The key turned in the lock at 8:47 PM. Darius pushed through the front door, his gym bag hanging heavy off his shoulder, his practice clothes still damp with sweat despite the cool evening air. The house smelled like his mom's cooking—something with garlic and onions that made his stomach remind him he'd skipped lunch.
"That you, D?" his dad's voice called from the kitchen.
"Yeah, Pops."
"Dinner's ready. Go shower first. You smell like the gym floor."
Darius headed upstairs, dropping his bag in the corner of the room he shared with Malik. His cousin was at his desk, headphones on, doing something on his laptop. He glanced up when Darius walked in, nodded once, then went back to his screen.
The shower was quick but necessary. Hot water ran down his back, loosening muscles that had been worked hard for three straight hours. Coach Williams had run them through defensive drills until Darius's legs burned, then scrimmaged them until his lungs felt like they might give out. The second string was preparing for their next game, and after watching Khalil drop fifty-two, everyone understood what the standard was now.
Twenty minutes later, Darius sat at the dinner table in clean clothes, his hair still damp, his body exhausted but his mind alert. His mom set a plate in front of him—chicken, rice, vegetables. His dad was already eating. His two little sisters, Zaya and Amari, were arguing about something that happened at school. Malik slid into his seat last, earbuds still in until his uncle shot him a look that said "take those out."
"So," his dad said, cutting into his chicken with the kind of deliberate motion that meant a Real Conversation was coming. "How's basketball going?"
Darius swallowed his first bite. "Good. We won our last game by fifty. I had twenty-two points, fourteen assists."
"That's my boy," his dad said, pride evident in his voice. "Your coach still happy with your progress?"
"Yeah. He says I'm developing well. Thinks I might get a shot at first string if a spot opens up."
His mom set down her fork, her expression shifting into that concerned look that mothers perfected over centuries. "That's good, baby. But how's school? Your grades holding up?"
"They're fine, Ma."
"Fine like A's and B's fine, or fine like you're hoping we don't ask for details fine?"
Darius hesitated for just a fraction too long. His mom caught it immediately.
"Darius."
"I'm doing okay in school. Not great, but okay. B's and C's mostly."
His parents exchanged one of those looks that married couples developed—entire conversations happening in silence. His dad set down his fork, his expression becoming more serious.
"Son, your mother and I have been talking. We're proud of how hard you're working at basketball. Really proud. But we're getting uncomfortable with how much focus you're putting on it compared to your schoolwork."
"I'm keeping up with my classes," Darius said, defensive energy creeping into his voice. "I'm not failing anything."
"That's not the point," his mom said, her tone gentle but firm. "Before the coma, you were an A student. Now you're barely maintaining B's and C's. We understand basketball is important to you, but education comes first in this house. It always has."
Darius looked at his plate, his jaw tight. He wanted to explain that basketball wasn't just important to him—it was everything. That the hours he spent training weren't wasted time, they were investments in a future that felt more real than any algebra class ever would. That he was building something, becoming something, that went beyond textbooks and homework assignments.
But he also understood where his parents were coming from. They'd watched him lie unconscious for weeks. They'd prayed for him to wake up. And now that he had, they wanted him to have every opportunity, not just the ones that happened on a basketball court.
"I hear you," Darius said finally. "I'll do better with school. I promise."
His dad studied him for a long moment. "We're not asking you to give up basketball. We're asking you to give school the same focus you give basketball. That's not unreasonable."
"I know it's not. I'll balance it better."
His mom reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "That's all we're asking, baby."
The conversation shifted to lighter topics. His dad asked about Malik's day, and his cousin gave the kind of vague, noncommittal answers that had become his default lately.
"How's school going for you, Malik?" his dad asked.
"It's fine."
"Making friends? Settling in okay?"
"Yeah, it's fine."
"You sound real enthusiastic about it," his dad said with a slight smile, trying to draw more out of him.
"It's just school, Uncle Theo. Nothing special about it."
The vagueness wasn't hostile, just... distant. Like Malik had learned to participate in conversations without actually engaging with them. Darius noticed but didn't push. That distance between them had grown wider over the last few months, and he still wasn't sure how to bridge it.
After dinner, Darius helped clear the table, then headed upstairs while his parents settled in to watch TV. His little sisters were already arguing about what show they wanted to watch, their voices carrying up the stairwell.
In his room, Malik was back at his desk, headphones on again. Darius dropped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling for a moment, his body tired but his mind still racing.
He pulled out his phone and opened the notes app where he tracked his progress. The Hustle System activated in his mind, text appearing with that familiar clarity.
