2 days ter. The air outside the gymnasium was freezing, but the energy buzzing around the entrance was electric. The Regional Finals were here.

  I was walking toward the ticket booth when a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

  "Daeron!"

  I stopped and turned. Sean was jogging over from the parking lot, wearing his rival school's warm-up tracksuit.

  "Yo! Long time no see," Sean grinned, pulling me in for a quick, respectful dap. "You got here early, man. Cheering for Tyson?"

  "That, and to make sure your sister doesn't drop anyone during the pyramid," I joked smoothly. We both ughed. "But seriously, I have to cheer for my own school."

  I looked over Sean's shoulder. "Huh? Why did you walk up alone? Where's your team?"

  "Ah, I actually drove separately to pick up my teammate," Sean said, looking back toward a parked SUV. "There he is."

  A guy stepped out of the passenger side and started walking toward us. He was tall, athletic, with dirty blonde hair and incredibly sharp, handsome features. He moved with the quiet, heavy grace of an apex predator. Even without seeing a jersey, I knew this was the infamous Alphonse.

  "This is Alphonse. My Power Forward," Sean introduced him.

  Alphonse stopped in front of me, easily towering over my frame. He extended his hand. I took it, noting his incredibly firm, dominant grip. "Alphonse."

  "Daeron."

  "Ah. I already know who you are," Alphonse said, his lips curving into a confident smile.

  I raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

  "Everyone in our locker room knows you’re the guy who put Sean in the dirt," Alphonse chuckled, his French accent bleeding through slightly.

  Sean ughed, waving the comment off. "I told them you're a martial artist, man. I've got absolutely no shame about getting humbled by someone who knows how to fight."

  "Is that right?" Alphonse tilted his head, studying me. "What discipline?"

  "Just Karate," I replied, keeping my posture perfectly neutral.

  "Interesting."

  I broke eye contact, looking down at his hands as he rested them by his sides. I noticed his squared shoulders and the thick, calloused ridges across his knuckles.

  "You train, too," I stated. "Boxing?"

  Alphonse's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before a wide, genuine grin spread across his face. "I see. I think I know exactly why you managed to humble Sean. You’re a very observant fighter."

  "Takes one to know one."

  "Alright, we need to go stretch," Sean interrupted, spping my shoulder. "I'll see you after the game, Daeron."

  "Yeah. Don't expect me to wish you 'good luck', though," I smirked.

  Alphonse gave me a respectful, lingering nod before following Sean down the concrete ramp toward the away locker rooms.

  I stood there in the cold, letting out a slow, heavy exhale. Damn it. I couldn't even hate the guy. He was respectful, incredibly athletic, and handsome as hell.

  A sudden, sharp ache twisted in my gut. I thought about Jessica's sudden stuttering at the café when his name was mentioned. Fuck. It made perfect sense now. No wonder she was acting so secretive. If Alphonse was her secret boyfriend, I didn't stand a chance.

  *

  The gymnasium was a pressure cooker. The air was thick with sweat, floor wax, and the deafening roar of two rival student sections screaming at each other.

  Down on the hardwood, Tyson was pacing near the bench, aggressively rubbing his hands together. It was his tell; he only did that when he was incredibly nervous and trying to bleed off the excess adrenaline.

  On the opposite end of the floor, the rival team was running yup drills. While the rest of them looked tense, Sean and Alphonse operated with absolute, terrifying calm. Half the girls in our bleachers were pointing and whispering about the handsome French forward.

  But my eyes were fixed on the sidelines. Jessica was standing with her cheer squad, her pom-poms resting on her hips. She looked incredibly tense. Every few minutes, she darted a quick, nervous gnce up into the bleachers, locking eyes with me before quickly looking away. She looked incredibly guilty.

  She's hiding something, I thought, my jaw clenching. She feels guilty because her boyfriend is about to destroy my best friend.

  The horn bsted. The starting fives stepped onto the court. The referee tossed the ball, and the war began.

  The first quarter was an absolute massacre. Alphonse was a monster in the paint. He matched up directly against Tyson, using his height to posterize him under the rim, and then stepping back to effortlessly sink three-pointers over Tyson's guard. Meanwhile, Sean operated as the Point Guard, directing the offense with the cold precision of a military general. By the end of the first quarter, our team was drowning.

