Climbing the Bracket

The low-level buzz of the tournament filled Rack 'em Up as Kaizer leaned against the back wall, the solid weight of the McDermott cue case resting by his feet. Winning against Spike felt good, a necessary first step, but watching the other matches unfold quickly reminded him that Spike was likely among the weaker players who'd scraped together the entry fee. The real challenges lay ahead.

His eyes naturally gravitated towards Table 3, where Jesse Riley was now engaged in his second-round match. Kaizer watched intently, his analytical mind kicking into high gear, absorbing every detail. Jesse's opponent was a slightly older kid Kaizer vaguely recognized from the periphery of the local scene, someone known for a powerful break but inconsistent pattern play.

Jesse, by contrast, was a study in quiet efficiency. His pre-shot routine was minimal but consistent. His stance was compact, balanced. His stroke was smooth, level, almost unnervingly repeatable, generating power seemingly without effort. He didn't play with the flamboyant creativity or unexpected shot-making that Kaizer (channeling Efren Reyes) often employed in his prime; Jesse's game was built on percentages, flawless fundamentals, and suffocating positional play. He rarely left himself a difficult shot, prioritizing cue ball control above all else. When his opponent inevitably left him an opening, Jesse would calmly step in and methodically clear the table, his expression unchanging whether he was running three balls or sinking the nine for the win.

He broke powerfully, pocketing balls consistently, and when he got an opening, he rarely relinquished the table. He dispatched his opponent with ruthless speed, the final score a decisive 5-0. The kid he beat just shook his head, packed his cue quickly, and mumbled something about Jesse being a "robot."

Kaizer understood the sentiment. Jesse played with a precision that felt almost machine-like. It was impressive, technically brilliant, but Kaizer also sensed a potential rigidity there. Would he crumble if faced with unexpected chaos, with shots outside the standard textbook? Or was his foundation simply too solid? Watching him play was both intimidating and intriguing. Facing him would require Kaizer to be at the absolute peak of his game, fully dialed in with the McDermott.

The tournament director consulted the bracket, then called out the next round of matches for the winner's side. "Saint! Peterson! Table five!"

Kaizer pushed off the wall. Peterson… Larry Peterson. Kaizer dredged the name from his teenage memories. A solid player, older than Spike, maybe a junior or senior. Not flashy, not powerful, but steady. Known for playing smart safeties, grinding out wins. A different kind of challenge than Spike's erratic aggression. This would be a test of patience and tactical play, not just shot-making.

He walked over to Table 5, assembling the McDermott again. The cue felt even better now, more familiar after the five games against Spike. Larry Peterson was already there, a lanky kid with glasses and a thoughtful expression, chalking a well-worn cue. He offered Kaizer a brief, neutral nod. "Good luck."

"You too," Kaizer replied, appreciating the simple sportsmanship after Spike's bluster.

They lagged for the break. Kaizer won again, his stroke smooth, the cue ball settling perfectly near the head rail. He took the break, focusing on control over pure power this time, wanting to keep the cue ball safely near the center.

CRACK! Another solid hit with the McDermott. One ball dropped – the three-ball. The cue ball drew back nicely, leaving an open, if slightly long, shot on the one-ball. A good start.

He began the rack, feeling more attuned to the cue's response. He pocketed the one, carefully controlling the cue ball to leave a good angle on the two. Peterson watched impassively, giving nothing away. Kaizer proceeded cautiously, aware of Peterson's reputation for defensive play. He focused not just on pocketing balls, but on leaving the cue ball in positions that minimized risk, avoiding leaving Peterson tempting safety opportunities if the run-out stalled.

He cleared the first four balls cleanly, but his shape on the five wasn't ideal. It required a thin cut along the rail, with the cue ball needing to travel the length of the table for position on the six. It was makeable, but risky; a slight miscue or misjudgment of speed could leave Peterson an easy safety or worse. The old Kaizer might have fired at it, confident in his ability to execute. The new Kaizer, still calibrating, acutely aware of the tournament format (double elimination meant one loss wasn't fatal, but avoiding the loser's bracket was preferable), opted for prudence.

