The 6:00 AM alarm didn't just wake Leo Vance; it launched him.
He was out of bed before the beep could even finish, his bare feet hitting the plush runner on the hardwood floor. Sunlight streamed through the large bay window of his third-floor bedroom, illuminating a room that was a shrine to the game: a framed, signed jersey from a pro-player, a state-of-the-art hoop system over his closet, and a row of high-end basketball shoes gleaming in a custom rack.
He took the sweeping staircase two at a time, the smell of fresh, strong coffee pulling him toward the massive kitchen.
"Morning, Mom," he said, kissing Alicia Vance on the cheek as he grabbed a protein bar. At forty, Alicia looked elegant even in her simple scrubs. Her family's wealth meant she didn't have to work, but as a pediatric nurse, she said it kept her grounded.
"Morning, Leo. Big day?" she asked, her voice soft.
"Biggest," Leo said, his words muffled by the bar. "Tryouts today. The official start. I'm telling you, this is our year."
"You say that every year, son," she said, a small smile playing on her lips as she poured herself a cup.
"Yeah, but this year is different," Leo insisted, grabbing his bag from a bench in the spacious mudroom. "We were this close to the championship last season. We just need one more piece. One good playmaker."
The kitchen door opened again, and Kian drifted in.
Where Leo was all kinetic energy and bright, team-issue gear, Kian was a study in cool indifference. At fifteen, he was already catching up to Leo's height, his frame leaner, all sharp angles and effortless style. His black hair was perfectly messy, his designer school uniform worn with a calculated carelessness, and a pair of noise-canceling headphones were draped around his neck like a statement piece.
He nodded at Alicia, bypassing the coffee and protein bars, and opened the sleek, stainless-steel fridge to pull out a bottle of imported sparkling water.
"That's all you're having?" she fretted.
"Not hungry."
Just as Kian spoke, the side door opened, and Arthur Vance entered, holding a newspaper. He was a tall, distinguished man in his late sixties, his hair perfectly white, his posture immaculate.
"There's my boys," he said, his voice a pleasant baritone.
Leo turned. "Morning, Grandpa."
Kian, who had been facing the fridge, turned around. The practiced coldness in his eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth twitched in a rare, genuine smile. "Morning, sir."
"Sir," Arthur chuckled. "Manners. Good." He looked Kian up and down, his gaze fond but assessing. "You're taking the bus with your brother?"
"He's taking it with me," Kian replied, his tone respectful, almost warm. It was a voice he used for no one else.
"Good, good. Stick together." Arthur folded his paper and placed it on the marble island. "Leo, I expect a full report on these tryouts. Don't let that showboating idiot, Coach Miller, cut anyone with actual defensive skill."
"Yes, sir," Leo beamed, loving the validation.
Arthur's gaze then settled on Kian. It was an old, familiar routine. "I's watching some college ball last night. That kid from Duke... his crossover? Reminded me of you, Kian. When you were little."
Leo's head perked up, eager.
Kian's smile faded, replaced by a polite, neutral mask. "I wouldn't know, Grandpa."
"A shame," Arthur said, not unkindly. "A gift like yours... it's meant to be used. You think about that."
"I will," Kian said. It was an answer, not a promise. He grabbed his own school bag, a sleek black leather messenger. "We're going to be late."
"Right!" Leo said, grabbing a muffin. "See you, Mom! Bye, Grandpa!"
"Be good to each other," Alicia called out, her morning ritual.
The two brothers walked out the heavy oak door and down the long, cobblestone driveway of the Vance estate. The house sat on a hill, overlooking the more modest, suburban streets below. Their mother insisted they take the public bus to the conjoined middle and high school campus. "A little dose of the real world," she'd always say, "is better than a bubble."
Leo, as always, was talking. "I'm serious, Ki, next year you're gonna be at Crestwood. You try out, you make varsity. Me at shooting guard, you at point... it'd be unstoppable. We'd blow past the finals."
Kian, headphones on, gave a curt nod.
"You're not even listening, are you?" Leo sighed.
"I can multitask," Kian said, his voice flat, muffled by the headphones he hadn't fully pulled over his ears. "You're planning our fictional championship run. Same as last week. Got it."
"It's not fictional, man. It's... visualizing."
"It's daydreaming. About a game."
"It's more than a game!"
"To you," Kian said, and this time he did pull the headphones down, sealing himself off.
