Brooklyn taught me gravity before it taught me mercy.
Gravity lived in the way summer heat pressed against your back like a hand that never moved. It lived in concrete that remembered every fall and never softened for the next one. In the quiet gaps between sirens, when the city seemed to inhale and hold it just long enough to remind you that someone was always running out of time. Gravity was not physics. It was history. Expectation. The agreement that most people never leave, and the ones who do carry the city inside them forever.
I carried it in my skin.
A darker copper tone, deep and burnished, like metal forged slowly and allowed to cool on its own terms. Not glossy. Not dull. Alive. Light lingered on it instead of bouncing away, tracing muscle and motion as if studying me. My locs fell thick down my back, heavy with years of discipline, sweat, and intention. People said I looked unworldly sometimes. Like I was standing half a step out of sync with wherever I was.
They were closer to the truth than they knew.
I ran with the 83 Gangsta Crips, but not in the way stories flattened us into something simple. We were structure. We were rules. We welcomed anyone who understood two things that mattered more than anything else. Get your money. Never tell on enemies or friends. Silence was not fear. Silence was law. Loyalty was not romantic. It was survival refined into principle.
Basketball was where gravity loosened its grip.
The blacktop raised me. Bent rims. Cracked paint. No nets, just the clean snap of leather against iron. I learned timing before strength. Learned how to wait for defenders to choose the wrong future. Learned how to move like water instead of force. When the ball left my hands, the city quieted. When it came back, I felt aligned.
That alignment carried me to Syracuse.
One year. One season. No safety net.
I played like someone who understood time was borrowed. Long, gliding strides that swallowed space. Hesitations that froze defenders mid thought. A midrange game that punished uncertainty more than mistakes. I finished through contact with calm, not anger. Patience was my cruelty.
Scouts watched.
Brooklyn leaned in.
Then everything stopped.
The street was loud that afternoon. Tires screamed. A crowd gasped. A little girl stood where she should not have, backpack slipping off her shoulder as a truck barreled toward her, heavy and blind and committed to momentum.
I didn't think.
Gravity let go.
I moved.
I remember the weight of her small body as I shoved her clear. The shock in her eyes turning into confusion, then safety. I remember the sound after. Metal folding. Impact. Finality.
I died knowing I chose right.
Darkness did not rush me. It received me.
I drifted through memory and breath, through moments that mattered and moments that didn't, until I stood somewhere that was not a place but felt deliberate all the same. A presence waited. Not judgmental. Not cold. Patient.
Understanding assembled smoothly, like meaning written on water.
Then symbols formed.
╭────────────────────────────╮
│ SOUL ACTION VERIFIED │
│ SACRIFICIAL INTENT PURE │
│ OUTCOME ACCEPTED │
╰────────────────────────────╯
I felt no fear. Only recognition.
Another frame emerged, softer, almost respectful.
╭────────────────────────────╮
│ REINCARNATION GRANTED │
│ FINAL WISHES AVAILABLE │
│ COUNT THREE │
╰────────────────────────────╯
I chose carefully.
First, the system.
Not raw power. Structure. A basketball system that would grow with me, unlocking layers of skill through games, resistance, and pressure. Skill points earned through performance. Shop points gained through challenge. Nothing free. Nothing wasted.
The symbols shifted, approving.
╭────────────────────────────╮
│ BASKETBALL SYSTEM BOUND │
│ PROGRESSION RULED BY │
│ PERFORMANCE AND GROWTH │
╰────────────────────────────╯
Second, I chose her.
Not possession. Not fantasy. A trainer whose presence would anchor my rise in reality. Someone who could explain my growth to the world without exposing what lived beneath it. A best friend first. A bond built through discipline and shared time. Love deferred, deepened by patience. She would love openly, freely, honestly. One day, we would explore that freedom together without secrecy or shame.
The system paused, then accepted.
╭────────────────────────────╮
│ SOUL THREAD ESTABLISHED │
│ BOND DELAYED BY DESIGN │
│ MUTUAL GROWTH REQUIRED │
╰────────────────────────────╯
Lastly, I chose health.
Not immortality. Balance. A body that would not betray its purpose. One that could bend, adapt, and endure.
The symbols softened.
╭────────────────────────────╮
│ OPTIMAL HEALTH LOCKED │
│ LONG TERM INTEGRITY SET │
╰────────────────────────────╯
Darkness folded inward.
I woke up.
The ceiling above me was white and unfamiliar. Clean. The air tasted sharp and new. I sat up and my body responded instantly, fluid and ready. When I stood, balance came without effort.
I caught my reflection.
I was myself, refined.
Taller. Broader. Fifteen pounds of lean mass added with intention. The darker copper of my skin deeper and richer, almost glowing beneath the light. Strength rested beneath it calm and coiled. My joints felt loose, elastic. Hips open. Ankles responsive. Spine mobile. Years of martial arts training followed me into this life not as memory but instinct. Breath control. Balance under pressure. The ability to fall without damage and rise without hurry.
The system stirred.
╭────────────────────────────╮
│ PHYSICAL MODEL APPLIED │
│ ARCHETYPE SHAI G A │
│ MODIFIED FOR POWER │
╰────────────────────────────╯
I understood immediately.
Long limbed. Deceptive. Smooth. A game built on patience and punishment disguised as grace. But heavier. Stronger through contact. Cleaner shooting mechanics. Tighter handle. My flexibility allowed angles others could not reach. My martial discipline made my footwork precise, my movements economical.
Anime and manga had taught me this language early. Growth through struggle. Power earned through discipline. Transformation paced, not rushed. This system understood that rhythm.
A basketball waited by the door.
When my palm touched it, the symbols returned.
╭────────────────────────────╮
│ PRIMARY MEDIUM ENGAGED │
│ EACH GAME UNLOCKS MORE │
│ POTENTIAL REMAINS SEALED │
╰────────────────────────────╯
The gym welcomed me with silence and early light. I moved, and everything flowed. Handle alive. Hesitations sharp. My body bent and twisted through space effortlessly, absorbing imagined contact, landing balanced. The shot felt inevitable the moment I rose.
Information fed back constantly. Adjustments subtle. Continuous refinement.
Applause broke the quiet.
She leaned against the doorway like she belonged there. Sand toned skin warm under the lights. Abs defined and functional. Her face carried a softness people compared to Sydney Sweeney, grounded by thicker eyebrows and eyes that studied rather than admired.
"I'm Alina," she said. "You move like someone who already knows the ending."
"I do," I replied.
She smiled faintly. "You finished your year at Syracuse. You've got a shooting workout scheduled with the Brooklyn Nets. The combine's coming."
The system acknowledged her presence.
╭────────────────────────────╮
│ KEY ALLY CONFIRMED │
│ GROWTH VEIL ACTIVE │
╰────────────────────────────╯
I bounced the ball once, slow and deliberate.
I had died saving a life.
I had been reborn with purpose.
The combine waited. Brooklyn was calling.
This time, gravity wasn't something to escape.
It was something I was going to command.