The aftermath of Michael Vance's visit was not the explosion Kian had feared, but a subtle, fundamental re-ordering of their universe. The family, having faced its ghost and collectively rejected it, had settled into a new, stronger alignment. The war was no longer inside the house; it was outside.
And for the first time, Kian and Leo were, in their own strange, parallel ways, finally living a normal life.
For Leo, "normal" was a spotlight. It was walking into the cafeteria on a Monday and having the entire basketball team already at the main table, waiting for him.
"Alright, Cap," Sam said, pushing a tray over. "We saw the film. Trinity Prep. They... they look weird."
Leo sat, and it was like a general unrolling a map. He was no longer the "Face" for Kian's "Brain"; he was the conduit. He had absorbed the manifesto, and its logic had become his own.
"They're not weird," Leo said, his voice full of a new, easy authority. "They're a system. A Princeton-style offense. It's all back-door cuts and flare screens." He looked at his team. "Our 'Hedge-and-Recover' defense is useless against them. We're not playing that this week."
The table was silent, listening.
"So what do we play?" Marcus asked, his voice a low rumble.
"We play a trap," Leo said, his eyes bright. "My... scout... he found a flaw. A tell. Their entire offense, all of their back-door actions, they only run them from the right wing."
"Why?" Julian asked, his analytical mind kicking in.
"Because their point guard has a weak left-handed pass," Leo said. "He can't make the cross-court bounce pass from the left. He's afraid of it. So, we're not going to stop him. We're going to bait him."
He looked at Julian. "You're going to be our 'Vulture'. You're going to sag off your man on the wing. You're going to look slow. You're going to invite that pass. And the second he throws it, you're going to jump the lane. We're going to break their system. We're going to strangle them."
Julian Hayes, the smooth senior, just smiled. It was a cold, predatory smile. "A trap. Oh, I like that, Captain. I really like that."
Leo's "normal" was leadership. And, after school, his "normal" was Chloe. They were at the bowling alley. It was not a basketball court, and Leo was terrible.
CLATTER-GUTTER.
His ball, for the third time, veered sharply left and disappeared. "This is... illogical," he muttered, staring at his hands. "The angles... are all wrong."
Chloe laughed, a bright, warm sound that filled the alley. She stepped up, her form graceful, her arm a perfect, fluid pendulum. She released.
CRASH.
A perfect strike. She turned, her smile teasing. "You're analyzing it, Leo. It's bowling. You just have to feel it."
"I feel... like I'm bad at this," he grumbled, but he was smiling. He was happy. He was allowed to be bad at this.
"You're not bad," she said, sitting next to him. "You're just... a perfectionist. You're the 'Wise Captain'. You have to get it right."
"My brother... he'd get it right," Leo said, the thought just popping out. "He'd... he'd... calculate... the... spin rate... and... the... oil... patterns."
Chloe's smile softened. "How... is he? You... you all... seemed... so tense... at my... house... after... Mr. Kim... talked to him."
"He's... Kian," Leo said, shrugging. "He... he's... better. We're... better. He's... Kian's... partner... in... crime... now. They... are... working... together. Scouting. It's... weird. But... it's... good."
"I... I'm glad," Chloe said. She put her hand on his. "But... Leo... be careful. That... Sienna James... girl... she's not... done."
Leo's good mood soured. "What... did she... say now?"
"She... she... found me... in... gym class," Chloe said, her face troubled. "She... she... was asking... questions. Not... about... you. About... Kian. She... asked... if... he... was... 'weird'... at home. And... then... she... asked... why... your... family... changed... its... name."
Leo froze. His blood... ran cold. That... was... the... line. The one... secret... they... never... talked about.
"What... what did... you... say?"
"I told her... to... get a life," Chloe said, her eyes flashing. "But... Leo... how... does she... even... know... that? It's... creepy. She's... digging, Leo. Hard."
Leo's face was grim. "She's... just... angry. She... she... lost. It's... fine."
But... it wasn't... fine. The war... with his... father... was... one thing. The war... with... Sienna... was... another. And... she... was... aiming... at... their... foundation.
For Kian, "normal" was a delicate, three-ring circus, and he was the only one who knew how to keep the plates spinning.
