The squeak of sneakers stopped. The bouncing of the balls died. The only sound in "The Nest" was the sharp, ugly clang of Dylan Riley's failed layup, the thud of his body hitting the floor, and the thin, high shriek of Coach Miller's whistle.
In the sudden, heavy silence, Leo Vance just stood there, his chest heaving. He hadn't fouled. He hadn't stolen the ball. He had just... been there. He had been a wall. A wall built of his brother's data and his own obsessive, punishing work.
He looked at Dylan, who was still on the floor, his face a mask of pure, humiliated rage.
"AGAIN!" Coach Miller roared, his face a furious red. He didn't yell at Leo for good defense. He yelled at Dylan for bad offense. "THAT WAS SLOPPY, RILEY! YOU'RE MY FLASH, NOT MY... MY BRICKLAYER! GET UP! AGAIN!"
Dylan scrambled to his feet, his eyes narrowed, boring into Leo. He walked over, snatching the ball from the rebounder. He got in Leo's face, his voice a low, vicious hiss.
"You got lucky, Vance," he spat. "You... you tripped me."
"I didn't touch you," Leo said, his voice quiet, his heart hammering. He wasn't scared. He was... right.
"You got in my way," Dylan snarled.
"Alright, that's enough!" Miller yelled. "New drill! Five-on-five! Vets vs. Newbies! I want to see points!"
The rest of the practice was a war. It wasn't a scrimmage; it was a duel between Leo and Dylan. Dylan, in a transparent attempt to get his "revenge," stopped passing entirely. He drove at Leo, again and again.
And again and again, Leo was just... there.
He didn't have to be faster. He just had to be smarter. He just had to be there first.
He telegraphs it.
Dylan drove right. Leo cut him off. Dylan's left shoulder dipped. The tell. Leo was already in position, absorbing the spin, forcing Dylan to pick up his dribble.
Dylan, furious, tried to pass out. But he'd held the ball too long. The "Newbies" team, sensing the blood in the water, had collapsed, and they stole the pass.
On the sidelines, Julian Hayes just... smiled. He walked over to the water cooler, where Elara "Stats" Chen was typing furiously into her tablet, her face impassive.
"He's reading him," Julian said quietly, taking a cup.
"Specifically," Elara said, without looking up, "Vance is reading Riley's spin move. Riley has used it four times. He's been 0-for-4. His success rate on that move against all other defenders is 82%. The variable... is Vance."
Julian looked at the tiny, severe girl, his respect deepening. "He's not just faster. He's smarter. Vance. I mean."
"Debatable," Elara said, her fingers still flying. "He's just... prepared. It's not the same as being smart. It's just... data."
The final whistle blew. Coach Miller threw his clipboard. It clattered against the bleachers.
"THAT WAS UGLY!" he screamed. "DYLAN! MY OFFICE! LEO! YOU... you... GO HOME! EVERYONE, GO HOME! WE'RE NOT A TEAM UNTIL YOU ACT LIKE ONE!"
Players filed out, avoiding eye contact. Dylan stormed into the coach's office.
Leo, his bag over his shoulder, was walking out, his body aching, but his mind... buzzing. He had done it.
"Vance."
He turned. Elara Chen was standing there, her tablet clutched to her chest.
"Your... your defensive position on the spin," she said, her voice clinical, as if she were a lab partner. "It was... new. You weren't overplaying his right. You were... baiting it. You were waiting for the spin."
Leo was stunned. "I... uh... yeah. I... I guess."
"He dips his left shoulder," Elara said. It wasn't a question.
Leo just stared at her. "Yeah. He... he does."
Elara nodded once, as if a complex equation had been solved. "Good. The data's correct, then." She turned and walked away, leaving Leo standing in the gym entrance, his mind reeling.
The data.
He wasn't the only one who saw it. He wasn't a 'genius' like his dad. He wasn't a 'natural' like Kian. He was... he was a data collector. And, apparently, so was Elara.
He walked out of the gym, a true, real smile on his face for the first time in days.
Kian's ride home was... normal. School had been fine. Silas and Ren were... Silas and Ren. They had honored the "contract." They talked about the chem test. They argued about whether the Blade Runner sequel was necessary. They hadn't mentioned him. They hadn't mentioned the quarry.
The wall was holding.
Kian felt... empty. But it was the clean, sterile, controlled empty he had worked so hard to achieve. His drawing was done. The "virus" was contained. He had won.
He was just... Kian. The artist.
He was so lost in his control that he didn't realize his timing was off. He had stayed late to finish a sketch, and as he turned the corner onto the main road, he almost collided with another bike.
It was Leo.
"Whoa!" Leo yelled, swerving. "Kian! You... you're late."
Kian's stomach tightened. He just... he didn't want to deal with this. "Had to finish something."
They rode side-by-side, the silence awkward, stretched. But Leo... Leo was vibrating. He was buzzing. Kian could feel the energy coming off him. It was annoying.
"So..." Leo said, unable to hold it in. "Practice was... it was something."
Kian just grunted.
"Your... uh... your data," Leo said, his voice dropping, as if he were sharing a state secret. "It was... it was good data."
Kian felt a strange, sharp, unwelcome flicker in his chest. It was... it was the same feeling he'd had when Milo's shot swished.
Pride.
He hated it. He loathed it.
"He's predictable," Kian said, his voice flat, trying to kill the feeling. "It's not hard."
"Yeah, well... it worked," Leo said, a huge, goofy grin spreading across his face. "I... I shut him down, Kian. Four times. I just... I knew where he was going. I saw the shoulder dip, just like you said. And... and I was just there. It was... it was awesome."
