Turning Point 23
The timeout buzzer drilled into Kael's skull. Forty seconds left on the clock. Forty seconds to convince four kids they weren't already buried.
He grabbed Ryn's shoulder. She flinched. Her eyes were wet but her jaw was set.
"Listen to me," Kael said. "All of you. Look at me."
Brick stared at the floor. Spin picked at a loose thread on his jersey. Pip was crying silently, tears cutting clean tracks through the grime on her cheeks.
Kael dropped to one knee. The glass was cold through his worn-out sneakers. He could feel the vibration of the crowd above, the bass thrum of the arena's sound system, the hum of the neural dampeners still pulsing from the Viper's bench.
"I'm going out there," he said.
Spin looked up. "What?"
"The court. I'm coaching from inside the game."
"That's illegal," Ryn said. "You're banned."
"I'm not playing. I'm coaching." Kael pulled off his jacket. Underneath, he wore his old league jersey. The fabric was faded, the number 7 peeling off in flakes. The crowd saw it. A wave of boos rolled down from the luxury boxes.
The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, that's Kael Voss. Former league champion. Lifetime ban. He is not authorized to step onto this court."
Kael walked to the referee. The man was in his fifties, gray-haired, with a face that had seen every cheat and scam in the book. Kael knew him. Old school. Never took a bribe.
"I'm not playing," Kael said. "I'm coaching. There's no rule against a coach standing on the court."
The referee looked at the rulebook in his hand. He flipped pages. His lips moved as he read. The crowd grew louder. The Viper's coach, Voss—his ex-wife—was screaming from the other sideline.
"He's banned! He can't be on the court!"
The referee held up a hand. "The rulebook states that a banned player cannot participate in league-sanctioned matches. It does not prohibit a banned player from occupying the court as a non-participant. The coach is allowed on the court during live play under Section 4, Subsection B."
Voss slammed her clipboard against the bench. "That's a loophole!"
"It's the rules," the referee said. He looked at Kael. "You step on the ball, you're disqualified. You touch a player, you're disqualified. You interfere with play in any way, I'll have security drag you off. Understood?"
Kael nodded. He stepped onto the court.
The glass felt different from the sideline. It was colder. More alive. The pressure sensors under his feet registered his weight, sending data to the scoreboard. His name appeared on the screen: COACH VOSS. The crowd booed louder. Someone threw a drink from the upper deck. It splattered on the glass ten feet away.
Kael ignored it. He walked to the center of the court, where his team stood in a loose circle. They looked at him like he'd grown a second head.
"You're insane," Ryn said.
"Probably." Kael pointed at the scoreboard. "We're down twenty-eight points. We've got two quarters left. The dampeners are at max. Mira's gone. We're playing four against five."
"Thanks for the pep talk," Spin muttered.
Kael grabbed him by the back of the neck. "I'm not done. We're going to lose if we play their game. They're faster. They're stronger. They've got neural dampeners that make us feel like we're wading through concrete. So we stop playing their game."
He turned to Brick. "You're the anchor. When they come at you, you don't block. You absorb. Let them hit you. Let them push you. Use their momentum to throw them off balance."
Brick nodded. His hands were the size of dinner plates.
Kael looked at Pip. She was still crying. Her shoulders shook. "Pip. Look at me."
She looked up. Her eyes were red.
"You see the game before it happens. That's your gift. But you're trying to see everything at once. That's why you're freezing." Kael crouched down to her level. "Pick one player. Just one. Watch his shoulders. His hips. His eyes. He'll tell you where the ball is going before he throws it."
Pip wiped her nose with her sleeve. "Which one?"
"The point guard. Number 8. He's the one calling the plays. Watch him. Forget everyone else."
She nodded. Her breathing steadied.
Kael stood up. The buzzer sounded. Thirty seconds left in the timeout.
Ryn grabbed his arm. Her grip was iron. "What about me?"
"You're the scorer. You've been trying to beat them one-on-one. That's not going to work. They've got two players on you every time you touch the ball."
"Then what do I do?"
Kael leaned in close. "You don't touch the ball. You draw them in. Let them double-team you. Then you pass to the open man."
"I'm not a decoy."
"Today you are." Kael pulled away. "Trust me."
Ryn's eyes burned. But she didn't argue.