Leo huffed, jogging the last few steps to the bottom of their long drive. At the corner of the main road, two other guys in Crestwood High warm-ups were waiting, bouncing on their heels.
"Leo! Captain!" shouted Marcus, a burly, good-natured guy who played center. The other, Sam, a lanky, fast-talking sophomore, was already shadow-dribbling an invisible ball. "You ready, man? I heard we got a transfer from Northwood. A real shooter."
"He's gonna have to be better than my shooter," Leo said, grinning as he joined them, the energy buzzing between them. "I was at the gym all summer. My three is automatic."
"Ooh, automatic!" Sam taunted. "We'll see at practice."
Marcus clapped Leo on the back, then nodded past him. "Hey, Kian."
Kian gave a single, short nod, his eyes focused down the street, looking for the bus.
"Your brother ever gonna join the human race?" Marcus muttered to Leo, not unkindly.
"He's just... in his own world, man," Leo defended, though his smile tightened.
"His own moody world," Sam added. "Dude, you're the captain and your brother hates the sport. That's rough."
"He doesn't hate it," Leo said, a little too quickly. "He's just... busy with other stuff."
Before Sam could reply, the hydraulic hiss of the bus brakes cut him off. The doors folded open, and the group piled on. Leo, Marcus, and Sam immediately claimed the back seats, their voices loud, instantly breaking down last season's stats.
Kian scanned the bus. Near the middle, a lanky kid with neon green hair and a sketchbook open on his lap waved him over. This was Silas. Next to him, tapping away on a laptop that looked way too expensive for a bus ride, was Ren.
Kian slid into the seat facing them. He pulled his headphones down, and the wall of music was replaced by the frantic tapping of Ren's keys.
"Don't tell me," Kian said, his voice instantly losing its cold edge, becoming lighter. "You're 'in the mainframe.'"
"I'm always in the mainframe," Ren muttered, not looking up. "Just found a flaw in the school's new firewall. I could change the entire middle school's grade roster. Hypothetically."
"Don't change mine," Kian said, his eyes closed. "I like earning my A's. It's easy."
Silas snorted. "He's not wrong. The guy doesn't study and aces everything. It's disgusting. Anyway, hey, Ki. Your brother seems extra... loud today."
"Tryouts," Kian said, the single word carrying all the disdain he felt. "It's the annual 'chase the leather' festival."
Silas snorted. "Cool. Anyway, check this out. I'm thinking of proposing it for the new mural on the side of the music shop."
Kian leaned in, his eyes tracking the intricate lines of the drawing. "The linework on the scales is sick. But the head... it's too blocky. Looks like a bulldog."
"A bulldog?" Silas looked offended, then squinted. "Damn. You're right."
Ren finally looked up. "Did you hear Leo? 'My three is automatic.' He sounds like a video game character. A badly scripted one."
"He is a video game character," Kian said, a small, wry smile touching his lips.
As he leaned his head back, a shadow fell over their seat. A senior girl, Mia, one of the most popular in the high school, was standing in the aisle. She was looking right at Kian, twisting a strand of blonde hair.
Silas and Ren went completely silent.
"Hey, Kian," Mia said, her voice a little higher than usual.
Kian opened his eyes, his expression unbothered. "Hey."
"So, I was just wondering... I know you're just in middle school, and this is totally random, but... would you want to go to the fall formal with me? As my date?"
The entire middle-school section of the bus went dead quiet. Even some high schoolers, sensing the shift, turned to watch.
Kian looked at her, his face blank. "No, thanks."
Mia's face flushed. "Oh. Okay. Wow. You don't have to be so rude about it."
"I wasn't," Kian replied, his voice even. "I just said 'no, thanks.'"
"Whatever." Mia's embarrassment quickly curdled into anger. "Don't be so cocky. It's just because of your looks. That's all you've got."
A few kids gasped. Kian, however, just gave a small, one-shouldered shrug.
"Maybe," he said, his voice cool and clear in the quiet bus. "But I can get cocky even if that's all I have. You came to me."
A collective "Oooooh" rippled through the nearby seats. Silas buried his face in his sketchbook to hide a laugh. Ren smirked and went back to typing.
Mia, her face bright red, stormed back to her seat, but before she even sat down, a new voice boomed from the high school section.
"Hey! Ice Prince!"
