The next morning arrived differently.
The sun was barely up when the doors of the North Gate training facility opened, yet the gym was already alive.
Sneakers squeaked against polished hardwood. Basketballs echoed in steady rhythms.
Voices overlapped—laughter, teasing, short shouts of instruction.
Energy hung in the air, sharp and unmistakable.
Most of the players had arrived early.
That alone was new.
Assistant Coach Ben stood near the scorer's table, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a faint smile. He checked his watch, then looked around again, almost as if he couldn't quite believe it.
"Well," he muttered to himself, "that's what confidence looks like."
Yesterday's tune-up game still lingered in everyone's mind. Not the loss—but how close it had been. How the Bulldogs, a team that used to crush the Buffalo without mercy, had been forced to fight until the final buzzer. How the crowd had roared. How, for the first time in a long while, the Buffalo had looked like they belonged on the same floor.
This might be the effect of yesterday's game, Ben thought.
Across the court, Elias Moreno was already sweating.
He was among the first to arrive—something that didn't surprise anyone who had started paying attention.
At thirty-eight, Elias stretched longer than the younger players, moving carefully, deliberately. His body warmed slowly, like an old engine that still ran strong once it found its rhythm.
Victor was beside him, dribbling low, eyes sharp. Santino stood near the free-throw line, bouncing on his toes, eager and restless.
"Again," Elias said calmly.
Victor drove left, then cut back right. Santino stepped in, setting a solid screen. Elias slid into position, reading the movement like a chessboard unfolding.
Victor passed. Santino rolled. Elias didn't shoot.
He tapped the ball back to Victor.
"Reset," Elias said. "Timing's off."
They ran it again.
This time, everything clicked.
Victor faked, Santino sealed his man, and Elias slipped behind the defense, hands ready.
The pass came late—but not too late. Elias caught it mid-stride and finished softly off the glass.
Santino grinned. "That's it. That's the angle."
Elias nodded. "Once we run this together in-game, it'll work. No rush. Just read."
Santino wiped sweat from his forehead. "That's a great plan. Let's do it when all three of us are on the floor."
Victor chuckled. "Coach might actually let us try it—if the stars align."
Elias smiled, but said nothing.
He had learned not to assume anything.
At the far end of the gym, the door to the meeting room opened. Head Coach Fran Delgado stepped out, followed closely by Team Manager Eliza Northgate. Fran's expression was its usual mix of control and calculation. Eliza's posture was confident, composed—but her eyes moved quickly, absorbing everything.
She noticed the early arrivals immediately.
She noticed Elias.
Assistant Coach Ed clapped his hands sharply. "Alright, everyone! Bring it in."
The players gathered at center court, some still catching their breath, others buzzing with energy. Jerseys rustled. Water bottles were set aside.
Eliza stepped forward.
"Good morning," she said.
The room quieted instantly.
"I want to congratulate all of you," she continued, her voice steady, professional. "Yesterday's tune-up showed something important. Not just to the league—but to yourselves."
She paused, letting her gaze move from face to face.
"We've shown what we can do. We didn't win—but we competed. And that matters."
A few players nodded. Someone clapped softly. The sound spread.
Eliza raised a hand gently, signaling calm.
"We'll have our second tune-up game soon. This time, it will be against the Spiders—the third runner-up last season."
Murmurs rippled through the group.
The Spiders were known for one thing: offense. Relentless, fast, unforgiving.
"They are one of the best scoring teams in the league," Eliza said. "Which means they will test us in a different way."
She turned slightly toward Coach Ed.
"With them, we develop our defense."
Ed straightened instinctively.
"Starting today," Eliza continued, "our focus will be defense. Coach Ed will lead this phase."
Ed nodded. "Defense is about effort. Communication. Trust. If one man fails, we all fail. But if one man commits—everyone improves."
Eliza added one more thing before stepping back.
"And tomorrow, Team Owner Charles Northgate will be here to observe training."
That got their attention.
The players exchanged looks. Some straightened their shoulders. Others swallowed.
With that, the meeting was dismissed.
Almost immediately, the gym transformed.
Defense drills began.
Close-outs.
Slides.
Rotations.
Help defense.
Recoveries.
Coach Ed moved across the court like a general, voice sharp but encouraging. "Lower stance! Talk to each other! Again!"
Elias found himself naturally stepping into a teaching role.
When a younger guard struggled with positioning, Elias demonstrated—feet angled just right, hands active without reaching.
"Don't chase the ball," Elias said calmly. "Chase the space."
He showed how to anticipate passing lanes, how to recover without fouling, how to use body positioning instead of brute force.
Coach Ed noticed.
He nodded quietly.
Across the court, Santino struggled at first—too eager, biting on fakes. Elias stopped him gently.
"Patience," Elias said. "Defense isn't about reacting fast. It's about reacting right."
Santino listened. Adjusted.
The improvement was immediate.
Not everyone noticed Elias' impact.
But one person did.
Coach Fran stood near the sideline, arms folded, eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the drills unfold. He observed Elias talking, demonstrating, correcting. He saw players respond—trust him.
Fran's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
His gaze shifted briefly to another player running drills on the opposite side of the court—his nephew. Young. Athletic. Raw, but full of potential.
Fran exhaled slowly.
I need to make sure he shines, he thought. There's room for him too.
He watched Elias again.
Leadership. Calm. Influence.
Fran looked away.
The gym buzzed with effort, sweat, and something fragile but powerful—belief.
Yesterday had planted the seed.
Today, they were watering it.
And somewhere between drills and doubt, the Buffalo were beginning to change—whether everyone was ready for it or not.