Chapter 8

Brian's steps echoed down the dimly lit street as he processed the message. The words weren't random. Whoever sent them knew exactly what they were doing—challenging him in a way no one else had dared.

A smirk played on his lips as he turned a corner, heading toward his apartment. His phone buzzed again.

"No response? Maybe I was wrong about you."

Brian rolled his eyes before replying.

"Wrong about me? You don't even know me."

"Oh, but I do. I know what you're capable of. The question is… do you?"

Brian stopped walking. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but he didn't respond immediately. There was a weight to those words, an implication that unsettled him—not because he doubted himself, but because no one had ever questioned his own awareness of his talent. Everyone always just accepted it. This was different.

He finally typed back.

"You're either really stupid or really bold. Either way, I'll enjoy proving you wrong."

No reply this time. Whoever it was, they were done—for now.

Brian exhaled, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He didn't let distractions get to him. He had a game tomorrow, and that was all that mattered. But deep down, that flicker of curiosity refused to die.

The next morning, the team gathered for practice. The atmosphere was light, but Brian's presence always had a way of shifting the energy. The moment he walked into the gym, everyone became sharper, more focused. No one wanted to look weak in front of him.

Coach was already setting up drills, but before anything started, he pulled Brian aside.

— "You ready for tonight?"

Brian arched an eyebrow. "I'm always ready."

— "Good. Because this team isn't like the last one."

That made Brian pause. "And?"

Coach folded his arms. "And you should take them seriously. They've got experience. A couple of players who could've gone pro."

Brian let out a slow chuckle. "You're saying that like it matters."

— "It does. They're disciplined. You rely on instinct, but they rely on structure. You'll need to be smart, not just flashy."

Brian's grin widened. "So you're worried I'll embarrass them too fast?"

Coach sighed. "Just don't get complacent."

Brian said nothing, but the fire in his eyes made it clear—complacency wasn't in his nature.

Night fell, and the gym was packed. This wasn't just any game. The other team had a reputation, and the crowd knew it. This was supposed to be a real challenge.

Brian sat on the bench, legs spread, fingers tapping against his knee as he watched the other team warm up. They were efficient. Clean mechanics. Sharp passing. Everything was drilled into them like a machine. But that was the problem. Machines followed patterns. Patterns could be broken.

His teammates were hyped, but Brian was calm. Almost too calm.

When the whistle blew and the game started, the first few minutes were… different. The opposing team wasn't fazed by Brian's usual intimidation tactics. When he drove to the basket, a second defender rotated instantly, cutting off his lane. When he tried a fast break, their transition defense was already in place.

They were good.

That only made Brian smile.

This was going to be fun.

He adjusted. Instead of forcing plays, he started reading deeper. He wasn't just analyzing their movement—he was predicting their thoughts.

The next time they rotated on him, he faked the drive, pulled back, and drilled a three-pointer over two defenders.

The next play, he baited their transition defense by slowing down, only to explode forward at the last second, slicing through the gaps for an easy layup.

And when they tried to double-team him, he didn't panic—he simply threaded a no-look pass to a teammate cutting in.

Slowly, the cracks in their system started to show. They weren't used to someone adapting this fast.

By the second quarter, the game had shifted. The opposing team still fought hard, but Brian was breaking them down, piece by piece. His footwork was too crisp, his handles too sharp. Every time they thought they had him contained, he made them look ridiculous.

At one point, their best defender tried pressing him full court. A mistake.

Brian waited until the perfect moment, then executed a lightning-fast spin move, leaving the defender stumbling so badly he nearly fell. The crowd roared.

But Brian wasn't done.

On the very next possession, he slowed down, almost daring the defender to try again. The guy hesitated, not sure what to expect. And in that split second of doubt, Brian took off, crossing him up so violently that this time, he did fall.

The gym erupted. Even Brian's teammates were losing their minds.

Brian? He just stood over the fallen defender, shaking his head with a smirk.

— "I thought you guys were supposed to be tough."

The guy scrambled up, face red with frustration.

— "Try that again."

Brian tilted his head. "You sure? You really wanna go through that twice?"

The defender clenched his jaw.

Brian sighed, dribbling the ball casually. "Alright, fine. Your funeral."

This time, he didn't even need a fancy move. Just a simple hesitation, a quick first step, and he was gone. The defender barely reacted before Brian was already finishing at the rim.

By halftime, the lead had grown. The opposing team still had their structure, but structure meant nothing when the foundation was already cracking.

As Brian walked toward the locker room, his phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number.

"Better. But I still see flaws."

Brian exhaled, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Then watch closely. You won't see any after this half."

He slipped his phone away and stepped back onto the court.

It was time to finish this.