The timeout ended. The teams took their positions. The Vipers lined up in their chrome exosuits, their faces hidden behind visors. They looked like machines. They moved like machines. The dampeners hummed louder, and Kael felt the static crawl up his spine.
He stood at the sideline, just inside the court boundary. The referee blew the whistle.
The ball went to the Vipers. Their point guard, Number 8, dribbled up the court. He was fast. Too fast. The dampeners made him look like he was moving at double speed. Spin tried to cut him off. Number 8 spun past him like he wasn't there.
Kael whistled. Two short bursts.
Brick moved. He planted himself in the paint, arms wide. Number 8 saw him and pulled up for a jump shot. Brick didn't jump. He stood his ground. The ball arced over his head and hit the rim. It bounced off.
Ryn grabbed the rebound. She pushed up the court. Two Vipers closed in on her. She looked for a pass. Spin was covered. Pip was too far. Brick was still in the paint.
Kael tapped his chest twice. Then he pointed at the floor.
Ryn understood. She stopped. She turned. She passed the ball backward, blind, over her shoulder.
It hit the glass and bounced straight to Pip.
Pip caught it. Her eyes went wide. She was open. Ten feet from the basket. No one was near her.
She shot.
The ball hit the rim. It bounced up. It bounced again. It rolled around the edge.
And dropped through.
The crowd went quiet. Then a smattering of applause from the undercity section. The scoreboard changed: 40-14.
Pip looked at her hands like she'd never seen them before.
Kael whistled again. "Back on defense. Let's go."
The Vipers came back harder. Their coach, Voss, was screaming from the sideline. She pointed at Kael. She pointed at the scoreboard. The Viper players nodded.
Number 8 brought the ball up. This time, he didn't slow down. He drove straight at the basket. Brick stepped in front of him. Number 8 lowered his shoulder and rammed into Brick's chest.
The impact was loud. A wet thud. Brick didn't move. Number 8 bounced off him and hit the glass. The court shuddered. A crack spiderwebbed across the surface.
The referee blew his whistle. "Foul. Offensive. Number 8."
Number 8 got up. His visor was cracked. He pulled it off. His face was red, twisted with anger. He looked at Brick. Brick stared back, expressionless.
Kael tapped his chest. Then he pointed at the crack in the glass.
The team saw it. They knew what it meant.
The next play, Ryn brought the ball up. The Vipers double-teamed her again. She passed to Spin. Spin drove toward the basket. A Viper player slid in front of him. Spin didn't stop. He jumped, twisted in the air, and threw the ball behind his back.
It hit the backboard. It bounced off. Brick was there. He caught it. He went up for a dunk.
The glass under his feet gave way.
Brick fell through. The net caught him. He hung there, suspended thirty feet above the ground. The ball slipped from his hands and rolled off the court.
The referee blew his whistle. "Shatter zone. Play dead. Reset."
The Vipers' bench erupted. Their coach was screaming. "That's a hazard! The court is compromised!"
The referee walked to the crack. He knelt down. He tapped it with his knuckle. The glass groaned.
"It's stable," he said. "Play continues."
Brick climbed back up. His hands were bleeding. He'd cut them on the broken glass. He didn't complain. He just walked back to his position.
Kael looked at the scoreboard. 40-14. Still a twenty-six point deficit. But something had shifted. The Vipers were hesitating. They were looking at the cracks in the glass. They were thinking about falling.
Kael whistled again. Two short bursts. Then he pointed at the Viper's point guard.
Ryn nodded.
The next play, the Vipers brought the ball up. Number 8 was slower now. He was watching his feet. He passed to a teammate. The teammate passed it back. They were playing keep-away, running down the clock.
Kael tapped his chest. Then he pointed at the floor.
Ryn broke from her position. She sprinted toward Number 8. He saw her coming. He tried to pass. She stuck out a hand. The ball hit her palm and bounced away.
Spin grabbed it. He was already moving. He drove toward the basket. A Viper player chased him. Spin jumped. He didn't shoot. He passed to Pip, who was standing at the three-point line.
Pip caught it. She shot.
The ball swished through the net.
40-17.
The crowd erupted. The undercity section was on its feet. They were chanting. Kael couldn't hear the words. He just saw the movement, the energy, the hope.
