The court was a stage. The polished wood gleamed under the gym's harsh fluorescent lights, sneakers squeaking, breath steaming in the tight air. The circle of students around them hummed with anticipation, a living audience holding its collective breath.
Coach Daniels blew his whistle sharply, watching with raised eyebrows. This wasn't just gym class anymore. This was a showdown.
The other students watched as a tall, dark-skinned boy, around 6'4", strode down from the bleachers to confront Tyler and his friend. He took off his jacket, revealing a lean, muscular frame, his toned abs visible beneath the shirt. Eight well-defined packets carved across his stomach, evidence of hard work and discipline.
From across the gym, some girls cheered softly, but the boys didn't flinch. They stopped playing, forgetting the ongoing game, their focus locked on the newcomer.
Everyone waited, breath held, to see if the new kid could really go toe-to-toe with the Spartans.
"I can give you guys a minute to rest," Aiden said, his voice calm but confident. "'Cause this won't take long."
Tyler scoffed, "Yeah, you won't get past me. I'm too fast, buddy."
Aiden nodded, stepping to the top of the key. He started dribbling, moving the ball slowly to the half-court line, baiting them to get ready. They exchanged determined looks, sizing him up..
"Full court or half?" Aiden pressed.
"Half," Ben answered.
"First to five or ten?" Aiden asked.
"Like you said, this'll be short. Ten," Tyler said, the overconfidence practically radiating off him.
"Okay, I got the ball. Are you ready?" Aiden asked, waiting for their nods.
They all agreed. Aiden smirked, spinning the ball in his hands, then looked up at them, all standing close to the basket.
"What are you smiling at, punk?" Ben barked.
Annoyed but still smiling, Aiden shot back, "You punks left me way too much room."
Aiden caught it easily at the top of the key, fingers gripping the leather with quiet confidence.
Time seemed to slow.
Aiden's eyes flicked to Ben, the defender who moved to block. Aiden dribbled once, then slid smoothly to the right corner edge, releasing a clean three-pointer before Ben could react. The ball sailed in a perfect arc.
Swish.
No cheers. Just silence, respect held in a fragile balance.
Two points.
The gym fell silent. Everyone stared, stunned. Even Mike, Tyler, and Ben exchanged looks of disbelief.
"That's two. Almost halfway there," Aiden said, sliding into defense.
Aiden tossed the ball back up the court, smirking. "Bring it."
The ball came back fast.
Aiden dribbled, eyes sharp and calculating. Moving to the top of the key.
With a sudden burst, Aiden faked a drive to the right, his left foot pushed off hard, and his body leaned into the movement. Tyler lunged forward, attempting to cut him off, but Aiden pulled the ball back between his legs, a stop fake that made Tyler flinch. Then, spin, step-back, he pulled up and hit with a sharp flick of his wrists, a smooth mid-range jumper.
"Not bad," Aiden muttered under his breath, jogging back.
Tyler's jaw tightened.
Aiden stood at the top of the key, The ball zipped to him again.
Ball in hand now, eyes scanning the court as the three boys spread out before him like predators sizing up prey.
Mike, bigger and more aggressive, stood on the left. Ben shadowed him closely, trying to box him in. Aiden eyed the pressure.
Aiden moved, heading toward the left.
Aiden's dribble was smooth and controlled, the ball bouncing rhythmically off the polished hardwood. He shuffled slightly left, then right
Mike seized the moment to slide in for a steal, stepping quickly with precise footwork, toes skimming the floor. Aiden anticipated this,
Ben tried to recover, pivoting on his left foot, arms raised to block Aiden's path to the hoop.
He pivoted, backing into Mike for a post-up fadeaway. The crowd leaned in as the ball rose, arching perfectly for a three-pointer over Mike and Ben's outstretched arms.
3 points
Slowly, a few voices broke the silence, soft claps, a tentative cheer. Most stayed quiet, still sizing him up.
The score was climbing, the energy electric.
Now, at half court, the final play.
Clear with discontent, as Tyler passed him the ball.
Ben and Mike charged like predators, rushing Aiden with fierce determination.
Aiden danced between them, as Tyler planted his feet firmly in a defensive stance, knees bent, ready to spring. Mike positioned himself slightly to the, hands hovering low, eyes locked on Aiden's dribble.
Aiden's dribble was smooth and controlled, the ball bouncing rhythmically off the polished hardwood. He shuffled slightly left, then right, testing their reactions. Tyler's eyes narrowed, shifting his weight forward as if preparing to pounce.
He began with a lightning-quick between-the-legs dribble, snapping the ball from right to left, fooling Ben's guard to shift weight. Ben lunged.
Without missing a beat, Aiden exploded into a behind-the-back crossover, leaving Ben grasping at air. The gym echoed with the sharp squeak of sneakers slicing the hardwood.
Ben tried to recover, pivoting on his left foot, arms raised to block Aiden's path to the hoop. Aiden, barely breaking stride, exploded forward, his legs pumping powerfully as he closed the gap.
Mike was next, Aiden didn't hesitate.
He backed into Mike, feeling the push but refusing to yield. His feet moved with precision—small pivots and shifts, heels scraping for traction, toes tapping out a steady rhythm.
With a subtle fake, Aiden whipped the ball behind his back, switching hands like a magician. Mike lunged for the wrong hand.
Aiden spun smoothly, pushing toward the rim.
But Aiden's footwork was poetry, light, nimble taps, sudden stops and starts, a weave of jukes and feints that sent both defenders scrambling.
Tyler, last but not least.
"FINISH IT"
The dark entity's boosted voice yelled in his head.
He threw the ball at the rim.
He drove forward, a sudden burst of speed, pushing off his left foot with a force that propelled him toward the rim.
Catching the ball.
Launching himself skyward, he cocked back his arm, muscles tense like a bowstring.
Tyler ducking to get out the way.
The alley-oop dunk was pure power, the rim shaking from the impact.
The gym held its breath.
Then the gym erupted.
Tyler and Mike stumbled slightly, caught off-guard by Aiden's speed and skill. Ben's jaw clenched as he watched the move unfold, respect mixed with frustration.
The coach blew his whistle, signaling the gym to quiet down.
"Alright, class is over! Everyone, hit the showers!" he commanded, pointing toward the locker rooms.
The students began filing out, heading for their next class.
Aiden stood tall, chest heaving, sweat slick on his skin.
Coach Daniels approached, clapping slowly.
"You've got guts, kid," he said, eyes gleaming. "Ever thought about trying out for the team?"
Aiden shook his head, smirking.
"Not interested."
Angela stood near the sidelines, arms crossed, her sharp gray eyes fixed on Aiden. A slow, impressed smile curved her lips as she watched him catch his breath, muscles taut and slick with sweat.
She pushed a loose strand of her wavy brown hair, tied in a messy bun, behind her ear and stepped closer, weaving through the last few lingering students.
"Well," she said, voice light but edged with genuine surprise, "I didn't think you had it in you. You turned their little joke into a clinic."
Her eyes flicked down at the damp shirt clung to his frame. "And here I thought you were just going to sit on the bleachers all day."
Aiden gave a tired smirk, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "Guess I'm full of surprises."