The gymnasium buzzed, a kaleidoscope of cheering students and rhythmic dribbling. Mia, perched on the bleachers, felt the nervous anticipation of the crowd. James, looking determined, was already on the court, his team warming up. Among them, Mia recognized a few familiar faces from the Business faculty, guys she often saw hanging around Kris: Sam, tall and athletic, and David, quieter but equally sharp. It was odd to see them here, on James's team. She'd always just assumed they stuck to Kris's orbit, focused purely on academics.
The game began, a blur of motion and strategy. James was a force, weaving through defenders, his passes precise, his shots clean. He played with a fiery passion that mirrored Mia's own when she was lost in a canvas. The score stayed tight, and each basket met with thunderous applause.
As the second half wound down, the tension escalated. The opposing team, clearly frustrated, started playing rough. A particularly aggressive player, a hulking forward, seemed intent on disrupting James. He shoved, elbowed, and his fouls grew increasingly blatant.
Then, during a crucial drive to the basket, the opposing player delivered a vicious, off-ball elbow directly to James's ribs. James stumbled, clutching his side, his face contorted in pain as he fell to the ground. The whistle shrieked, but the opposing player just sneered, a taunting remark aimed at James.
Mia surged forward on the bleachers, a gasp escaping her lips. Her heart pounded, a protective instinct flaring. But before she could react, Sam was there, quickly helping James to his feet, a furious scowl on his face as he confronted the offending player.
"What was that, man?!" Sam demanded, stepping in front of James. "That was a cheap shot!"
The opposing player scoffed, pushing past Sam. "Crybabies. Just play the game." He took another step, aiming a glare at James, who was still trying to catch his breath.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the sidelines, not a coach, not a referee, but Kris Windsor. He was in a simple dark t-shirt and track pants, a stark contrast to his usual suits, but his presence was just as commanding. His face was set, eyes narrowed, and the familiar smirk was nowhere to be seen. He moved with an unusual swiftness, stepping directly between Sam and the taunting opponent.
"That's enough," Kris's voice was low, dangerous, cutting through the rising clamor on the court. "The game's almost over. You already lost your cool. Don't lose your dignity, too."
The opposing player, initially defiant, seemed to shrink slightly under Kris's intense stare. He likely recognized Kris's reputation, if not his face. Kris wasn't typically involved in sports, but when he spoke, people listened. Even the referees paused, letting Kris's unexpected intervention defuse the situation.
With one final, venomous glare, the opposing player turned on his heel and stormed off the court. Kris didn't follow him with his gaze. Instead, he turned to Sam and James, a subtle, almost imperceptible nod passing between them before he walked back to the sideline, blending into the background as if he hadn't just intervened.
Mia watched the entire exchange, completely floored. Kris, the calculating, cold Business student, defending James and his friends? Stepping into a physical confrontation for their sake? It didn't fit the image she had of him at all. His usual air of condescending indifference was replaced by something akin to fierce loyalty.
The game resumed, and James, though still favoring his side, played through the remaining minutes with renewed vigor. Sam sank a crucial shot, sealing their team's hard-fought victory. The stadium erupted in cheers, and Mia joined in, her voice hoarse, but her mind was still replaying Kris's unexpected actions.
As James and Sam embraced in triumph, Mia's thoughts kept returning to Kris. The guy she loved to hate, the one who relentlessly mocked "creative arts," had just shown a side of himself she never knew existed. His weekend call suddenly felt even more unpredictable.