"What's going on with you, Dranred? You're not even here tonight!" the coach barked, slamming his clipboard against the bench.
They were fifteen minutes into halftime, but the tension in the locker room was suffocating. The rest of the Phoenix players turned toward Dranred. Everyone had seen the videos and the posts online — even if they'd been deleted, the damage lingered.
"Shape up!" the coach snapped. "Do you want this team to lose because of you?"
One of the players spoke up from the corner, his voice cold. "Let's stop relying on him, Coach. What can you expect from someone who doesn't even want to play basketball?"
A sharp silence followed. Dranred slowly lifted his gaze to the teammate who'd spoken.
Cal, the team captain, stepped forward. "Look, I don't know what's going on in your head. And whatever your reasons are for playing, that's your business. But that doesn't give you the right to drag the rest of us down."
He paused, his tone softening. "You're the heart of this team, Dranred. I used to hate that everyone called us a one-man team — but I can't deny it anymore. Without you, we're broken. You're the reason we've come this far."
Dranred's throat tightened.
"So what now?" another starter said, standing beside Cal. "Are we just going to hand this game over?"
"Listen," Cal continued, his voice steady but fierce. "Whatever your reasons were when you started playing, it doesn't matter right now. The only thing that matters is what you do when you step on that court. You've got something none of us have — the skill, the vision, the fire. Don't waste it because of guilt or pride."
Another teammate nodded. "We've all seen what you can do. You don't become an MVP by accident, man. Don't act like you don't belong here."
Cal's tone softened once more. "Don't shrink from who you are, Dranred. That's not you."
For a long moment, Dranred just sat there, staring at the floor. His chest rose and fell, heavy and uneven. The sound of his teammates' voices echoed in his head — their frustration, their faith.
They were right.
He wasn't out there alone.
He wasn't playing just for himself.
When he finally lifted his head, a small, determined smile curved his lips. "You're right," he said quietly. "We're not losing this game."
The team broke into relieved laughter and claps on the shoulder, the air lightening for the first time that night.
The coach nodded. "Good. Because I don't want to see that look on your faces again. Now get out there and play like the Phoenix you are."
As they rose from the benches, Dranred stood last — shoulders squared, eyes burning with focus.
The noise of the crowd roared faintly through the tunnel outside.
For the first time that night, he felt the fire return.
"What do you say we slay some Tigers?"
The team's center grinned as he raised his hand in the middle of the room, right in front of Dranred. One by one, the others followed, stacking their hands on top of his.
Dranred looked up from the bench, meeting the expectant gazes of his teammates. Even the coach and a few substitutes paused to watch him, waiting for a sign that their captain was still with them.
A slow smile crept onto Dranred's face.
"Then let's slay them," he said, placing his hand over theirs.
Cheers and laughter filled the locker room — the kind that came from years of playing side by side, from victories and defeats that had welded them into something more than teammates. They weren't just a team; they were family. And right now, their brother needed them.
Just as the team began filing out toward the court, Dranred's phone buzzed. He glanced down — and froze for a second when he saw the name flashing on the screen. Then, without meaning to, he smiled.
"Well, well… look who's smiling," the center teased.
"You've never grinned like that before a game. Got a girlfriend we don't know about?" another joked.
"Wouldn't surprise me," Cal laughed. "He's old enough, and honestly, it's about time. Maybe she's the lucky charm we've been waiting for."
The room erupted in easy laughter. Even the coach cracked a faint smile, watching his players shake off the tension from earlier.
"Go on," Cal said, clapping Dranred's shoulder. "Answer it. We'll see you out there."
The others echoed in agreement, their voices fading as they headed out the door.
"We'll be waiting on the court, Captain!" someone called back.
When the door finally closed, the coach lingered behind for a moment. He studied Dranred quietly, his tone softer now.
"They look up to you," he said. "They're older, but they see you as their leader — their heart. Don't let them down, son."
Dranred met his eyes, then nodded silently. As the coach left, he looked back down at the glowing screen — at the name that made him smile despite everything.
And for the first time that night, he felt a spark of focus return.
It hadn't even been a full day since the news about his past with James—and the controversy linking their families—flooded social media. Dranred was certain Rosette already knew. Still, he didn't expect her to call.
When his phone buzzed and her name appeared on the screen, he froze for a second, then smiled faintly. He remembered teaching her how to make a call using the phone he'd given her months ago.
"Hey," he greeted brightly as he answered. "I knew you'd—"
"Are you okay?" Rosette's soft voice cut him off. "You sound distracted. Is it because of the news?"
Dranred fell silent. So, she had heard.
"You've heard, then," he said finally, his tone low.
"Estelle told me. I'm listening to your game," she continued. "You're not yourself out there. Are you all right?"
He tried to sound casual. "Are you worried I might lose? People are saying I should quit if my heart's not in it."
"Are you really going to listen to the nonsense they say about you?" Rosette replied firmly, her voice suddenly steady and sure. "There are still people who believe in you—people who trust in what you can do. Can you really bear to let them down? The arena used to echo with cheers every time you played, but now… it's quiet. Because the man they're cheering for is playing like he's—"
She stopped herself, realizing what she was about to say.
"Playing like he's dead?" Dranred finished for her, chuckling. "Wow, Rosette. You've learned how to talk tough now."
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered, embarrassed.
"No, don't be," he said with a small laugh. "You're right. I saw them—the fans. And I'm sorry for disappointing them."
"But do you really think you've lost the right to play?" she asked softly.
Dranred hesitated. "Sometimes, I wonder."
"Then stop wondering," Rosette said, her voice calm but resolute. "Show them who you are. The Red I know would never falter. Giving up isn't part of your vocabulary. Whether basketball is your passion or not, you chose this path—and you've come a long way. There are people behind you, depending on you. Don't let them down."
Her words struck something deep within him. For the first time in days, he felt the heavy weight on his chest ease a little.
"If you were here right now," he said with a smile, "I'd probably give you a big hug."
Rosette froze, her cheeks instantly warming. Her heart raced wildly at his words. She knew he didn't mean it the way she hoped—Dranred could easily say things like that to his fans—but still, hearing it from him made her heart flutter uncontrollably.
"Thank you," he continued. "Because of your call, I feel alive again. I won't let my number one fan down."
"Do your best," Rosette replied, smiling.
"That I'll do," he promised. Then, after a pause, his voice turned a shade more serious. "I heard Celine visited you. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she assured him.
"If she—or anyone else—tries to bother you again—"
"Don't worry too much," she cut in gently. "I can handle myself. I may be blind, but I'm not stupid."
Dranred laughed softly. "Wow. You're really something, you know that?"
"Of course," she teased. "I take after you."
Her playful tone made him laugh again—a genuine, warm sound that hadn't left his lips all day.
"That's better," Rosette said softly. "It's nice to hear you laugh again. Now go—play your best game."
Dranred's smile widened. "Then I'll do it for you. I'll give you the loudest performance I can tonight—so keep listening."
"I will," she whispered. "Next time, I'll be watching live."
"Next time," he echoed.
Rosette bit her lip, her heart swelling with quiet hope. She remembered what the doctor had told Estelle earlier that day—they'd finally found a cornea match for her. Her surgery could be scheduled any time now. She wanted to tell Dranred, but she stopped herself. She wanted it to be a surprise.
"I'll call you after the game," Dranred said warmly.
"Okay," she replied simply, smiling as she ended the call.
And for the first time in a long while, she felt truly happy—knowing she'd helped him stand tall again.