  During the break, our coach made a desperate tactical adjustment. He pulled Tyson off Alphonse and shifted him to Point Guard.

  It was a massive gamble, but in the second quarter, it worked. Tyson used his heavy, muscur frame to bully Sean on the perimeter, smothering the pymaker and disrupting their entire offensive rhythm. Tyson managed two clean steals, converting both into fast-break yups.

  The momentum shifted. The crowd exploded as the point gap narrowed to single digits.

  The halftime horn sounded, putting a pause on the brutal dogfight. As the teams jogged into the tunnels, the cheerleading squad marched out to center court.

  "Holy shit, that half was intense!" Jones exhaled, aggressively rubbing his temples as the cheerleaders cleared the floor. "I get the hype now. Now I know why everyone calls Sean and Alphonse the lethal weapons."

  "Yeah, but look at the minutes," Alvin said, leaning forward, his nerdy, analytical brain taking over. "Sean pyed that entire first half without taking a single breather. I bet their coach rests him for the start of the third quarter."

  "You're right, but Tyson pyed the full half, too," I countered, keeping my eyes on our exhausted bench. "If Tyson rests, Kelly has to sub in. Kelly doesn't have the defensive weight to match Tyson's gamepy. The paint will be wide open."

  "True, but we still have Bke on the perimeter," Alvin reasoned. "If Alphonse gets benched at the start of the third, the pying field levels out. I think we actually have a chance to take the lead."

  "I hope you're right," I muttered, crossing my arms. "Besides, Tyson and I have been hitting the gym hard. His stamina is up. He won't stay on the bench long."

  *

  The horn bred, signaling the start of the third quarter.

  Alvin's prediction was spot-on. Sean and Alphonse stayed on the bench in their warm-ups. Tyson sat out for us. Without the heavy hitters, the game turned into a gritty, grinding dogfight. Bke put the team on his back, sinking mid-range jumpers to carve out a fragile, single-digit lead. We fought tooth and nail, but we just couldn't push the gap to double digits.

  The third quarter ended. The score was dangerously close.

  When the teams walked onto the floor for the fourth quarter, the atmosphere in the gym completely shifted. The real game was about to begin.

  Tyson checked back in, taking the Point Guard position to feed Bke the ball. But the rival coach wasn't pying around anymore. He deployed his lethal weapon. Sean shifted to Small Forward, and Alphonse stepped onto the hardwood as Power Forward.

  It was an absolute, overwhelming offensive assault. Sean’s passing was surgical, and Alphonse’s speed in the paint was unguardable. Our defense scrambled, burning precious energy just trying to slow them down.

  And then, with four minutes left on the clock, the execution happened.

  Sean intercepted a pass at half-court and lobbed a fast-break alley-oop perfectly into the paint. Alphonse exploded off the hardwood, catching the ball mid-air, and smmed a spectacur, violent dunk right over the outstretched arms of our center.

  The rim rattled. The rival bleachers erupted into absolute pandemonium.

  I felt the shift instantly. That dunk wasn't just two points; it was a psychological headshot. I watched our pyers' shoulders slump as they jogged back down the court. The spirit was completely gone. The rival team smelled blood and went in for the kill.

  The final horn blew. The scoreboard fshed the brutal reality. We lost by twelve points.

  Down on the hardwood, Tyson colpsed to his knees. He buried his face in his jersey, his massive shoulders shaking as he completely broke down. This was his dream. He had trained all year to drag this team to the Elite 8, and it had just been shattered into a million pieces.

  The rival student section stormed the court, a sea of screaming teenagers celebrating their victory.

  I didn't say a word to Alvin or Jones. We just moved. The three of us pushed our way through the chaotic, celebrating enemy crowd, marching straight toward the center of the court. I didn't care about the game anymore. It physically hurt my chest to see the strongest guy in our brotherhood broken on the floor.

  The court was a sea of screaming students in rival colors. Alvin, Jones, and I stood like a barricade around Tyson, shielding him while he tried to pull himself together.

