That night, nobody felt like talking.
The laughter from Tyrone's dinner still echoed somewhere in their minds, but it was muted now – replaced by the dull silence of the bus ride back to the hotel. The boys sat scattered, half-asleep, half-watching the world outside. Despite all the lights, Los Angeles looked gray, like it knew something was wrong.
Ector hadn't said a word since dinner.
He sat by the window, hood up, staring out as if the streets were whispering something only he could hear. Every few minutes, he unlocked his phone, checked for messages, found nothing, and locked it again. Tyrone tried saying something once, but Ector didn't answer. He wasn't angry – he just looked... hollow.
Daniel sat two rows behind him, scrolling through his contacts before quietly sending a message to Kuhlmann. Five minutes later, Kuhlmann called. Daniel answered with a low, "Yeah?"
On the other end, the German's voice was calm as always, but there was a note under it – something you rarely heard from him. "What's the situation?"
Daniel sighed. "Kid's little brother's been missing two days. Police got nothing yet. His mother's losing it."
A pause. Then: "Cancel the Tokyo flight."
"What?"
"You heard me. We're not leaving without him. Tell the driver to reroute to Van Nuys – I'll meet you there in twenty minutes."
Daniel blinked. "You're coming?"
"I don't sign children under my mentorship and leave them behind."
The line clicked dead.
When Daniel put the phone away, the boys were already watching him.
"Change of plans," he said quietly. "We're making a detour."
~~~~~
The billionaire's jet sat gleaming on the private runway like a misplaced spaceship – all chrome and tinted windows. The driver stopped beside it, and Kuhlmann was already there, dressed in travel blacks, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, energy drink in hand.
Ector climbed out last, still silent.
Kuhlmann walked over, handed Daniel a folder with printed directions, and looked Ector dead in the eye. "Where?"
Ector blinked. "Jacksonville."
Kuhlmann nodded once. "Then that's where we go."
The jet cut through the clouds above the state of Florida, quiet except for the low hum of engines. Tyrone and Jesus sat across from each other, whispering; Grigori had headphones in, staring blankly; Novak was tapping his knee; even JB looked uncomfortable.
Ector sat apart, elbows on knees, eyes locked on the floor.
Daniel leaned over. "We'll find him, kid."
Ector didn't look up. "He's just a little dude, coach. He gets scared easy. He don't… he don't know how to handle shit like this."
"You said he's how old?"
"Eight." Ector rubbed his eyes. "He's all energy. Always runnin' around. I used to call him mosquito 'cause he never stopped buzzin'."
Daniel nodded slowly. "Then we'll find your mosquito."
For the first time since last night, Ector smiled. Barely, but it was there.
~~~~~
Jacksonville, Florida.
The humidity hit them like a wet towel as soon as they stepped off the plane. The city had that muggy Southern quiet – palm trees, cracked sidewalks, air thick enough to chew. They took two rental vans and split up: Ector, Daniel, and Kuhlmann in one, the rest of the team in another.
They drove through narrow streets, Ector guiding them by memory. The neighborhood looked rough – old houses, flickering streetlights, stray dogs sleeping on porches.
"Stop here," Ector said finally.
"You sure?" Daniel asked.
"Yeah. My brother Priam used to bring me here to play ball. I used to bring my lil' bro here too. Not many people know about this court."
It was a playground that stood behind an old abandoned middle school. Rusted swings, a half-broken slide, graffiti on the walls. You could hear kids yelling somewhere nearby.
Ector got out and walked ahead. The others followed quietly, scanning the area.
Then they saw them – a group of small boys by the basketball court. Torn shirts, scraped knees, barefoot. One of them – smaller, wiry, hair like Ector's – was holding the ball and barking orders.
Ector froze. "Paris…"
The boy turned. For a second, neither of them moved.
"Why the hell are you here? I thought you were in that fancy rich school of yours – or in prison," Paris said.
Ector blinked. "No, but we're about to leave soo– Wait, what you mean prison? Who told you that?"