The Vipers called a timeout.
Kael's team huddled around him. They were breathing hard. Sweat dripped from their faces. But they were smiling.
"Three points," Spin said. "We cut it by three."
"Keep pushing," Kael said. "They're scared. They're looking at the glass. They're thinking about falling. Use that."
Ryn grabbed his arm. "Your ribs."
Kael looked down. Blood was seeping through his jersey. The knife wound from the night before had opened up. He'd forgotten about it.
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
"I said I'm fine." Kael pulled away. "Focus on the game."
The timeout ended. The Vipers came back with a new strategy. They were playing slow. Deliberate. They passed the ball around the perimeter, running down the clock. They weren't trying to score. They were trying to waste time.
Kael whistled. Three short bursts.
His team spread out. They stopped guarding. They stood still.
The Vipers hesitated. They didn't know what to do. They kept passing. The clock ticked down. Ten seconds. Five. The Viper's point guard finally drove toward the basket. Brick stepped in front of him. The point guard tried to jump. Brick didn't move. The point guard crashed into him and fell.
The referee blew his whistle. "Traveling. Turnover."
Kael's team got the ball. Ryn pushed up the court. She passed to Spin. Spin passed to Pip. Pip shot.
Swish.
40-20.
The quarter ended. The scoreboard buzzed. The teams walked to their benches.
Kael leaned against the sideline wall. His ribs screamed. His hands were shaking. The dampeners were still humming, but he barely felt them anymore. He was running on adrenaline and spite.
Ryn sat down next to him. "You look like shit."
"Thanks."
"We're still down twenty."
"We're not done."
She looked at him. Her eyes were hard. "You really think we can win?"
Kael looked at the scoreboard. He looked at the cracks in the glass. He looked at his team—four kids who had nothing, who had fought their way through a tournament designed to break them.
"I know we can," he said.
The buzzer sounded. Third quarter. Kael stood up. He walked back onto the court.
The crowd was louder now. The undercity section was a wall of noise. The luxury boxes were silent. The Vipers' coach was pacing, her face red.
Kael whistled. His team took their positions.
The ball went to the Vipers. They brought it up. Number 8 looked at the glass. He looked at Brick. He passed the ball.
Pip moved.
She'd been watching Number 8's shoulders. She saw the tell. She stepped into the passing lane. The ball hit her hands. She turned. She passed to Ryn.
Ryn drove toward the basket. Two Vipers closed in. She jumped. She didn't shoot. She passed to Spin, who was cutting along the baseline.
Spin caught it. He went up. A Viper player jumped with him. Spin twisted in the air. He threw the ball off the backboard.
It bounced to Brick. He was alone under the basket. He caught it. He dunked.
The glass held.
40-22.
The crowd roared. The undercity section was shaking the stands. Kael felt it in his chest.
He whistled again. "Back on defense."
The Vipers brought the ball up. They were rattled. Their passes were sloppy. Their movements were hesitant. Kael's team pressed them, forcing turnovers, scoring in transition.
The score climbed. 40-25. 40-28. 40-31.
The Vipers called another timeout. Their coach was screaming. She pointed at Kael. She pointed at the cracks in the glass. She pointed at her own players.
Kael's team huddled. They were breathing hard. Their faces were flushed. But they were alive.
"Keep pushing," Kael said. "They're breaking. I can see it."
Ryn looked at him. "You're bleeding more."
Kael looked down. His jersey was soaked red. The fishing line stitches had torn. He could feel the wound pulling apart.
"I'll deal with it after."
"You're going to pass out."
"Not until we win."
The buzzer sounded. The third quarter ended. The scoreboard read 40-35.
Kael's team was five points down. Five points. With one quarter left.
He walked to the bench. His legs were shaking. His vision was blurry. He sat down hard.
Ryn knelt in front of him. "You need a medic."
"No."
"You're going to die on this court."
Kael looked at her. "Then I'll die on this court."
She stared at him. Then she stood up. She walked to the center of the huddle.
"Listen up," she said. "Coach is bleeding out. He's not going to last the quarter. So we're going to win this for him. We're going to win this for Mira. We're going to win this for every kid in the undercity who's ever been told they're nothing."
Spin nodded. Brick cracked his knuckles. Pip wiped her eyes.
