"James? Where are we?" Rosette asked softly as the car stopped. The air outside felt different — open, echoing. She could hear the rhythmic thump of basketballs bouncing, sneakers sliding against the polished floor, voices echoing faintly in the distance.
They had just come from dinner with Doctor Bryan's parents, but instead of heading home, James had brought her somewhere unfamiliar.
"We're at the gym," James said gently, helping her step down.
"James, you're finally here!" a man's voice called out, followed by the distinct sound of dribbling. Rosette could tell he was moving closer with every bounce of the ball. "Coach's been waiting for you. Oh— you brought someone with you?"
"Yeah," James replied. "This is my sister. Thought I'd take her out for a change of scenery."
The man laughed lightly. "Ah, right. I remember her — and you had another sister, didn't you? You look different today, by the way."
James chuckled. "We just came from a dinner with my other sister's fiancé's family."
"That explains it," the man said. Rosette could hear the warmth in his tone. Then his footsteps stopped near her. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Drake Simon — the team's, uh, supposed star player, according to your brother."
"I'm not a star, really," he added quickly, embarrassed.
James smiled. "Rosette, this is Drake."
"Nice to meet you, Rosette," Drake said, reaching out a hand toward her arm — but before he could touch her, she instinctively flinched and stepped behind James, gripping his arm tightly.
There was a brief, awkward silence.
"Sorry," James said quickly, patting his sister's hand. "She's just… not used to people touching her unexpectedly."
"It's alright," Drake replied, his voice softening. "I understand."
Rosette stayed quiet, her heart still beating a little faster. She didn't mean to be rude — she just wasn't ready.
"It's fine. He's a good man," James said quietly to his sister.
"Oh, I see. Sorry," Rosette replied softly.
Drake smiled, glancing between them. "You should head in, James. Coach has been waiting for you. We can start practice once you're ready."
James guided Rosette into the team's practice gym and helped her sit on a bench near the court. "Stay here for a while, okay? I'll be right over there."
As James joined the team, Rosette listened to the sounds filling the gym — the pounding of basketballs, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, and voices echoing with laughter and determination. She soon realized they were talking about Dranred.
The name alone made her chest tighten.
The team was strategizing for the finals, preparing for a possible rematch against Dranred's team.
"I can't wait to face him again," she heard Drake say. His tone carried both confidence and bitterness. "This time, we'll crush him. He'll lose everything — his pride, his fans. Let's see how bright that 'shooting star' still shines after we're done."
Rosette frowned slightly. She could feel the hostility in his voice. Sitting there, listening to them talk about tearing down the man she admired — maybe even loved — made her feel uneasy. She felt out of place, like a spy among the enemy.
Later, in the car, James noticed her silence.
"You okay?" he asked, glancing at her briefly.
"I'm fine," Rosette said after a pause. "Just tired."
James nodded. "I thought it might be good for you to get out of the house once in a while. You can't stay cooped up forever."
"James…" she said quietly after a moment.
"Yeah?"
"If your team ends up facing Dranred's in the finals… can I come and listen to the game live?"
He sighed, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. "You know we're planning to beat him, right? And after everything that happened, you really think that's where you should be?"
"I just want to listen," she said softly. "I still don't understand why you hate him so much. Maybe if you heard him out—"
"I don't want to hear anything about him," James cut her off sharply. "If you want to go, I'll buy you a ticket. But don't expect it to be easy — especially when you hear him lose."
"Thank you," Rosette murmured.
She leaned her head against the window, feeling the hum of the car beneath her fingertips. She knew her brother's heart was clouded with anger — maybe justified, maybe not. But she couldn't make herself share that hate.
Even if Dranred's grandfather had been responsible for her parents' deaths… her heart refused to condemn him for sins that weren't his.
And that made her feel both brave — and guilty.
The new rehabilitation wing smelled of fresh paint and varnish—too clean, too new, like it hadn't learned yet what kind of stories it would hold. Dranred stood in the middle of the polished floor, looking up at the banner that read Opening Day: Hope in Motion.
He had been in dozens of gyms and courts, but this one felt different. Instead of trophies and fans, it would be filled with braces, wheelchairs, and the quiet sound of people trying to stand again. He liked that idea; it was the first thing in years that made him feel useful.
Behind him, Estelle's voice broke the moment.
"You're early."
"Old habit," he said, turning. "Can't shake the pre-game nerves."
"This isn't a game, Mr. Masterson."
"Everything feels like one when you've lived half your life on a scoreboard."
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth softened. "Try not to turn this into a competition. These kids need patience, not a pep rally."
He gave her a small salute. "Yes, ma'am."
Before she could answer, a clear, familiar voice drifted from the hallway.
"Did someone say patience?"
Rosette appeared in the doorway, a white cane in one hand and a small guitar case slung over her shoulder. The sunlight behind her framed her like a halo.
Red's pulse stumbled. He hadn't seen her since the confrontation with James.
"Morning, Rosie," he said, trying for casual.
"Rosie? Good morning, Coach Masterson," she teased, using the nickname the children had given him.
Estelle blinked. "You're volunteering here now?"
Rosette nodded. "Music therapy will run alongside the physical sessions. Doctor Lopez thought it might help with motivation."
Dranred smiled. "Sounds like a great play."
Estelle shot him a look. "Please don't turn medical programs into sports metaphors."
Rosette laughed softly. "I think it's sweet. People need something to cheer for." The sound of her laughter loosened something in Dranred's chest. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it until that moment.
They spent the next hour setting up equipment—parallel bars, mats, and resistance bands. Dranred moved easily, hauling boxes; Estelle directed nurses; Rosette tuned her guitar from a nearby chair, her fingers sure and graceful.
When he caught her humming, he stopped to listen. The melody was the same one she'd played during the storm, only brighter now, confident.
"That song," he said quietly. "You finished it."
"I finally found the missing chord," she replied. "It was always there; I just had to listen differently."
Something in those words hit him deep.
Estelle looked between them, sensing the shift. "We're opening in twenty minutes," she said briskly. "Let's stay focused."
Rosette smiled in her sister's direction. "Of course. Always focused."
Dranred met Estelle's eyes for a heartbeat before turning back to Rosette. "You nervous?"
"A little."
"Don't be. You're the reason half these kids are showing up."
Her lips curved into a small, genuine smile. "Then I hope I don't disappoint them."
"You couldn't if you tried," he said, and realized too late that he'd said it out loud.
Estelle's clipboard snapped shut. "Break's over."
The moment shattered like glass.
Rosette rose, unfazed, her hand brushing the edge of Dranred's sleeve as she passed. "Come on, Coach," she said gently. "Let's give them something worth remembering."
He stood there for a second longer, watching her move through the light with effortless certainty. For the first time, he wondered if the person he'd come back to save might be the one saving him instead.