Marcus woke up to his phone buzzing nonstop. Messages stacked on top of each other until the screen felt endless. Names he had not seen in years lit up his notifications. Old classmates. Former teammates. Relatives who had once stopped asking how he was doing. Some called him a hero. Others wrote things like, I always knew you had it in you.
Marcus smiled quietly. He knew the truth. Most of them had not believed. But today was not for bitterness. He let the moment breathe.
Every newspaper carried his face. Headlines spoke of a rising star, of national colors, of redemption. Some photos caught him midair, muscles stretched and eyes locked on the rim. Others showed the final shot, calm and controlled, as if the weight of the moment never touched him. Writers dug into his past, tracing the road from dusty village courts to the national arena, painting his story as something almost mythical.
Back in the village, everything slowed.
Men gathered outside the small shop near the road, passing newspapers without much to say. These were the same men who had once laughed when Marcus stumbled home drunk, who had spoken his name as a warning to their children. Now they avoided each other's eyes. Shame sat heavy between them.
Children ran through the paths shouting his name, proud and loud. Their voices echoed through houses that could barely believe the boy they had written off was now carrying the country on his back.
Inside Marcus's old home, his father sat with the paper resting on his lap. His hands shook slightly as he stared at the picture of his son soaring above defenders. For years he had crushed Marcus's dreams with harsh words, calling him useless, calling him finished. Now those words burned in his chest.
Beside him, Marcus's mother cried openly. She did not try to hide it. She had prayed quietly through years of shame and fear, praying when no one else believed, praying even when her husband's anger filled the house. She pressed the paper to her chest and whispered a simple thank you.
In the city, Marcus's world shifted fast.
Doors opened that had once been sealed shut. Agents called. Scouts sent messages. Promises floated around him like smoke, contracts and endorsements and futures that sounded unreal. People spoke of Europe. Of America. Of ceilings far higher than he had ever imagined.
But success carried weight.
At training, Marcus felt it in the way teammates looked at him. Some with admiration. Some with envy. Adrian was harder to read. He trained hard, harder than before, but spoke little. His pride remained intact, but something sharp lived underneath his silence.
Hammond noticed everything.
After one practice, he pulled Marcus aside. "Praise is dangerous," he said calmly. "The same crowd lifting you today will be ready to tear you down tomorrow. Do not let noise slow your feet."
Marcus nodded. He understood.
Lena felt the change too. Strangers stopped Marcus for photos. Hands reached for him everywhere they went. She was proud, deeply so, but a quiet fear followed her. Fame had a way of pulling people away from themselves.
Whenever they found a moment alone, Marcus reminded her softly, "None of this matters if I lose you."
She believed him.
Still, new shadows gathered.
Across the ocean, another kind of attention had begun to stir. A young NBA star had noticed Marcus's rise. Polished, wealthy, admired. The kind of man parents pointed to when they spoke of success. Through mutual friends, quiet questions were asked about Lena. Nothing direct yet. Just interest. Just presence.
Lena brushed it off, but she felt it coming.
Back at national camp, preparations began for another international friendly, this one against one of the strongest teams in the world. Adrian had been praised too, and he trained with purpose, hunger written into every movement. Practices turned sharp. Every drill felt like a challenge. Every scrimmage like a test of will.
Marcus and Adrian collided again and again, neither willing to yield. Teammates watched with a mix of awe and unease. The rivalry lifted the team and strained it at the same time.
The media fed on it.
Headlines asked who the future belonged to. Some crowned Marcus. Others defended Adrian. The country seemed split, choosing sides, waiting for one man to fall.
Marcus shut it all out.
He knew one performance meant nothing without consistency. He knew the court would expose lies faster than praise ever could.
That night, he lay awake staring at the ceiling. The city hummed outside his window, distant and restless. Inside him, thoughts moved louder.
He thought of his mother's tears. Of his father's silence. Of Lena's steady faith. And of the boy he used to be, wandering lost through village streets, drunk and forgotten.
That boy was still part of him.
But he was no longer lost.
Tomorrow would bring another test. Tomorrow the world would watch again.