Kian said nothing. He hated the word "awesome." He hated the pride. He hated that his analysis... his scouting report... had worked.
"Even Elara... you know, Elara Chen, the manager? She... she saw it, too. She called it 'data.' She... she gets it."
Elara Chen. Kian knew her. She was a junior. She was in his advanced-placement calculus class, even though he was a freshman. She was... like him. Cold. Analytical. Smart.
The fact that she saw it, too... it... it made Kian's "analysis" feel... real.
He hated it.
"Whatever," Kian said. "It's just... data."
They were approaching the turn-off. The turn-off for the quarry.
Kian instinctively tensed. He put his hands on his brakes, ready to slow down, to let Leo get ahead. He... he hadn't been back. He couldn't. He wouldn't.
"What's..." Leo started to say, but then he saw it, too.
Kian's blood went cold.
They were there.
The kids. Milo. Ana. Timmy.
They weren't hiding in the bushes. They weren't waiting.
They were... on the court.
And they were... practicing.
Milo was standing at the free-throw line. He was... shooting. He was holding his arm in a perfect "L" shape. He was tucking his elbow. His shot was... fluid.
Ana and Timmy were... passing. They were doing a two-person bounce-pass drill, stepping into it, using the floor.
And the other three... they were... they were doing defensive slides. Badly. But... they were doing them.
Kian stopped his bike. He didn't mean to. His feet just... hit the ground.
They were... they were learning. Without him. They were... using his lessons. The... the virus. It was... replicating.
Leo, seeing Kian stop, stopped, too. He was just... confused.
"What... what is this?" Leo asked, looking at the raggedy group of kids. "Is this, like, a... a parks-and-rec team?"
The kids, so lost in their practice, hadn't seen them.
But then, Milo... he swished one.
Swish.
He let out a whoop. "I did it! I did it! Did you see that, Ana? Swish!"
He turned, beaming... and he saw them.
He saw Kian.
Milo's face... it didn't just light up. It ignited. The betrayal from Saturday, the fear... it was gone. It was replaced by a pure, blinding hope.
"MISTER!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "MISTER, YOU'RE BACK!"
He didn't run from Kian. He ran to him.
He ran, holding the lumpy ball, his face a picture of pure, unadulterated joy. He stopped right at the edge of the asphalt, panting, looking up at Kian, who was still frozen on his bike.
"MISTER! LOOK!" Milo yelled, pointing at his own arm. "MY ELBOW! I... I TUCKED IT! I... I kept practicing! Like you said! And... and... I swished! I swished five times! Five!"
Kian was... paralyzed. His brother... Leo... was right next to him. Watching.
Leo's face was a mask of utter, complete, and total confusion. He looked at the adoring, worshipful kid. He looked at his ice-cold, silent brother.
"Kian...?" Leo said, his voice a whisper. "Mister? What... what is... what is he talking about?"
Kian was... trapped. He was cornered. His two worlds—the secret world where he was "Coach Kian," and the real world, where he was "Leo's-angry-brother"—had just collided.
He felt the shame rise. The humiliation. He couldn't... he couldn't let Leo know. He couldn't let his brother, the Captain, the one he had just helped, see this... this other side. This... this paternal, coaching side. His father's side.
He looked at Milo's bright, shining, hopeful face.
And he chose.
"I don't know," Kian said, his voice dead. Lifeless. Colder than ice.
Milo's smile... froze.
"I've never seen him before in my life," Kian said.
He pushed off. He pedaled.
He rode away.
He left Leo, stunned, at the side of the road.
And he left Milo, standing on the asphalt, his face... just... crumbling. The light didn't just dim. It was extinguished. The boy's face... it was a mask of pure, uncomprehending betrayal.
Leo watched his brother's back. He watched Kian... flee.
Then he looked at the kids. At the six kids, who were all now staring at Kian's retreating form. Ana's face was... she was crying.
"Mister...?" Milo whispered, his voice broken. "He... he said... he... he doesn't... know us?"
Leo, the Captain, the data collector, the... brother... just sat on his bike. He didn't understand.
But he had the data.
He had his brother's secret "scouting reports." He had his brother's anger. And now... he had a group of six, heartbroken children, who were practicing fundamentals... and calling his brother "Mister."
Leo looked at the shattered look on Milo's face. And he looked at the work they were putting in.
And for the first time... he didn't... he couldn't... understand his brother at all.
Kian didn't stop until he was in his room. He didn't even put his bike away. He just... ran.
He locked his door. He fell onto his bed, his face in his pillow, his heart hammering... out of control.
He had... he had lied. He had... denied them.
He had seen Milo's face. He had seen... that look.
It was... it was the same look.
It was the same, broken, betrayed look... that had been on his own face... the day his father left.
He... he doesn't... know us?
Kian pushed his face harder into the pillow.
His "exorcism"... his drawing... it was a joke. He wasn't in control. He wasn't a "master." He was... a coward.
He had... he had just... become him. He had become his father.
He sat up, his body trembling. He looked at his desk. At the... the drawing. The lifeless drawing.
He went to his desk. He opened his sketchbook. He tore the drawing of the basketball out. He ripped it. Into tiny, tiny pieces.
The "exorcism" had failed.
He sat down, his hands shaking. He opened to a new page.
He... he had to... he had to understand.
You can only... master it.
His grandfather's voice.
He picked up a pencil. A 4B. Soft. Human.
He... he didn't draw the ball.
His hand... shaking... he... he began to sketch... Milo's face. The... the joy... and then... the betrayal.
He had to... he had to see what he had done.
He was... he was lost.