The roar of the Stark Arena was a physical thing, a tidal wave of sound that washed over Kyle, soaking into the very fabric of his being. He stood, a gold medal cool and heavy against his chest, and watched the purple and white confetti drift down like blessed snow. Sergio Llull, tears cutting clean paths through the sweat and grime on his face, held the massive EuroLeague trophy aloft, its silver gleam reflecting the flash of ten thousand cameras. The scene was surreal, a painting of pure, unadulterated joy.
A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into a sweaty embrace. It was Walter Tavares, his gentle giant's face split by a grin that seemed to reach his ears. "We did it, Professor! We did it!"