The buzzer sounded. Fourth quarter.
Kael stood up. He walked back onto the court.
The crowd was on its feet. The undercity section was a sea of noise. The luxury boxes were empty. The elites had left. They didn't want to see the underdogs win.
Kael whistled. His team took their positions.
The ball went to the Vipers. They brought it up. Number 8 looked scared. He passed the ball. Pip intercepted it. She passed to Ryn. Ryn drove. She passed to Spin. Spin shot.
Swish.
40-37.
The Vipers called another timeout. They were panicking. Their coach was screaming. Their players were arguing.
Kael's team huddled. They were laughing. They were crying. They were alive.
"One more push," Kael said. "One more."
The buzzer sounded. The game resumed.
The Vipers brought the ball up. They were playing slow again. Running down the clock. Number 8 held the ball at the top of the key. He looked at the basket. He looked at his teammates.
Pip moved.
She stepped in front of him. She didn't try to steal. She just stood there. Her eyes locked on his.
Number 8 hesitated. He passed the ball.
Ryn was there. She caught it. She drove. She jumped. She scored.
40-39.
The crowd exploded. The undercity section was a riot of sound. Kael felt the glass vibrate under his feet.
The Vipers brought the ball up. Number 8 was shaking. He passed to a teammate. The teammate passed it back. They were running down the clock. Thirty seconds left. Twenty.
Kael whistled. His team pressed. They swarmed. They forced a turnover.
Ryn grabbed the ball. She pushed up the court. Ten seconds. She drove toward the basket. Two Vipers closed in. She jumped. She passed to Pip.
Pip caught it. She was wide open. Five seconds.
She shot.
The ball arced through the air. The buzzer sounded. The crowd went silent.
The ball hit the rim. It bounced up. It bounced again. It rolled around the edge.
And dropped through.
40-41.
Kael's team had won.
The crowd erupted. The undercity section flooded the court. They lifted Ryn onto their shoulders. They carried Spin. They carried Brick. They carried Pip.
Kael stood alone at the sideline. His ribs were on fire. His vision was dark at the edges. He looked at the scoreboard.
40-41.
He smiled.
Then his legs gave out. He hit the glass. The last thing he heard was Ryn screaming his name.
He grabbed Ryn's shoulder. She flinched. Her eyes were wet but her jaw was set.
"Listen to me," Kael said. "All of you. Look at me."
Brick stared at the floor. Spin picked at a loose thread on his jersey. Pip was crying silently, tears cutting clean tracks through the grime on her cheeks.
Kael dropped to one knee. The glass was cold through his worn-out sneakers. He could feel the vibration of the crowd above, the bass thrum of the arena's sound system, the hum of the neural dampeners still pulsing from the Viper's bench.
"I'm going out there," he said.
Spin looked up. "What?"
"The court. I'm coaching from inside the game."
"That's illegal," Ryn said. "You're banned."
"I'm not playing. I'm coaching." Kael pulled off his jacket. Underneath, he wore his old league jersey. The fabric was faded, the number 7 peeling off in flakes. The crowd saw it. A wave of boos rolled down from the luxury boxes.
The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, that's Kael Voss. Former league champion. Lifetime ban. He is not authorized to step onto this court."
Kael walked to the referee. The man was in his fifties, gray-haired, with a face that had seen every cheat and scam in the book. Kael knew him. Old school. Never took a bribe.
"I'm not playing," Kael said. "I'm coaching. There's no rule against a coach standing on the court."
The referee looked at the rulebook in his hand. He flipped pages. His lips moved as he read. The crowd grew louder. The Viper's coach, Voss—his ex-wife—was screaming from the other sideline.
"He's banned! He can't be on the court!"
The referee held up a hand. "The rulebook states that a banned player cannot participate in league-sanctioned matches. It does not prohibit a banned player from occupying the court as a non-participant. The coach is allowed on the court during live play under Section 4, Subsection B."
Voss slammed her clipboard against the bench. "That's a loophole!"
"It's the rules," the referee said. He looked at Kael. "You step on the ball, you're disqualified. You touch a player, you're disqualified. You interfere with play in any way, I'll have security drag you off. Understood?"
Kael nodded. He stepped onto the court.