A large, thick-necked senior named Jake, who played defensive line for the football team, was standing up, glaring down the aisle at Kian. "Who do you think you are, talking to a senior like that? Apologize to Mia, you little punk."
The bus went from quiet to dead silent. This was different. Jake was known for being an idiot, but he was a big idiot.
Kian didn't even turn in his seat. He just tilted his head back, his voice calm. "This a conversation, or are you just practicing lines for a play? Because it sounds really unoriginal."
Jake's face turned purple. "What did you say to me?" He started to push his way down the aisle, shoving past other students.
Silas and Ren both tensed, looking ready to bolt.
In the back, Marcus muttered, "Uh oh." Sam leaned forward, watching.
Jake loomed over Kian's seat, his shadow covering all three of them. "Get up, pretty boy. I'm gonna teach you some respect."
Kian looked up, not with fear, but with a kind of profound boredom that was almost more insulting. He slowly, deliberately, pulled his headphones off his neck.
"Okay, I'll play," Kian said, his voice soft, forcing Jake—and everyone else—to lean in to hear. "You want me to apologize to her. Why? Because you like her?"
"I... what? I'm standing up for her!" Jake sputtered, thrown off.
"Right." Kian nodded, as if solving a problem. "You're standing up for her, hoping she'll notice you. But you're doing it by trying to fight a fifteen-year-old. On a bus. In front of everyone. Tell me," Kian said, his eyes flicking to Mia and then back to Jake, "do you really think this makes you look like the hero? Or does it just make you look desperate and kind of dumb?"
Jake's mouth opened, then closed. He had no answer. He was used to insults, not analysis.
Kian went on, his voice still quiet but cutting. "You want to fight me? Go ahead. Hit me. Then you'll be the senior who got suspended for assaulting a middle schooler. She'll definitely be impressed by that." He held Jake's gaze. "Or, you can just sit down and realize this has nothing to do with you."
The silence was absolute. Jake's fists were clenched, but he was frozen. He looked at Mia, who was staring at her shoes, mortified. He looked at Kian, whose face was completely impassive. Then he looked around at the entire bus, every single eye on him, waiting.
Defeated, Jake muttered a curse word, turned, and shoved his way back to his seat, slamming into it.
The bus slowly exhaled. Silas let out a shaky breath. "Dude. That was... wow."
Ren just shook his head, a look of actual admiration on his face. "He didn't just win. He dismantled him."
Just then, the hydraulic hiss of the bus brakes signaled their arrival at the campus. The doors folded open.
Kian was the first one up, as if he'd been waiting for the sound. He didn't look at Jake, Mia, or even his brother. He slung his messenger bag over one shoulder, headphones already sliding into place, and walked down the aisle with a calm, unhurried pace. He stepped off the bus like nothing at all had just happened, melting into the crowd of middle schoolers heading for the east wing.
A beat of silence passed, and then the rest of the bus seemed to wake up, a flood of students getting up and pouring out onto the pavement.
In the back, Sam, Marcus, and Leo got up, caught in the flow.
"Seriously, ice cold," Marcus was saying as they stepped into the bright morning air.
"He's a savage, man," Sam agreed, eyes wide.
They spotted Mia up ahead, walking quickly, her head down. Jake was nowhere to be seen.
Leo jogged a few steps to catch up, his friends following. "Hey, Mia," he called out.
She flinched, turning with an angry, embarrassed look. "What, Leo? Come to laugh, too?"
Leo put on his easy, charming 'captain' smile. "Hey, no way. I just wanted to say... don't be angry." He shrugged, trying to look as nonchalant as his brother. "He's just like that. We brothers... we don't really get swayed by looks."
He'd meant it to sound cool, a way to separate himself from the drama while also aligning with Kian's 'cool' factor.
Mia just stared at him, unblinking. "You're both unbelievable," she snapped, before turning and storming off toward the high school entrance.
Leo's smile faltered, but Sam clapped him on the back. "Smooth, Captain. 'We brothers don't get swayed by looks.' Nice!"
"Yeah, real smooth," Marcus chuckled. "I think she totally bought that."
"Shut up, man," Leo said, his good mood returning. "She's just mad. Anyway, forget them. I'm telling you, this transfer from Northwood... he better be ready to work. Tryouts are gonna be brutal."
Leo led his friends toward the gym, his voice full of energy, the incident on the bus already fading as the game took over his mind.