Instead of attempting the thin cut, Kaizer played a deliberate safety. He nudged the five-ball gently towards the foot rail while rolling the cue ball slowly back up-table, tucking it snugly behind the eight-ball near the head cushion. It was a solid, well-executed safe, leaving Peterson no direct shot at the five.

Peterson nodded almost imperceptibly, acknowledging the smart play. He studied the table, then executed a clean one-rail kick, aiming to hit the five and leave the cue ball safe in return. He made contact, but slightly too full; the five-ball caromed towards the center, and the cue ball failed to hide, leaving Kaizer a potential combination shot.

The game became a cagey, tactical battle. Kaizer made the combination, but his position wasn't perfect. He played another safe. Peterson kicked again, this time leaving the five partially exposed. Kaizer took the offensive, pocketing the five but again finding himself without a high-percentage offensive shot on the six. Another safety exchange ensued.

This was Peterson's game – grinding, defensive, forcing errors. Kaizer felt the subtle pressure, the temptation to force a shot that wasn't really there. But his decades of experience screamed patience. Don't beat yourself. Wait for the opening. He matched Peterson safety for safety, using his superior cue ball control to leave Peterson in progressively tougher spots.

Finally, after several exchanges, Peterson, forced to attempt a difficult two-rail kick, left an opening. The six-ball was available, though not easy. Kaizer stepped up, surveyed the table – six, seven, eight, nine remained. He saw the path, took a deep breath, and executed. The McDermott felt true in his hands. He pocketed the six, navigated perfectly for the seven, dispatched the eight cleanly, and finished with the nine. Game one, hard-fought, went to Kaizer.

The next few games followed a similar pattern. Peterson played smart, defensively sound pool, refusing to give Kaizer easy openings. Kaizer, in turn, refused to be drawn into reckless offensive plays, relying on patience, superior safety play, and capitalizing decisively whenever Peterson finally slipped up. He used the McDermott with growing precision, executing delicate touch shots and controlled safeties that his old maple cue couldn't have handled reliably. He won the second game after another protracted safety battle. Peterson tightened up further, managing to grind out the third game when Kaizer missed a tricky bank attempt. But Kaizer remained focused, mentally unflappable. He took the fourth game with a clinical display after Peterson scratched, and closed out the match in the fifth game, running the final three balls after Peterson left him a window following a failed safety.

"Good match," Peterson said, offering a genuine handshake this time as Kaizer screwed his cue apart. "Your safety game is tough."

"Yours too," Kaizer replied honestly. "You made me work for it." Final score: 5-2. Another win. Another step up the winner's bracket.

He checked the tournament board again. Jesse Riley had also won his second match, another dominant performance. Their paths were converging, but they were still separated by at least one more round on the winner's side. Kaizer's next opponent looked to be a kid named Marcus Jones, someone Kaizer didn't immediately recognize but who had apparently scored two solid wins to reach this stage.

He found his spot against the back wall again, taking a swig from a water bottle he'd bought from Mel. The initial adrenaline rush had faded, replaced by a steady, focused intensity. He felt good. The cue was behaving beautifully now, feeling less like a new tool and more like an old friend. His game, while perhaps lacking the effortless flair of his absolute peak, felt solid, controlled, adaptable. He'd won a quick match against an aggressive but sloppy player (Spike) and a grinding match against a smart defensive player (Peterson). He was proving adaptable.

He settled in to watch the other matches, conserving energy, studying potential future opponents, letting the rhythm of the tournament flow around him. He still had a long way to go, and he knew Jesse Riley waited somewhere down the line like a final boss. But for now, he was still in the winner's bracket, cue working well, confidence growing. Forty-two dollars still needed earning, Mark's suspicions still needed managing, Vince still potentially lurking somewhere in the background… but here, inside the chalk-dusted confines of Rack 'em Up, surrounded by the click and clatter of balls, Kaizer Saint felt exactly where he was supposed to be.