"Jabari. You know his older brother – Jamal. He told me that at school."
"Of course I know that cockroach. The sleaziest fucker around. He couldn't say a word of truth if his life depended on it. So what did he tell you?"
"That you ain't around no more. That I'm a liar. That I made up the fancy school. That you're really just a criminal and went to prison. He said everybody knows it. That our mom's the GOAT – 'cause two outta three sons are already criminals, and she built a real dynasty." Paris's voice cracked. "And maybe he's right. How would I know? You don't even call!"
Ector's fists tightened. Every muscle screamed to go find Jamal and beat him bloody – but then Paris kept talking.
"And then I smacked him, and we started fighting. Principal came. They called Mom to school. She was mad at me. And then… I ran away. I haven't gone home since."
Ector went silent. Marcus's words flashed through his mind: Are you tough, or are you strong?
His breath steadied. For the first time in a long while, his anger didn't explode – it burned clean.
He knelt down, looking Paris in the eyes.
"I'm not saying you did wrong. Hell, if I were you, I'd've done the same. But sometimes you gotta stop and think – is it the right place, or the right time?" He paused. "One wise old dude once told me – don't be tough, be strong. Being tough means you fight to prove every word and every step. Being strong means saying no to the shit that'll only drag you down. So be strong, lil' man. Don't be tough. Don't be like me or Priam. Be better than both of us. I know you can. I know you are."
Paris stopped crying. Ector hugged him tight, lifted him up, and carried him toward the van. When they reached the door, he asked with a smirk:
"Did you at least win?"
~~~~~
Later that night, Ector stood outside his old house, the porch light flickering. His mother hugged Paris tight, thanking everyone a hundred times. Kuhlmann stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Before they left, Ector turned to him. "Coach… thanks."
Kuhlmann tilted his head. "Don't thank me yet. Thank me when you call her at least once a week."
Ector smiled faintly. "Once a day."
"Better."
"And, Coach," Ector added, "I've got one more place to be."
~~~~~
The Jacksonville City Prison wasn't a fancy place. Ector sat there behind a thick layer of bulletproof glass, phone in hand, waiting for the guards to bring in his older brother. The iron door opened, and a tall, muscular figure in handcuffs stepped through. He sat on the other side. Despite having different fathers, they still looked alike.
Priam just stared for a moment before picking up the phone. "You finally came. I thought you forgot about me."
Ector lifted his own receiver. "Wassup to you too, Big P."
"Don't call me that. We're brothers. Or you forget already?"
"You know we don't have much time. Stop fuckin' with me."
Priam leaned back, smirking. "Ooh, haven't seen you in three years. You're all grown now. Almost as tall as me. You think you a man now?"
Silence.
Ector took a deep breath. "I don't got time to argue. You don't either. So…" – a long pause – "I'm sorry. I was… I am an asshole. I don't know. But I came to say something else."
Priam's voice dropped. "So say it."
"I got an offer. Basketball. You were right – I might really have talent. There's a tournament in Asia. A few of them. And I gotta win them all. After that, I'll get a big stack of cash – enough to pay for an elite school. Montverde, IMG, whatever. Hell itself if it comes to it. The big scouts'll see me. I'll get that D1 scholarship. I'll make the league. And when you get out of here, a huge fuckin' mansion will be waiting for you. And if it don't happen…" He looked him dead in the eye. "…you can put a bullet right through my brain. You got me?"
Priam didn't say anything for a while – just stared at him. Then he smiled. "Good luck with that. It's a good dream."
Ector's eyes hardened. "It ain't a dream. Not anymore…"
~~~~~
Outside the prison, Coach K waited, dragging on a cigarette. When Ector came out, Kuhlmann flicked the ash away.
"Did it go well?"
Ector nodded. "Yeah, Coach. And… thanks."
Kuhlmann looked at him for a long second, then exhaled smoke through his nose. "Get in the car," he said simply. And Ector did.