  Suddenly, the crowd parted. Sean pushed his way through the chaos of his own celebrating cssmates, walking straight toward our tight circle. He didn't look gloating or arrogant. He stopped in front of us and pced a heavy, respectful hand on Tyson’s shoulder.

  "Chin up, Tyson. You pyed a hell of a game," Sean said, his voice cutting through the noise. "You still have a chance to take the regional title next year, you know. I’ll actually be rooting for you, since I'm graduating."

  Tyson slowly lifted his head. His eyes were red, but he met Sean's gaze with the dignity of a fighter. "Thanks, man. But... this was my st year on the court, too."

  Sean blinked, surprised. "What? Why?"

  "I already promised my mom," Tyson exhaled, his voice thick with emotion. "I promised her I would quit the team my senior year so I could focus entirely on getting my grades up for college."

  The words hit the rest of us like a second loss. I hadn't known that. None of us had. This truly was his st chance.

  Sean's expression softened into deep sympathy. "Then we’ll just have to meet again on a college court, alright? Don’t let yourself drown in this loss for too long. You’ve got serious potential, man." Sean looked up, making eye contact with me, Alvin, and Jones. "And it looks like you have some incredibly supportive brothers to back you up."

  "Thanks, Sean," Tyson nodded, extending his hand. "Congrats on the win."

  Sean shook it firmly. He gave me a brief, respectful nod, then turned and jogged back to his teammates.

  I watched him go, feeling a strange mix of respect and bitterness. But as my eyes tracked Sean, they caught something else near the away bleachers.

  Jessica.

  She wasn't celebrating with her brother. She was standing in the shadows of the bleachers, deep in a hushed conversation with Alphonse.

  The French ace was leaning down, listening intently to whatever she was saying. My blood instantly ran cold. A toxic, burning suspicion fred in my chest.

  Suddenly, Jessica looked up. She caught me staring at them. Her eyes widened in panic, and she immediately turned on her heel, power-walking away from Alphonse and disappearing into the crowded exit tunnels.

  My jaw locked. I knew it. She was hiding something, and it definitely involved the handsome French forward.

  **

  To escape the rival school's victory p, we retreated to the same corner booth at the local café. Jessica was nowhere to be found.

  We established an unspoken rule the second we sat down: no basketball talk. We stuck entirely to trivial, stupid topics. Jones was the MVP of the hour, throwing away his own pride and acting like a complete idiot just to pull a few genuine ughs out of Tyson.

  I sat at the end of the booth, nursing a bck coffee, completely lost in my own dark thoughts.

  "Hey. Where’s Jessica, Daeron?"

  Amy's voice snapped me out of my trance. She was leaning across the table, looking at me expectantly.

  "Uh. I don’t know," I lied smoothly. "Still at the gym celebrating with her brother, probably."

  "You didn’t text her to see if she was coming to join us?" Amy pressed, her eyes narrowing.

  "Nope." I took a sip of my coffee, keeping my face perfectly bnk.

  "Huh." Amy sat back, crossing her arms. "I thought you two were practically dating by now, but your response makes it sound like you don’t even care about her."

  The word dating made my chest ache violently. "Well, that's because we’re not dating, Amy," I replied, my voice dropping into a cold, defensive absolute.

  Amy raised her hands in mock surrender and turned back to Tyson. I went back to staring at the bck surface of my coffee. My mind was spinning out of control. Was she kissing Alphonse in the parking lot right now? Was that why she panicked when I saw them? The suspicion was eating me alive.

  The bell above the café door chimed.

  Jessica walked in, still wearing her cheer uniform. She spotted our booth, walked straight over, and slid into the empty seat right beside me. Her thigh brushed against mine. She smelled like vanil and winter air.

  "Hey guys! Sorry I'm te," she smiled, seamlessly joining the flow of Jones's joke.

  I didn't say a single word to her. I just stared straight ahead, gripping my ceramic mug so tightly my knuckles turned white. I wanted to drag her outside and demand the truth about Alphonse. But I looked across the table at Tyson, who was finally smiling again.

  I swallowed the toxic jealousy burning in my throat. I forced myself to put on a mask and suppress the doubt. I was not going to ruin this night for my brother.