His first "normal" was the bus. He sat in his seat, his laptop open. He was working. He was arguing.
He was in a Zoom call. Audio only.
"...and that's... why... your... analysis... is... amateur, Petrov," Kian's voice was a low, cutting monotone. His headphones were on.
On the other end of the call, from a bedroom in Redwood, Alexei Petrov, his leg propped up on a pillow, laughed. "Amateur? I'm... in... a... D1... film room... before... I can... even... shave, you... little... goth... mascot. Your 'flaw'... in... Javi's... close-out... is... a... fantasy. He doesn't... have... a... rotation... problem. He... has... a... balance... problem. You're... watching... the... ball. Not... his... hips."
Anya, sitting right next to Kian, was reading The Metamorphosis and smirking. She was listening to both sides of the conversation, as Kian hadn't... plugged in... his... headphones. His audio... was... just... coming... from his... laptop.
"His hips... are... irrelevant," Kian hissed back. "His hips... follow... his... pivot foot. And his... pivot foot... drags. You're... just... mad... because... I... found... it... and... you... didn't."
"I... am... going... to... enjoy... crushing... your... brother, Vance," Alexei said, his voice full of laughter.
"You... have to... learn... to... walk... again... first," Kian said. And he hung up.
He slammed his laptop shut.
Anya... was... shaking. Silently. With laughter.
"You... are... awful," she whispered, her voice full of mirth.
"He's... lazy," Kian muttered, his face red. "And he's... wrong."
His second "normal" was the school day. He was a shark. He walked the halls, and the crowds parted. His execution of Sienna had become the defining legend of the 8th grade. He... hated it.
He was in AP History. He was supposed to be learning about the Reign of Terror. He was, instead, designing a new in-bounds play for Milo.
He... felt... a... presence.
He looked up. Isa Rossi was standing by his desk. She wasn't smiling.
"Kian," she whispered, her voice urgent. "We... have... a... problem."
Kian tensed. "What?"
"Sienna," she said, her eyes dark. "She... she's... digging. She knows... I... knew you... before. She cornered me... by... my locker. She... was... asking... questions. About... your dad. About... why... you... left... your... old school. About... your... name."
Kian's blood... went cold. The one secret. The firewall.
"What... did... you... say?"
"I... I... told her... to... go to hell," Isa said, her eyes flashing. "But... Kian... she's... not... stupid. She's... pissed. And... she's... digging. She's... friends... with... Dylan Riley... now. She... has... a... pipeline... to... your... brother's... team. She... is... looking... for... a... weapon. Be... careful."
Kian just nodded. His... hands... were... cold. The war... wasn't... over.
His third "normal" was the gym. 4:00 PM. His team. His sanctuary.
He was... calm... here.
He wasn't just... a coach. He... was... a... teacher.
"Okay," he said, his voice quiet, his team gathered around him. "We... have... the plays. We have... the fundamentals. Now... we... have to... learn... how to... think. Basketball... is... not... a... play. It's... a... conversation. It's... jazz. You... have... to... listen... to each other."
The kids stared. 'Jazz'?
"Milo. You're the 1. You're the brain. But Ana... she's... the... heart. She sees... the... cut... before... it... happens. Listen... to her. React... to her."
Milo looked... at Ana. She's... the heart?
"Now... play," Kian commanded. "Three-on-three. No plays. Just... play. Read... and... react. Go."
And they... played. It was sloppy. It was chaotic. But... it's... basketball. Milo drove, saw Ana cut, hit her with a pass. She scored.
Milo smiled. Ana smiled.
Kian watched. He didn't... yell. He didn't... blow... his whistle.
He... sat down... on the... floor, his back against the cool, padded wall, next to the newly-arrived, silent... figure.
Arthur Vance just nodded, not looking up from his newspaper.
Kian... pulled out... his... sketchbook.
He... started... to draw.
He's not... drawing... plays.
He's drawing... them. He's drawing... Milo's... crossover. He's drawing... Ana's... V-cut.
His two worlds... art... and... basketball... were... finally... touching.
He's not... his father. He's not... his mother.
He's Kian. The Artist-Coach. And... for the first time... he's... not... at... war... with... himself.