The second quarter continued where the first left off. Darius orchestrated the offense with surgical precision, finding Connor for three consecutive three-pointers that had the crowd chanting his name. When Westridge tried to trap Darius at half court, he split the double team with a crossover that left both defenders reaching at air before finding Ty cutting baseline for an easy layup.
By halftime, the score was Lincoln Heights 64, Westridge Prep 28. Thirty-six-point lead.
Darius's halftime stats: 18 points, 12 assists, 2 steals, 1 block. Still shooting 100% from the field.
The third quarter was more of the same. Coach Williams rotated his bench freely, giving everyone minutes, but the culture Darius had built meant the standard never dropped. When the starters came back in, they picked up right where they'd left off. Darius drove into the paint—his body still tense but increasingly functional with each attempt—and finished through contact for an and-one that made the gymnasium erupt.
By the end of the third quarter, it was Lincoln Heights 89, Westridge Prep 41. Forty-eight-point lead.
The fourth quarter became a showcase for the entire second string roster. Even the players who rarely saw minutes were executing at a high level, the team-first mentality spreading through the entire unit. Darius sat on the bench for most of the final period, his work done, but his presence still felt in how his teammates played even without him on the court.
Final Score: Lincoln Heights 106, Westridge Prep 56
A fifty-point victory. Complete and utter dominance from start to finish.
Darius's final statline:
22 points on 9/11 shooting (82%) 14 assists 3 steals 2 blocks 0 turnovers Plus/Minus: +38
MVP: Darius Kingsley
The final buzzer sounded, and both teams went through the handshake line with the mechanical courtesy that follows blowout games. Westridge's players looked defeated but not broken—they'd simply been outclassed by a team operating at a different level.
In the stands, the first string had remained seated through the entire game. Not because they were required to, but because they couldn't look away. What had started as a coaching assignment to evaluate their second string had become something else entirely—a four-quarter demonstration of what Elite Eight basketball looked like when executed with perfect chemistry and elite point guard play.
Khalil sat with his hands clasped together, his elbows on his knees, his eyes tracking Darius as the freshman walked to the bench after the handshake line. There was something unsettling about what he'd just witnessed. Not the dominance itself—Khalil had seen dominant performances before, had delivered plenty himself. It was the completeness of it. The way Darius had controlled every aspect of the game without ever looking like he was forcing anything.
That's not normal for a freshman, Khalil thought, genuine unease creeping into his chest. That's not even normal for most varsity players.
"Man, kid had a good game," Captain Derek Williams said from beside him, his voice carrying that casual dismissiveness that team leaders sometimes used to protect morale. Derek was a senior, a three-year starter at shooting guard, and one of the best players Lincoln Heights had produced in years. "But let's be real. That was against a C-tier school. Any of us could drop twenty and fourteen against Westridge."
Several first string players around them nodded in agreement, their body language shifting from engaged observation to protective posturing.
"Facts," Terrell Jackson added, though his voice lacked conviction. "Different level of competition. Wait till he plays against B-tier or Elite Eight teams. That's when you see who's really about it."
"Exactly," Derek continued, his tone more animated now. "We're out here beating Elite Eight teams. Playing in district tournaments. Going for state championships. Second string is doing what they're supposed to do—dominating inferior competition. That doesn't mean they're ready for first string."
More nods. More agreement. The first string was circling the wagons, protecting their territory through collective rationalization.
But Khalil heard something underneath Derek's words that the others might have missed. It wasn't dismissiveness. It was motivation. Derek was protecting his team's confidence, preventing them from doubting themselves just because they'd watched someone exceptional play an exceptional game.
Khalil stayed quiet, his eyes still on Darius, who was now talking with Coach Williams on the sideline. The freshman's face showed no celebration despite the fifty-point victory and the MVP performance. Just that same focused intensity he'd worn since warmups.
That wasn't just a good game, Khalil thought, his analytical mind refusing to accept the easy narrative his teammates were building. That was different. That was someone playing at a level that doesn't care about tier classifications.
He'd seen plenty of good players dominate C-tier schools. Hell, he'd done it himself just days ago. But what Darius had shown tonight wasn't just statistical dominance. It was complete control. Every possession felt intentional. Every pass had purpose. Every decision was correct before the play even developed.
That wasn't talent alone. That was something else. Something that made Khalil's competitive instincts fire warning signals.
"You good, big man?" Marcus Thompson asked from beside him, noticing Khalil's silence. "You've been quiet."
"Yeah," Khalil said, forcing himself to look away from Darius. "I'm good."
But he wasn't entirely sure that was true. Because he'd just watched a freshman on second string play the kind of complete game that first string starters were supposed to play. And if the roster cap wasn't an issue, if there was a spot available right now, he wasn't entirely sure Coach Martinez wouldn't make a change.
"He's good," Khalil said finally, his voice carrying the weight of genuine assessment. "Really good. We'd be lying if we said otherwise."
Derek looked at him, reading the subtext. "Yeah, he's good. But so are we. That's why we're first string and he's second string. That's why we're the ones who are going to win the state championship this year."
The statement hung in the air, part fact and part manifesto. A reminder to everyone listening—including Derek himself—that positions were earned and held through performance, and one exceptional game from a second string player didn't change the hierarchy.
Khalil nodded slowly. His teammates were right to claim their positions. They'd earned them through weeks and months of work. They were good players, some of them exceptional. They deserved to be where they were.
But so did Darius. That was the uncomfortable truth sitting in Khalil's chest as he stood up and grabbed his bag.
I need to get better, Khalil thought, the competitive fire that had driven him to fifty-five points against Riverside Tech flaring back to life. If that's what's coming up from second string, if that's the standard they're operating at now, then I need to make sure I'm improving just as fast.
He glanced one more time at Darius, who was now surrounded by his second string teammates, all of them laughing and celebrating together. The culture had shifted in that unit. They weren't just five guys competing for the same roster spots anymore. They were a team.
And that made them dangerous.
As the first string filed out of the gymnasium, heading back toward the locker rooms to change before heading home, Coach Martinez remained seated in the stands. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to the athletic director:
Need to discuss roster expansion for first string. Have a freshman who's forcing the conversation. Can we meet this week?
The reply came thirty seconds later:
Schedule shows we're at 15/15 roster limit. Any expansion would need board approval. What's the urgency?
Martinez looked down at the court where Darius was talking with Coach Williams, still analyzing plays even after a fifty-point victory.
He typed back:
Because I just watched a freshman drop 22 and 14 against a C-tier school and make it look routine. If we don't find a spot for him soon, someone else might.
The reply took longer this time:
I'll set up a meeting for Friday. Bring his stats and game film.
Martinez pocketed his phone and stood up, a small smile on his face. The conversation had started. Now it was just a matter of time.
And if there was one thing he'd learned about Darius Kingsley over the last few weeks, it was that the freshman had a way of making time work in his favor.