February 16th.
Practice was different now.
It wasn't that the drills had changed—they hadn't. It wasn't that the coaches were yelling more—they weren't.
It was the looks.
The stares from younger players. The long glances from seniors. The quiet moments between reps where everyone seemed to wait on Michael to move first.
Being #4 in the country came with gravity.
Michael could feel it on his shoulders. Not crushing him. But pressing—always pressing.
In the middle of a full-court scrimmage, Michael stopped a fast break with a clean block.
He landed awkwardly, rolled, and popped right back up.
But the gym fell silent.
Even Coach Alvarez froze.
"I'm fine," Michael grunted, waving it off.
He was. Physically.
But mentally? He was carrying more than his frame should.
That night, he skipped dinner. Went to the park instead.
Just him, a hoodie, and a streetlight above the cracked asphalt.
He shot until the cold settled into his bones. Until the echoes of bouncing balls turned into thoughts he hadn't let surface.
Why do I have to carry this team's culture? Why do I need to be perfect?
Why do I feel like if I miss once... the whole thing breaks?
He slammed a shot off the back rim.
"Come on," he hissed.
Another miss.
He kicked the ball into the fence and sat on the court, elbows on knees, chest heaving.
[System Notification: Mental Fatigue Detected – Focus Penalty Pending][System Tip: Player Under Heavy Load. Recommend Support Interaction or Rest Event.]
The next day, Jamal found him sitting in the locker room before practice.
"You didn't answer my texts," Jamal said, dropping his bag.
Michael didn't look up. "Didn't have anything to say."
Jamal sat next to him.
"You know you don't gotta carry everything, right?"
Michael chuckled—sharp, tired. "That's funny coming from you."
"I'm serious," Jamal said. "You act like if you take one wrong step, the world falls apart. But we're not here because you're perfect. We're here because you fight."
Michael finally looked up, eyes ringed red from sleep deprivation.
"And what happens when the fight drains you?"
Jamal stood.
"Then you lean. That's what teammates are for."
That night, Michael slept. Actually slept.
Eight hours uninterrupted.
No drills. No breakdowns. No restless replaying of missed shots.
When he woke up, the system pinged.
[Trait Unlocked: Resilience Tier I][Mental Penalty Lifted][Progress: 21.13%]
He stared at the ceiling. Then whispered to himself:
"Maybe I don't have to be the whole machine."
But he could still be the engine.
The lead weight wasn't gone.
But now he was choosing to carry it.