The glass felt different from the sideline. It was colder. More alive. The pressure sensors under his feet registered his weight, sending data to the scoreboard. His name appeared on the screen: COACH VOSS. The crowd booed louder. Someone threw a drink from the upper deck. It splattered on the glass ten feet away.
Kael ignored it. He walked to the center of the court, where his team stood in a loose circle. They looked at him like he'd grown a second head.
"You're insane," Ryn said.
"Probably." Kael pointed at the scoreboard. "We're down twenty-eight points. We've got two quarters left. The dampeners are at max. Mira's gone. We're playing four against five."
"Thanks for the pep talk," Spin muttered.
Kael grabbed him by the back of the neck. "I'm not done. We're going to lose if we play their game. They're faster. They're stronger. They've got neural dampeners that make us feel like we're wading through concrete. So we stop playing their game."
He turned to Brick. "You're the anchor. When they come at you, you don't block. You absorb. Let them hit you. Let them push you. Use their momentum to throw them off balance."
Brick nodded. His hands were the size of dinner plates.
Kael looked at Pip. She was still crying. Her shoulders shook. "Pip. Look at me."
She looked up. Her eyes were red.
"You see the game before it happens. That's your gift. But you're trying to see everything at once. That's why you're freezing." Kael crouched down to her level. "Pick one player. Just one. Watch his shoulders. His hips. His eyes. He'll tell you where the ball is going before he throws it."
Pip wiped her nose with her sleeve. "Which one?"
"The point guard. Number 8. He's the one calling the plays. Watch him. Forget everyone else."
She nodded. Her breathing steadied.
Kael stood up. The buzzer sounded. Thirty seconds left in the timeout.
Ryn grabbed his arm. Her grip was iron. "What about me?"
"You're the scorer. You've been trying to beat them one-on-one. That's not going to work. They've got two players on you every time you touch the ball."
"Then what do I do?"
Kael leaned in close. "You don't touch the ball. You draw them in. Let them double-team you. Then you pass to the open man."
"I'm not a decoy."
"Today you are." Kael pulled away. "Trust me."
Ryn's eyes burned. But she didn't argue.
The timeout ended. The teams took their positions. The Vipers lined up in their chrome exosuits, their faces hidden behind visors. They looked like machines. They moved like machines. The dampeners hummed louder, and Kael felt the static crawl up his spine.
He stood at the sideline, just inside the court boundary. The referee blew the whistle.
The ball went to the Vipers. Their point guard, Number 8, dribbled up the court. He was fast. Too fast. The dampeners made him look like he was moving at double speed. Spin tried to cut him off. Number 8 spun past him like he wasn't there.
Kael whistled. Two short bursts.
Brick moved. He planted himself in the paint, arms wide. Number 8 saw him and pulled up for a jump shot. Brick didn't jump. He stood his ground. The ball arced over his head and hit the rim. It bounced off.
Ryn grabbed the rebound. She pushed up the court. Two Vipers closed in on her. She looked for a pass. Spin was covered. Pip was too far. Brick was still in the paint.
Kael tapped his chest twice. Then he pointed at the floor.
Ryn understood. She stopped. She turned. She passed the ball backward, blind, over her shoulder.
It hit the glass and bounced straight to Pip.
Pip caught it. Her eyes went wide. She was open. Ten feet from the basket. No one was near her.
She shot.
The ball hit the rim. It bounced up. It bounced again. It rolled around the edge.
And dropped through.
The crowd went quiet. Then a smattering of applause from the undercity section. The scoreboard changed: 40-14.
Pip looked at her hands like she'd never seen them before.
Kael whistled again. "Back on defense. Let's go."
The Vipers came back harder. Their coach, Voss, was screaming from the sideline. She pointed at Kael. She pointed at the scoreboard. The Viper players nodded.
Number 8 brought the ball up. This time, he didn't slow down. He drove straight at the basket. Brick stepped in front of him. Number 8 lowered his shoulder and rammed into Brick's chest.
The impact was loud. A wet thud. Brick didn't move. Number 8 bounced off him and hit the glass. The court shuddered. A crack spiderwebbed across the surface.
The referee blew his whistle. "Foul. Offensive. Number 8."
Number 8 got up. His visor was cracked. He pulled it off. His face was red, twisted with anger. He looked at Brick. Brick stared back, expressionless.
