Phoenix 27, Falcon 24.
The crowd roared so loudly that even the referee's whistle was drowned out. Dranred wiped the blood from his brow and took his position again, breathing through the pain.
He could still feel the throbbing at the back of his head, but he forced himself to focus. Not now. He couldn't stop now. Every second on the clock mattered — every play might be his last.
The game resumed. Falcon's offense moved fast, their passes sharp and aggressive. Drake was leading the charge, his eyes locked on Dranred.
"You should've stayed down," Drake muttered as he sprinted past him.
Dranred said nothing. He intercepted the next pass, spun, and sprinted down the court. The entire arena rose to their feet as he drove toward the basket. Two Falcon defenders closed in, but he slipped between them, pure instinct guiding every move.
He leaped—
—and then everything went wrong.
A player's shoulder clipped his midair balance. His vision blurred for half a second — just long enough for his head to smack against the hardwood floor as he landed.
A sickening thud echoed through the arena.
Time froze.
"RED!" someone screamed from the Phoenix bench. The whistle blew, but the sound barely cut through the collective gasp of the crowd.
Rosette's heart dropped. She bolted up from her seat. "No…"
Dranred lay still on the floor. The ball rolled away, bouncing aimlessly until it hit the sideline.
His teammates rushed to him. Blood began to trickle again — not just from the reopened wound on his forehead, but now from a deeper cut near his temple. His breathing was uneven.
"Call the medic! Hurry!" the coach yelled.
Rosette felt her knees weaken as she gripped the railing. "Please… not again…"
The medics ran onto the court, kneeling beside Dranred. They pressed gauze to his head, their hands stained crimson within seconds.
"His pulse is weak — get the stretcher!" one shouted.
"No stretcher," Dranred rasped, grabbing the medic's wrist. His voice was faint but stubborn. "I can still play…"
"Dranred, you're bleeding badly. You need to stop," the medic said urgently.
"I'm not stopping," he whispered, forcing his eyes open. "Not until the final whistle."
Tears streamed down Rosette's face. "Red, please… stop." Her voice broke as she whispered it into her hands.
The crowd fell into a stunned silence as Dranred struggled to stand. His teammates tried to hold him back, but he pushed their arms away, swaying slightly on his feet.
"Don't do this," said the coach, his voice shaking.
Dranred smiled weakly, blood streaking down his cheek. "You told me once, Coach… a player doesn't quit until the game's over."
He picked up the ball again, his grip trembling — but steady enough to dribble.
Every step he took back onto the court felt heavier, slower, more defiant.
In the stands, Rosette clasped her hands to her chest, whispering a silent prayer. Estelle turned away, unable to watch.
The crowd began chanting his name again — first softly, then louder.
"Dran-red! Dran-red! Dran-red!"
And with that, he moved back into formation, the blood glinting beneath the lights — the symbol of both his strength and his breaking point.
Estelle called out after her sister. "Rosette!"
But before she could follow, Bryan reached out and caught her arm. She looked at him, startled. Estelle wanted to run after Rosette, but something in Bryan's eyes made her stop. She forced herself to stay put. Dranred was Rosette's past — a past she promised herself to leave behind.
Meanwhile, the referee had called for an injury timeout. Dranred, escorted by the team captain and the medics, was being led toward the locker room. Blood still seeped through the towel pressed against his forehead.
As they turned toward the exit, Rosette appeared at the end of the hallway — breathless, her hair disheveled, her face pale from panic.
When she saw Dranred, she froze. The towel he held against his head was stained dark red. The sight made her hands tremble.
The blood.
The smell.
The memory.
Suddenly, she was no longer standing in the stadium hallway — she was back in that night years ago. Her father collapsed before her. Her mother's blood soaking her hands. The sound of her own scream echoes in her ears.
"Rosette…" Dranred's voice was faint but gentle.
He took one slow step toward her. But before he could move any closer, she flinched — stepping back as if struck by an unseen force. Her lips trembled.
"I—" she tried to speak, but no words came out.
Dranred stopped where he stood. He saw the conflict in her eyes — the fear, the grief, the love she didn't know how to show.
He understood then. She wanted to reach for him… but the blood on his face made her see ghosts.
So he gave her a faint, tired smile instead. "I'm okay," he whispered, though they both knew it was a lie.
The medics urged him to keep moving. As they led him away, Rosette stood there — frozen, her tears falling silently as she watched him disappear down the hallway.
"If you're that scared, just go back and wait," Dranred said as he brushed past her.
Rosette flinched, instinctively stepping aside. The words stung more than she expected — not because they were harsh, but because he was right. She was scared. Her hands trembled as she watched him walk away, leaving a faint trail of blood where his towel had slipped.
She wanted to call out, to stop him, to do something… but her legs wouldn't move. The same fear that froze her years ago now chained her again.
Inside the locker room, the nurse pressed gauze against Dranred's forehead, trying to stop the bleeding. The cut was deep — blood still pulsing through the soaked fabric.
"Captain, go back out there," Dranred muttered, his voice steady despite the pain. "I'll follow once the bleeding stops."
"Are you sure? You should be in a hospital," his captain said, his brow furrowed with worry.
"This is nothing. Just make sure they don't pull ahead." Dranred forced a grin, even as blood trickled down the side of his face.
The captain hesitated. He knew the truth — they needed Dranred. Only he could go toe-to-toe with Drake and James. "All right," he said finally. "Just don't take too long."
"I won't," Dranred replied. His smile was faint but certain.