The next day did not feel like a normal basketball day.
From the moment the first players arrived at the Buffalo training facility, something was off. Conversations stopped when someone new walked into the room.
Phones were checked repeatedly, then slipped back into pockets as if the screen itself carried bad news.
Whispers moved faster than footsteps.
"Did you hear…?" "They said it's official."
"No, that can't be right."
No one knew what was real.
Not one of the assistant coaches confirmed anything.
When asked, they either shook their heads or said, "Wait for the meeting." That only made things worse. Silence, in moments like this, was louder than truth.
Elias felt it immediately.
He had lived long enough to recognize the atmosphere of uncertainty—the kind that tightens your chest and makes every laugh sound forced. He stretched quietly on the sideline, watching the younger players pace back and forth. Some looked angry. Others looked lost.
Victor sat on a bench, arms folded, staring at the floor.
Santino kept bouncing a ball, harder than usual, the sound echoing too sharply in the empty gym.
Then the message buzzed across everyone's phones.
Emergency team meeting.
Conference room. Now.
No emojis. No explanations.
Just urgency.
Coach Ed gathered the team himself. His voice was calm, but Elias noticed the way his jaw clenched slightly as he spoke. That alone confirmed what everyone feared—something had changed.
The conference room filled slowly. Chairs scraped against the floor. Players took seats in small clusters, leaning toward one another, whispering theories they hoped were wrong.
"Coach Fran wouldn't just leave." "Joe too? No way." "Maybe it's just rumors."
Elias sat near the back, hands clasped, breathing evenly. He didn't speak. Experience had taught him that when uncertainty ruled the room, patience was the strongest voice.
The door opened.
Eliza entered first.
She wasn't smiling.
Behind her came Charles.
The room went completely silent.
No coughs. No shuffling. Just attention—sharp and immediate.
Charles didn't sit down. He stood at the head of the room, hands resting lightly on the table, eyes sweeping across every face. He took a breath before speaking, and that pause alone felt heavy.
"I'll be direct," Charles said. "The news that's been circulating since last night is true."
Several players shifted in their seats. Joe's empty chair seemed suddenly larger.
"Coach Fran and Joe Cruz have officially parted ways with this organization," Charles continued. "There was no misunderstanding. No delay. This decision is final."
A low murmur rippled through the room before dying out.
"We appreciate everything they've given to the Buffalo," Charles said, his tone measured but sincere. "And we wish them the best moving forward."
Victor clenched his fists.
Santino stared at the table.
Someone exhaled sharply from the far corner.
Elias closed his eyes briefly—not in shock, but in acknowledgment. Loss always came faster than preparation.
"For now," Charles went on, "Coach Ed will serve as temporary head coach while we conduct a full search for a permanent replacement."
Coach Ed nodded, stepping forward slightly. His voice stayed calm, but his eyes revealed the weight of responsibility settling onto his shoulders.
"We'll keep things stable," Ed said. "Same standards. Same work."
Charles nodded approvingly, then continued.
"As for the roster slot left by Joe Cruz," he said, "Elias Moreno is more than qualified to take on that role."
Every head turned.
Elias felt the attention immediately—curious, uncertain, measuring.
He stood slowly, not to speak, but to acknowledge the room. A simple nod. Nothing more.
Before anyone else could respond, Victor raised his hand.
Charles gestured for him to speak.
"I want to say something," Victor said, his voice steady but emotional. "I'm willing to give Elias my position as team captain."
The room reacted instantly—surprise, murmurs, raised eyebrows.
"I've been captain a long time," Victor continued. "But leadership isn't about years here. It's about presence. Elias fits that role. His experience… the way he reads the game… the way he calms us down."
Elias felt something tighten in his chest.
He stood immediately.
"I appreciate that," Elias said, his voice respectful, firm. "Truly. But I can't accept it."
Victor frowned slightly.
"I'm still a rookie here," Elias went on. "And you're my senior. You've earned that role. Titles matter less than trust."
The room quieted.
Charles watched the exchange closely.
"As of now," Charles said, "Victor remains our team captain."
He looked directly at Elias. "Leadership doesn't always need an armband. Elias can help this team whether he carries that title or not. Right?"
Several players nodded. Even Victor did, slowly.
Eliza stepped forward then, her voice shifting the tone from heavy to purposeful.
"Alright, everyone," she said. "We've acknowledged what's happened. Now we move forward."
She paused, letting the words settle.
"Our next assignment is our third—and final—tune-up game," Eliza continued. "It's scheduled for next week."
A few players straightened in their seats.
"And our opponent," she added, "will be the two-time champions this season—the Komodo Dragons."
The reaction was immediate.
Some players leaned back in disbelief. Others exchanged looks of excitement and fear. The Komodo Dragons weren't just champions—they were ruthless, disciplined, and known for breaking teams mentally before halftime.
Santino let out a quiet whistle. "Them?"
"Yes," Eliza said. "Them."
She walked slowly around the table, meeting eyes one by one.
"You've come close twice," she said. "Close enough to feel the win—but not close enough to take it."
Elias felt that line land deep.
"Those losses hurt," Eliza continued. "And they should. Because they prove something."
She stopped behind Victor.
"You have what it takes."
She stopped behind Santino.
"You're not missing talent."
She stopped behind Elias.
"You're missing belief."
The room was silent again—but this time, it felt different.
"Let's pour everything we've carried from those first two games into this next one," Eliza said. "Frustration. Doubt. Anger. Use it."
Coach Ed stepped forward. "We don't need perfection," he added. "We need trust."
Victor stood up. "Then let's earn it," he said.
Santino nodded. "No more almost."
Elias finally spoke again.
"This team doesn't need to replace anyone," he said calmly. "It needs to become itself."
Heads nodded.
The meeting ended without applause, without speeches—but something had shifted.
As the players filed out, Elias lingered for a moment. He looked at the empty chair where Joe used to sit. Loyalty was powerful—but so was responsibility.
He inhaled deeply.
The Buffalo were wounded—but not broken.
And ahead of them waited the Komodo Dragons.
Two-time champions.
The perfect final test.
The perfect moment to prove that even in chaos, a team could still rise.