CURRENT STATUS: Level 27
Physical Attributes:
Speed: 16 Acceleration: 12 Vertical Jump: 9 Strength: 15 Stamina: 18
Skill Attributes:
Ball Handling: 15 Passing Accuracy: 15 Mid-Range Shot: 16 Three-Point Shot: 12 Perimeter Defense: 16 Basketball IQ: 75
Recent Performance Analysis:
Last game: 22 points, 14 assists, 3 steals, 0 turnovers Shooting efficiency: 82% Decision-making: Elite level Team impact: Significant
RECOMMENDED FOCUS AREAS FOR NEXT DEVELOPMENT PHASE:
Interior Finishing: Your ability to drive to the rim and finish through contact has improved but remains below optimal. Continue exposure therapy to reduce trauma response. Current success rate with contact: 68%. Target: 85%. Three-Point Range Extension: Current comfortable range: 23 feet. To compete at highest level, extend to consistent 25+ feet. Khalil Thompson demonstrated value of deep range in recent performance. Defensive Anticipation: Your steal rate is good (3 per game average) but can be elite. Focus on reading passing lanes earlier, anticipating offensive movements before they develop. Physical Strength: At 15/20, your strength is adequate but not dominant. Increased upper body strength will improve finishing through contact and post defense. Academic Balance: Recent parental feedback indicates concern about academic performance. Maintaining eligibility and family support requires improved time management. Recommend structured study schedule.
Darius read through the analysis, his mind processing each point. The system was right about all of it. His interior finishing was still his biggest weakness—he could get to the rim now, could navigate through traffic, but finishing through real contact still triggered that trauma response. Not as badly as before, but enough to impact his efficiency.
And that three-point range... watching Khalil casually drain shots from thirty-five feet had been humbling. Darius could hit from twenty-three feet consistently, but extending that range by even three feet would make him significantly more dangerous.
The defensive anticipation made sense too. He got steals through positioning and quick hands, but elite defenders saw plays developing before they happened. That was the next level.
Strength training he could handle. It was just work. Time in the weight room, proper nutrition, consistency.
And the academic thing... his parents were right. He'd been letting his grades slide, telling himself it didn't matter as long as he wasn't failing. But that was shortsighted. He needed their support, needed to maintain eligibility, needed to show them he could handle everything, not just basketball.
Agreed, Darius thought, his internal dialogue with the system feeling natural now after months of integration. All five areas. I'll work on all of them.
TRAINING PROTOCOL UPDATED
New Schedule Recommendations:
5:30 AM: Physical conditioning + strength training (Monday, Wednesday, Friday) 5:30 AM: Skill work + range extension (Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday) After practice: Additional finishing drills (30 minutes, focus on contact) Evening: Dedicated study time (90 minutes minimum, non-negotiable) Sunday: Active recovery + film study
This schedule maintains basketball development while addressing academic concerns. Estimated sleep: 7 hours per night. Sustainable long-term.
Accept protocol?
Darius stared at the schedule appearing in his mind. It was aggressive. It left almost no free time. But it was also exactly what he needed if he wanted to close the gap between where he was and where Khalil had shown the entire gymnasium he could go.
Accept, Darius confirmed.
PROTOCOL ACCEPTED
Level 27 → Level 28 Requirements:
Successfully finish 50 drives through contact Hit 40% from 25+ feet over 100 attempts Force 15 turnovers through anticipation Increase strength rating to 17 Maintain B+ average or higher for one academic quarter
Good luck.
The text faded from his mind. Darius set his phone on the nightstand and lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling where shadows played from the streetlight outside.
Fifty-two points. Eighteen rebounds. Eight blocks. That was the performance that had set the standard. That was what first string dominance looked like when operating at peak efficiency.
And Darius was going to reach that level. Not next week. Not next month. But eventually. Through work. Through dedication. Through refusing to accept any ceiling on what he could become.
His eyes felt heavy. His body was exhausted from practice. Tomorrow morning, the alarm would go off at 5:30 AM, and the grind would continue.
But for now, sleep. Rest. Recovery.
Because champions weren't built in single days. They were built one morning, one practice, one decision at a time.
And Darius Kingsley had just committed to building something that would make everyone who'd ever doubted him—including himself—understand exactly what he was capable of.
The room was quiet except for the sound of Malik's keyboard clicking softly. Darius closed his eyes, his mind already visualizing tomorrow's training session, his body already preparing for the work ahead.
He was coming for that first string spot. For that starting position. For that level of dominance that made entire gymnasiums stop and watch.
It was just a matter of time.
And time was the one thing Darius had plenty of, as long as he used every second of it wisely.