A few days before tryouts, Darius sat alone in the gym's empty bleachers, the basketball nestled against his hip like a sleeping dog.
He stared at the court—not in awe, but in calculation.
Positions. Roles. Angles. The geometry of purpose.
Small forward, he thought. That's what I want to be this time.
He imagined it—driving from the wing, slashing into the paint with power, going chest-to-chest with defenders, rising up like a myth.
But then reality tapped him on the shoulder.
His body.
Still a work-in-progress. Still growing into itself. Still catching up to the ghosts of the boy he used to be.
Kai could've done it.But Darius? Darius still needed a stepstool to reach Kai's shadow.
He exhaled and bounced the ball once.
"No wing game today," he muttered.
The Reflex Core responded immediately, as if waiting for him to admit the obvious.
[Position Optimization: Activated]
Based on current stats, physical traits, and gameplay tendencies, recommended primary positions:
– Point Guard (PG): Playmaker Role – court vision, fast decision-making, handling + speed – Shooting Guard (SG): Secondary Scorer Role – off-ball movement, perimeter shooting, defensive agility
Note: Current body dimensions and vertical capacity do not support Small Forward-level matchups. [No offense. Just science.]
Darius rolled his eyes. "You didn't have to say it like that."
[Initiating Positional Training Regime – PG/SG Hybrid]
Weekly Focus Includes: – Tight ball-handling under pressure – Court awareness and read-react drills – Catch-and-shoot form accuracy – Speed & change of direction – Light contact resistance training (translation: getting hit without crying)
Accept Training Path?
Darius tightened the laces on his sneakers and stood.
"…Let's run it."
[Challenge Accepted. Let the court become yours.]
...
Tryout day.
The boys' locker room buzzed like a beehive dipped in pre-workout—eighty hopefuls packing in shoulder-to-shoulder, stretching, lacing up, psyching out.
Shoes squeaked. Jerseys were pulled over nervous torsos. Someone was playing drill music off a phone tucked into a sock. Another dude was taping his wrists like he was preparing for battle or ballet with defense.
Darius sat on a bench, lacing up his shoes slowly.
And grimaced.
They were… functional. Not tragic. But next to the neon Kobes, retro Jordans, and one kid's pristine Curry 10s wrapped in bubble wrap "just in case"—his kicks looked like they came from a clearance rack that apologized before ringing them up.
He sighed.
"Rule #1: Whatever you do, you must always look good doing it."– Kai Monroe, Former Legend, Current Disrespected Footwear Wearer.
Across the row, someone chuckled.
A tall senior—built like a Wi-Fi tower with biceps—leaned over and smirked. "Yo, Navarro. Didn't expect to see you in here. Thought you only jogged around school like a motivational janitor."
The guys around them chuckled—just enough to test if this was a roast session or a mistake.
Darius didn't flinch.
He looked up, calm as fog.
"Oh? I thought the team was accepting new talent. But hey—considering how last season went, I figured y'all were just happy anyone showed up without a search warrant."
The room froze for half a second.
Then—pure noise. Chuckles. Oohs. A backpack fell off a bench. Someone from the JV crowd hissed, "Yo, write that down—"
The senior's smirk twitched. Just for a second. But he gave a short laugh like it didn't hit.
"Alright," he said, patting Darius's shoulder as he passed. "Let's see if you still got jokes after the first wind sprint."
Darius stood, ball tucked under one arm, eyes locked forward.
"Oh I'm good," he said. "But if I start cooking out there, I am blaming y'all for the smoke."
...
The gym was buzzing.
Eighty players. One clipboard-wielding coach with a shaved head and a stop-watch around his neck like a noose of judgement. The squeak of sneakers, the low bass of murmured bets, and the sharp tang of sweat and nerves.
The air reeked of ambition.
They stood in lines, loosely organized by year, all facing Coach Mthembu—who looked like he'd eaten motivation quotes for breakfast and washed them down with black coffee and disappointment.
Darius stood near the middle of the crowd, hoodie half-zipped, ball in hand, looking like he belonged.
He didn't hear a word the coach was saying.