Kael tapped his chest. Then he pointed at the crack in the glass.
The team saw it. They knew what it meant.
The next play, Ryn brought the ball up. The Vipers double-teamed her again. She passed to Spin. Spin drove toward the basket. A Viper player slid in front of him. Spin didn't stop. He jumped, twisted in the air, and threw the ball behind his back.
It hit the backboard. It bounced off. Brick was there. He caught it. He went up for a dunk.
The glass under his feet gave way.
Brick fell through. The net caught him. He hung there, suspended thirty feet above the ground. The ball slipped from his hands and rolled off the court.
The referee blew his whistle. "Shatter zone. Play dead. Reset."
The Vipers' bench erupted. Their coach was screaming. "That's a hazard! The court is compromised!"
The referee walked to the crack. He knelt down. He tapped it with his knuckle. The glass groaned.
"It's stable," he said. "Play continues."
Brick climbed back up. His hands were bleeding. He'd cut them on the broken glass. He didn't complain. He just walked back to his position.
Kael looked at the scoreboard. 40-14. Still a twenty-six point deficit. But something had shifted. The Vipers were hesitating. They were looking at the cracks in the glass. They were thinking about falling.
Kael whistled again. Two short bursts. Then he pointed at the Viper's point guard.
Ryn nodded.
The next play, the Vipers brought the ball up. Number 8 was slower now. He was watching his feet. He passed to a teammate. The teammate passed it back. They were playing keep-away, running down the clock.
Kael tapped his chest. Then he pointed at the floor.
Ryn broke from her position. She sprinted toward Number 8. He saw her coming. He tried to pass. She stuck out a hand. The ball hit her palm and bounced away.
Spin grabbed it. He was already moving. He drove toward the basket. A Viper player chased him. Spin jumped. He didn't shoot. He passed to Pip, who was standing at the three-point line.
Pip caught it. She shot.
The ball swished through the net.
40-17.
The crowd erupted. The undercity section was on its feet. They were chanting. Kael couldn't hear the words. He just saw the movement, the energy, the hope.
The Vipers called a timeout.
Kael's team huddled around him. They were breathing hard. Sweat dripped from their faces. But they were smiling.
"Three points," Spin said. "We cut it by three."
"Keep pushing," Kael said. "They're scared. They're looking at the glass. They're thinking about falling. Use that."
Ryn grabbed his arm. "Your ribs."
Kael looked down. Blood was seeping through his jersey. The knife wound from the night before had opened up. He'd forgotten about it.
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
"I said I'm fine." Kael pulled away. "Focus on the game."
The timeout ended. The Vipers came back with a new strategy. They were playing slow. Deliberate. They passed the ball around the perimeter, running down the clock. They weren't trying to score. They were trying to waste time.
Kael whistled. Three short bursts.
His team spread out. They stopped guarding. They stood still.
The Vipers hesitated. They didn't know what to do. They kept passing. The clock ticked down. Ten seconds. Five. The Viper's point guard finally drove toward the basket. Brick stepped in front of him. The point guard tried to jump. Brick didn't move. The point guard crashed into him and fell.
The referee blew his whistle. "Traveling. Turnover."
Kael's team got the ball. Ryn pushed up the court. She passed to Spin. Spin passed to Pip. Pip shot.
Swish.
40-20.
The quarter ended. The scoreboard buzzed. The teams walked to their benches.
Kael leaned against the sideline wall. His ribs screamed. His hands were shaking. The dampeners were still humming, but he barely felt them anymore. He was running on adrenaline and spite.
Ryn sat down next to him. "You look like shit."
"Thanks."
"We're still down twenty."
"We're not done."
She looked at him. Her eyes were hard. "You really think we can win?"
Kael looked at the scoreboard. He looked at the cracks in the glass. He looked at his team—four kids who had nothing, who had fought their way through a tournament designed to break them.
"I know we can," he said.
The buzzer sounded. Third quarter. Kael stood up. He walked back onto the court.
The crowd was louder now. The undercity section was a wall of noise. The luxury boxes were silent. The Vipers' coach was pacing, her face red.
Kael whistled. His team took their positions.
The ball went to the Vipers. They brought it up. Number 8 looked at the glass. He looked at Brick. He passed the ball.
