"You're lucky to have teammates like them," the coach said, his tone softer now. "I know you don't always get along—and some of them find you annoying because you're too famous. But they respect your skill. Don't let them down, Dranred. This will be tough, but you need to push through it. You'll come out stronger if you do. Go out there and play. Whatever happens tonight—it won't be your fault."
"Thank you, Coach," Dranred replied quietly, moved by the warmth and trust in his coach's voice.
The third quarter ended with the Phoenix leading by five points. When the fourth quarter began, Dranred was finally sent back into the game—and the entire arena erupted. Fans jumped to their feet, chanting his name in unison, their cheers echoing through the stadium.
Because Phoenix had brought in Dranred, the Falcons made their move too. James was subbed back in. It was clear now—this last quarter would be an all-out war. The game that would decide who would take the lead in the finals had begun.
Compared to the first quarter, Dranred was sharper this time. Even with James guarding him tightly, he stayed focused. He wasn't committing violations anymore; he was calmer, more controlled. Still, his shots missed, and whenever Drake and James doubled him, they often stripped the ball away. The defense around him was suffocating—they knew if Dranred managed to score, it could cost them the game.
With two defenders closing in on him, Dranred had little choice but to pass the ball outside to his teammates and trust them to finish the play. The Falcons, however, were relentless. Their defense tightened, forcing turnovers and converting them into quick points.
The Phoenix captain noticed Dranred's hesitation every time he had to guard James. He could tell something was holding him back—maybe guilt, maybe fear. Finally, he made a decision.
"I'll take James," he said firmly, switching positions with Dranred. "Focus on your rhythm, not him."
Five minutes into the fourth quarter, the James–Drake combo started heating up again. Their perfect coordination led to a string of stunning plays, helping the Falcons regain their lead over the Phoenix.
With four minutes left on the clock, the entire arena fell silent. Every eye was locked on the court. Both teams were giving everything they had left.
Three minutes before the buzzer, Phoenix had possession. They had twenty-four seconds to make a shot—and the Falcons' defense tightened even more. Ten seconds remained. The ball was in Dranred's hands, but James and Drake's defense was suffocating. His usual scorers were tightly guarded too. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw their rookie—unguarded, waiting by the three-point line.
Without hesitation, Dranred passed.
The rookie caught the ball, jumped, and released it.
For a moment, the entire stadium held its breath as the ball arced toward the hoop.
Swish.
The crowd erupted in a deafening roar. Phoenix was now just one point behind the Falcons. Teammates surrounded the rookie, ruffling his hair, shouting in joy.
"Good work!" Cal yelled, patting Dranred's back before they sprinted back to defense.
Phoenix's momentum was undeniable. Their defense tightened, forcing the Falcons into a 24-second violation and winning back possession.
Two minutes remained. The ball was once again in Dranred's hands. The Falcons switched to man-to-man defense—no one could be left open now. Every player on Phoenix had become a potential scorer, and the Falcons knew it. One slip, one shot, and their fragile lead could disappear.
Dranred and James faced each other once again. James's defense was relentless, cutting off every angle.
Dranred glanced at the shot clock — time was slipping away. His teammates were all tightly guarded. There was no one to pass to. He took a breath, ready to jump and take the shot—
When James spoke.
"It was always easy for you, wasn't it? To be the superstar everyone adored. That was my dream, Dranred. You stole it from me— you and your grandfather."
The words hit him harder than any block could. Dranred froze, the ball trembling in his hands.
James seized the moment, snatching the ball and sprinting down the court. Drake caught on instantly, racing ahead for the fast break.
Dranred stood rooted on the spot, his chest heavy, his mind blank.
The roar of the crowd blurred as James passed the ball—
Drake leaped, slammed it through the hoop.
The arena exploded.
The Falcons were up by three.
"Dranred! Defense!" his captain shouted, snapping him out of his daze. He looked at the clock—less than a minute left. The Falcons had possession again.
Shaking off his shock, Dranred sprinted back. The Phoenix held their defense, preventing another score. Time was slipping away. They regained the ball — their last chance.
The Phoenix aimed for a three-pointer. The ball went to their rookie again — the same spot, the same faith. The shot went up—
—and bounced off the rim.
The buzzer blared. Game over.
The Falcons had won the first game of the finals, their fans erupting in cheers as James and Drake exchanged triumphant grins.
Drake was named Best Player of the Game, his consistency and leadership carrying the team to victory.
Meanwhile, the Phoenix walked silently back to their locker room.
Dranred didn't look back at the court.
James's words still echoed in his mind.
In the post-game interview, Drake credited James for their victory, calling him a key factor in shutting down Phoenix's main player.
"James was a huge help to us," he said. "He knew exactly how Dranred plays — every move, every habit. He played his role perfectly as the 'Anti–Shooting Star.'"
Drake added that throughout the entire game, Dranred failed to score a single point. "He started to recover in the fourth quarter," he continued, "but it wasn't enough to turn things around. It only proves one thing — James is the stronger player. Once he's fully healed, our team will be unstoppable. There's so much more to come from our duo."
When the Phoenix coach was interviewed, his tone was calm but heavy. He apologized to their supporters, admitting that their performance fell short of expectations.
When asked about Dranred's disappointing showing, he replied,
"Every player has off days. It happens, even to the best. Dranred gave his all, but it just wasn't his night."
The reporters pressed further, asking whether Dranred's struggles had anything to do with facing his old friend — someone he'd always claimed to dedicate his games to. The coach simply answered,
"Maybe he's the best person to answer that. He was missing shots and made a few costly mistakes, but he owned up to them. This was only the first game of the finals. I'm confident he'll be back to his best in the next one."