Because—
[Reflex Core: Trial Challenge – Activated]
Today's Conditions: 1-Day Special Unlock Path
Trial Objectives: – Score a contested layup against a taller defender – Complete 3 consecutive dribble combinations without a turnover – Execute a no-look assist during scrimmage – Win a 1-on-1 defensive stop against a top-seeded player – Sprint time: <4.2s baseline to baseline
Reward: Unlock "Creative Instincts" trait – Enhances improvisation under pressure – Activates flair-based movement triggers – Style modifier: ON (finally)
Estimated Difficulty: 8.5/10 "You asked for this." Accept?
Darius didn't hesitate.
Smirked.
"Oh, I'm built for ridiculous."
[Challenge Accepted]
And then—naturally—the system sidebar blinked open to what really had his attention:
Suggested Gear Loadouts (Visual Only): – Fire Fade Headband w/ Glow Pulse Rating – Neon Wavebreaker Elites (Limited Edition, ankle support: divine) – Arm sleeve (Compression Boost + +3 Swagger)
[Available After Unlock: "Creative Instincts" Trait]
Darius scrolled like he was on a shopping app, utterly oblivious to the real-world pep talk happening ten feet in front of him.
A boy next to him—a wiry Grade 11 with too much gel in his hair—glanced over and frowned.
"You good, dude? You look like you're watching clouds have a conversation."
Darius didn't even blink.
The kid stared harder. "Bro?"
Just then—
PPPWWWHHT!
Coach blew the whistle like it owed him respect.
Darius snapped upright like someone had just restarted his soul.
"Teams on the baseline," the coach barked. "Let's see who wants it."
The gym erupted into motion.
Darius tucked the system behind his eyes, pulled his hoodie off, and jogged toward the line like a storm cloud with something to prove.
The gym echoed with bouncing balls and barking whistles. The air? Thick with anticipation and the occasional whiff of industrial floor wax. Coach Mthembu marched down the center like a general at roll call.
"Today," he said, "we find out who wants to play—and who just likes the idea of wearing the uniform."
The clipboard came up.
The whistle came down.
And it began.
1. Baseline-to-Baseline Sprints (a.k.a. Gut Check City)
Everyone lined up. No ball. Just sneakers and dread.
Blow the whistle—sprint full court. Touch the line. Sprint back. Under 4.5 seconds or it didn't count.
Players groaned. Darius adjusted his laces. This wasn't speed. This was willpower in shoe form.
2. Full-Court Dribble Gauntlet
Each player took turns dribbling through a slalom of cones—right hand down, left hand back. The coach watched for stumbles, broken rhythm, or the cardinal sin of looking down.
Darius weaved like his handles were still in beta mode, but his footwork had sharpened. Balance Level 6 was holding up.
3. Spot Shooting Drill (Five-Spot, Three Makes to Move)
Corners. Wings. Top of the key. Mid-range and beyond. Players rotated like chess pieces.
Three makes to advance. Two misses to stay frozen.
Darius missed his first shot. Then his second. Then made four in a row, each one smoother than the last. The ball was finally listening.
4. Two-on-Two Decision Drills
Nothing revealed more than chaos in close quarters.
Two-on-two full-court situations where you either pass, cut, or embarrass yourself. The coach wasn't watching the scores—he was watching who moved without the ball.
Darius slipped a no-look dime between defenders. System pinged:
"Court Awareness +3%"
5. Wall-Up Defensive Test (a.k.a. "You Shall Not Pass")
One-on-one, defending the drive. Hands up. Feet planted. No swiping. Just raw anticipation and reaction time.
A senior tried to go left on Darius. Darius slid with him, absorbed the bump, and held his ground. The senior grunted. Missed.
Coach nodded once. Scribbled something.
6. Close-Out & Recovery Drill
A coach kicked a ball out to the perimeter. Player had to sprint, close out under control, contest the shot, then recover to defend a drive off the fake.
It looked simple.
It was evil.
By rep three, everyone's calves were screaming.
7. Scrimmage Circuit – Controlled Chaos
Half-court. Short shot clock. New teams every three minutes. Only rules? Be loud, be sharp, be smart.
Darius was everywhere. Not perfect—but present. Talking on defense. Cutting without the ball. Getting back after every mistake.
The old him would've been flying. The new him? Crawling upward. But climbing just the same.
By the time Coach blew the final whistle, the gym was littered with sweat and silence.
Darius wiped his face, hands on his knees, heart in his throat.