Pip moved.
She'd been watching Number 8's shoulders. She saw the tell. She stepped into the passing lane. The ball hit her hands. She turned. She passed to Ryn.
Ryn drove toward the basket. Two Vipers closed in. She jumped. She didn't shoot. She passed to Spin, who was cutting along the baseline.
Spin caught it. He went up. A Viper player jumped with him. Spin twisted in the air. He threw the ball off the backboard.
It bounced to Brick. He was alone under the basket. He caught it. He dunked.
The glass held.
40-22.
The crowd roared. The undercity section was shaking the stands. Kael felt it in his chest.
He whistled again. "Back on defense."
The Vipers brought the ball up. They were rattled. Their passes were sloppy. Their movements were hesitant. Kael's team pressed them, forcing turnovers, scoring in transition.
The score climbed. 40-25. 40-28. 40-31.
The Vipers called another timeout. Their coach was screaming. She pointed at Kael. She pointed at the cracks in the glass. She pointed at her own players.
Kael's team huddled. They were breathing hard. Their faces were flushed. But they were alive.
"Keep pushing," Kael said. "They're breaking. I can see it."
Ryn looked at him. "You're bleeding more."
Kael looked down. His jersey was soaked red. The fishing line stitches had torn. He could feel the wound pulling apart.
"I'll deal with it after."
"You're going to pass out."
"Not until we win."
The buzzer sounded. The third quarter ended. The scoreboard read 40-35.
Kael's team was five points down. Five points. With one quarter left.
He walked to the bench. His legs were shaking. His vision was blurry. He sat down hard.
Ryn knelt in front of him. "You need a medic."
"No."
"You're going to die on this court."
Kael looked at her. "Then I'll die on this court."
She stared at him. Then she stood up. She walked to the center of the huddle.
"Listen up," she said. "Coach is bleeding out. He's not going to last the quarter. So we're going to win this for him. We're going to win this for Mira. We're going to win this for every kid in the undercity who's ever been told they're nothing."
Spin nodded. Brick cracked his knuckles. Pip wiped her eyes.
The buzzer sounded. Fourth quarter.
Kael stood up. He walked back onto the court.
The crowd was on its feet. The undercity section was a sea of noise. The luxury boxes were empty. The elites had left. They didn't want to see the underdogs win.
Kael whistled. His team took their positions.
The ball went to the Vipers. They brought it up. Number 8 looked scared. He passed the ball. Pip intercepted it. She passed to Ryn. Ryn drove. She passed to Spin. Spin shot.
Swish.
40-37.
The Vipers called another timeout. They were panicking. Their coach was screaming. Their players were arguing.
Kael's team huddled. They were laughing. They were crying. They were alive.
"One more push," Kael said. "One more."
The buzzer sounded. The game resumed.
The Vipers brought the ball up. They were playing slow again. Running down the clock. Number 8 held the ball at the top of the key. He looked at the basket. He looked at his teammates.
Pip moved.
She stepped in front of him. She didn't try to steal. She just stood there. Her eyes locked on his.
Number 8 hesitated. He passed the ball.
Ryn was there. She caught it. She drove. She jumped. She scored.
40-39.
The crowd exploded. The undercity section was a riot of sound. Kael felt the glass vibrate under his feet.
The Vipers brought the ball up. Number 8 was shaking. He passed to a teammate. The teammate passed it back. They were running down the clock. Thirty seconds left. Twenty.
Kael whistled. His team pressed. They swarmed. They forced a turnover.
Ryn grabbed the ball. She pushed up the court. Ten seconds. She drove toward the basket. Two Vipers closed in. She jumped. She passed to Pip.
Pip caught it. She was wide open. Five seconds.
She shot.
The ball arced through the air. The buzzer sounded. The crowd went silent.
The ball hit the rim. It bounced up. It bounced again. It rolled around the edge.
And dropped through.
40-41.
Kael's team had won.
The crowd erupted. The undercity section flooded the court. They lifted Ryn onto their shoulders. They carried Spin. They carried Brick. They carried Pip.
Kael stood alone at the sideline. His ribs were on fire. His vision was dark at the edges. He looked at the scoreboard.
40-41.
He smiled.
Then his legs gave out. He hit the glass. The last thing he heard was Ryn screaming his name.