Chapter 7

The game had ended, but the energy in the gym still pulsed like a living thing. The stands were clearing out, the rhythmic pounding of sneakers on hardwood fading into the background, yet Brian Moser remained still, absorbing the moment. His breath was steady, his body untouched by fatigue. Around him, his teammates celebrated, slapping each other on the back, laughing, replaying highlights in their minds and in their conversations. For them, this was an achievement. For Brian, it was just another day.

He walked off the court slowly, the weight of victory feeling light in his hands. The scoreboard still glowed in the dimming gym, an undeniable testament to his dominance. He had done exactly what he set out to do—humiliate the competition. There had never been a doubt.

As he made his way toward the locker room, his coach intercepted him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

— "You played well, Brian. No one's questioning that. But…"

Brian smirked before the man could finish.

— "But what? Too flashy? Too much trash talk?"

— "You know exactly what I mean."

— "I'm just having fun, Coach."

— "Yeah? Well, you're making a lot of enemies while you do it."

Brian gave a casual shrug. "Then they should try being better."

The coach exhaled, shaking his head. There was no getting through to Brian—not because he was arrogant (though he was), but because he was right. Who could stop him? His talent, his skill, his understanding of the game—he was untouchable. His words weren't bravado; they were facts.

Inside the locker room, his teammates were still buzzing. A few were hyping each other up, replaying moments from the game. Others had their phones out, scrolling through social media, already seeing clips of Brian's performance go viral.

— "Bro, did you see that last dunk?" one of them laughed. "Damn near brought the hoop down."

— "That spin move before it, though? Had that dude spinning like a top," another added, shaking his head in disbelief.

Brian pulled off his jersey, tossing it onto the bench before grabbing a towel. His reflection in the mirror was the same as always—unshaken, unreadable. His body, sculpted like a machine, showed no signs of wear despite the intense game. His mind, sharp as ever, was already bored.

— "Honestly," he said, drying his hair, "I thought they'd put up more of a fight. That was way too easy."

— "You always say that," someone muttered with a grin.

— "Because it's always true."

The room fell into laughter, but everyone knew Brian wasn't joking. His dominance wasn't normal. He didn't just win—he made others look pathetic.

After a quick shower, he changed into a sleek, dark hoodie, well-fitted jeans, and fresh sneakers. His style was simple but sharp, mirroring his attitude. As he stepped outside the gym, the night air was cool against his skin. The city was alive—car horns, distant laughter, the occasional murmur of a late-night conversation.

Before he could take a few steps, he saw them—reporters. They were already stationed near the exit, microphones in hand, cameras ready. A couple of them caught sight of him, moving in quickly.

— "Brian, incredible game tonight! How does it feel to be dominating at such a young age?"

— "Do you think anyone in the league can actually match your level?"

— "Some say your confidence is bordering on arrogance. Any thoughts on that?"

Brian didn't even break stride. Idiots. They asked the same things every time, looking for soundbites, for something they could twist into controversy. He had no interest in giving them what they wanted.

He kept walking, ignoring them completely, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Unknown Number.

His brow furrowed slightly. He rarely received messages from numbers he didn't recognize. He debated ignoring it, but something made him check.

"Interesting game. But I haven't seen anything truly impressive yet. Let's see if you can actually amaze me."

Brian stopped for a fraction of a second. His fingers hovered over the screen before he typed a quick response.

"And who the hell are you?"

The reply was instant.

"Someone who knows what a real basketball genius is capable of. We'll see if you live up to the hype."

A slow, sharp smile curled on Brian's lips. For the first time in a long while, a flicker of something different lit in his chest—curiosity.

This wasn't a fan. Not a troll. Not a journalist looking for a scoop. There was something deliberate in the message. A challenge.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and continued walking. The city stretched out before him, full of lights, sounds, and possibilities. His mind, always calculating, was already running through the possibilities.

If someone wanted to challenge him, they'd have to do more than send cryptic messages. If they thought they could test him, they were in for a brutal reality check.

But still… the message had done something unusual.

It had interested him.

Brian didn't know who this person was.

But he was going to find out.

And if they wanted a show?

He'd give them one they'd never forget.