head. "I said it's fine."
Jesus leaned closer, grin spreading. "Look, we joke around, we mess with each other… but we're el grupo. You don't have to carry that weight alone."
Ector nudged him again. "Yeah, man. You've got us. Don't let it eat you inside."
Tyrone's small smirk started to crack. "Alright… maybe I'll tell a little. But don't make it weird."
The boys circled him, teasing, making faces, exaggerating plays from past games. Grigori leaned over, "C'mon, man, lighten up a little. Or we'll start calling you Compton Ghost."
Jean-Batiste Biha added, chuckling, "We'll lift you up, bro. Figuratively. Unless you actually want me to bench press you. Might be funny."
The laughter loosened something in Tyrone.
Tyrone hesitated, then muttered, "That Compton Magic game… that was supposed to be my team. Before all that shit went down. I was already in. Scholarship. Gear. Practices. Everything. Then I lost it. My mom got calls. They pulled the offer. That was it."
"With your talent shit like that doesn't happen simply because, what was the reason?" asked Novak.
"You know… back in middle school," he started, voice low, "my team… we had a shot at the state championship. And I carried them. Every game. I mean, literally carried them."
Novak raised an eyebrow. "Carried them how? Physically or metaphorically?"
Tyrone snorted. "Both, probably. But they were all just… messing around. Playing games, acting up, sabotaging everything. For them, it was just… fun. For me… basketball is everything. The only chance I have to make something of myself."
Ector leaned forward. "Damn, man. That's heavy."
Tyrone's eyes darkened. "My dad… he worked at a car wash. Then he got shot. Mom's doing three jobs just to keep me and my siblings alive. Basketball? That is the only way out. The only way I can ever make a life. And my teammates… they didn't get it. I snapped. I… I beat them. Hard. People talked. Scouts got questions. 'Character concerns.' Especially since… you know, I am from Compton."
Then Novak whistled low. "You beat up your way out of one of the best AAU teams in the country? Goddamn."
Grigori put a hand on his shoulder. "Damn, bro… I get it. You had to fight for something bigger than fun."
Mason shot him a look. "They quit mid-drill. Coach said go hard or go home. I went hard. They went home crying."
Jesus cracked a grin. "So the Magic got scared of you and ran. Qué vergüenza."
Ector reached over and smacked Mason's shoulder. "So what? You gonna mope now? Bro – we're murdering Mater Dei and playing Compton Magic without needing their jersey."
Grigori turned around too, voice calm and heavy. "Show them what they lost. Then take their respect. That is how you erase history."
Biha nodded. "You beat them, they can't ignore you. They will look stupid."
That finally pulled Mason's eyes off the court.
Daniel, who'd been pretending to read scouting notes on the sidelines, looked up and said flatly, "They closed the door on you? Kick the whole house down."
Marcus stepped forward towards them. "And if all else fails, play so damn good they gotta buy the apology letter in bulk."
Ector wrapped it up with a grin. "And when we get rich off Japan and Asia, we buy IMG and rename it Tyrone Mason Prep."
That got a laugh out of him at last. Not big, but real.
Kuhlmann, sitting near Daniel with his arms crossed and eyes closed like he was hibernating, spoke without opening them. "Mason," he said, "you didn't lose anything. They did. So when you step on that court… make them regret saving money."
Nobody clowned after that. It didn't get soft or sentimental. They just shifted. The jokes slowed down. The mood turned sharper.