The buzzer still echoed through the gym as students stormed the court.
Ryan didn't even remember dropping the ball. He stood still for a moment, the world blurring around him. Ben grabbed him by the shoulders and yelled something, but Ryan couldn't hear it over the chaos. Then came the arms—teammates wrapping him up, lifting him, shouting his name.
"WOLVES! WOLVES! WOLVES!"
Coach Daniels wiped his eyes as he hugged each player. Jack clapped and whistled from the stands. Mr. James stood near the front row, smiling with quiet pride. Sarah had her hand over her mouth, her eyes filled with tears. And somewhere in the middle of it all stood Richard, frozen, watching Ryan with a look no one else saw.
The trophy was brought out—silver and tall, with the tournament's name engraved at the base. The Wolves took turns lifting it, yelling, pointing to the stands. Flash after flash captured the moment.
Then the announcer's voice returned.
"Ladies and gentlemen, before we wrap up this unforgettable night, we've got a few individual honors to hand out."
The crowd cheered as the first award was announced.
"Defensive Player of the Tournament… BEN CARTER from Rosehill!"
Ben stepped forward, stunned, before grinning wide and walking to center court. He high-fived his teammates, held up his medal, and gave a goofy salute to the crowd.
"And now… Tournament MVP. The player who put on a masterclass of offense, leadership, and heart… RYAN WHITMORE!"
The crowd roared.
Ryan hesitated, then stepped forward. He took the medal, held it for a second in his hand, then looked up at the fans—the town, the gym, the people who had filled these seats for every game. He felt Coach's hand on his shoulder.
Then someone handed him a mic.
And everything got quiet.
Ryan looked at the team, then at the fans.
He took a breath.
"I don't really talk much. You all know that," he started, and a few people chuckled softly.
"But this… all of this… it means everything. Not just the trophy. But the team. The practices. The early mornings. The people who believed in us. This gym became a home. You guys in the stands? You gave us life out there."
He paused, scanning the crowd.
"This team is more than just a group of players. It's a family. And tonight… we didn't just win a game. We showed that Rosehill can stand with anyone."
Applause.
"So thank you. To Coach Daniels. To our families. To everyone who showed up and screamed their lungs out for us. This one's for Rosehill."
He raised the mic high in the air, and the place exploded again.
Fireworks of noise. Music. Cheers. Chants of "MVP! MVP!" echoed through the gym.
And in the crowd, Richard stood still, watching the boy on the court—his son—and whispering something no one else heard.
"That's my boy."