Leo Vance sat frozen on his bike, the pedals locked. He watched his brother's back—stiff, rigid, and cowardly—until it disappeared around the corner.
He was left alone in the ringing, toxic silence Kian had created.
Then, a sound. A small, hitched, broken whimper.
Leo turned.
The six kids were still there, clustered at the edge of the asphalt. Milo was in front, his face, which had been so bright, now... shattered. He was staring at the spot where Kian had been, his entire body trembling. Ana, the little girl, was openly crying, her face buried in her hands.
"Mister...?" Milo whispered again, his voice a broken thing. "He... he said... he doesn't... know us?"
Leo's heart, the big, stupid, "golden retriever" heart that Kian so often mocked, just... broke. He looked at these kids, a raggedy, mismatched group, and he saw... work. He saw effort. He saw the fundamentals Kian had just given him, being practiced by children.
And he saw the absolute devastation his brother had just caused.
He was the Captain. He couldn't just... leave.
He swung his leg off his bike, the click of the kickstand sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet quarry. He walked forward, his sneakers crunching on the gravel, until he was standing on the asphalt with them.
"Hey," Leo said, his voice gentle. He felt huge and clumsy. "Hey, it's... it's okay."
Milo flinched, as if he expected Leo to yell at him, too. He looked up, his eyes swimming with tears he was desperately trying to hold back. "He... he lied," Milo said, his voice thick with betrayal. "He's not... he's not 'Mister.' He's... he's a liar!"
"Who... who was that?" Leo asked, his voice soft, his mind in full data-collection mode. "Who is... 'Mister'?"
"He's..." Milo swiped at his eyes with a dirty shirtsleeve. "He... he was our friend! He was... our coach!"
Leo's breath hitched. Coach. There was that word again.
"He... he taught us," Milo said, his voice gaining a frantic energy as he tried to make Leo understand. "We were... we were terrible. And those high school jerks, Devin, they... they bullied us. And 'Mister'... he showed up. He... he played them. One-on-three. And he... he destroyed them! He was... he was magic."
Leo's head was spinning. One-on-three? Kian?
"And then..." Milo's voice cracked. "And then on Saturday... we... we came back. And he... he was... he was mad... but... he taught us! He... he fixed my shot!"
Milo, in his grief, held up his arm, demonstrating. "He said... 'Tuck your elbow. It's not a chicken wing. It's an L.' He... he taught Ana how to pass... He... he cared!"
Chicken wing.
The exact phrase. Kian's "scouting report"... he hadn't just seen it. He had taught it. He had... practiced it... on these kids.
"And now..." Milo looked at Leo, his eyes desperate for an answer. "Why... why did he... why did he say that? Why did he pretend... he didn't know us?"
Leo Vance, for all his hard work, for all his simple, honest passion, had no answer. He was standing in the middle of a mystery he couldn't solve. He had two, conflicting sets of Kian-data: The 'Ice-Man' who hated the game and had just given him a pro-level scouting report, and the 'Coach' who had secretly taught fundamentals to a group of kids, only to... to abandon them in the most cruel, public way possible.
"He..." Leo searched for words. "He's... he's complicated."
"He's a... a jerk!" Ana sobbed, finally looking up.
"He... he must have had a reason," Leo said, but he was saying it to himself. Why, Kian? Why the secrecy? And why... why the cruelty?
He crouched, getting on their level. "Look... your... your form," he said, pointing at Milo. "It's... it's good. Your elbow... it's tucked."
Milo sniffled, looking at his arm as if it had betrayed him, too. "He... he taught me."
"So... keep doing it," Leo said, finding his footing. "Don't... don't let him,"—he gestured to the road—"take that away. You... you earned that shot."
Milo looked at the hoop, then at Leo. "But... he's not coming back."
"I... I don't know," Leo said honestly. "But... you guys... you were practicing. You were... working. That's... that's what matters. Not... not him."
He sounded hollow, even to himself. He stood up. He was the Captain. He was Leo. He was the good guy.
"Don't... don't give up on the... the work," he said. He didn't know what else to do.
He walked back to his bike, his mind a chaotic mess. He had biked today because practice ran late, and he hadn't wanted to wait for the activity bus. Now, he wished he'd taken it. He wished he'd never seen this.
He got on his bike, his legs heavy.
"Wait!"
Leo turned. It was Milo.
"Who... who was he?" Milo asked. "If... if he's not 'Mister'... who is he?"
Leo looked at the kid. He looked at the quarry. He looked at the brother-shaped hole in the air.
"He's... my brother," Leo said.
He rode away.
Kian didn't stop until he was in his room. He hadn't just fled. He had retreated. He had failed.
He had... he had seen Milo's face. He had seen the exact same look of abject, uncomprehending betrayal that he remembered feeling. The day he'd sat on the steps of the private court, his brand-new "gift" basketball in his lap, waiting for a father who was already on a plane, a father who had left without saying goodbye.
He... he doesn't know us?
His own memory. Milo's words. They were the same.
He was his father. He was a coward.
He had grabbed the drawing. The... the lifeless, controlled, perfect drawing of the basketball. The one he had used for his "exorcism."
It was a lie.
He tore it from the sketchbook. He ripped it. He ripped it into tiny, furious, self-hating pieces, the sharp shhh-shhh of the paper tearing, the only sound in the room.
His "control" was a joke. The "virus" wasn't in the ball. It was... in him. The... the cowardice. The... the abandonment.
He sat at his desk, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He was having a panic attack. He was... drowning.
You can only... master it.
His grandfather's voice.
He had to... he had to see it. He had to... understand what he had just done.
He grabbed his sketchbook. He turned to a new, clean, white page. He grabbed a 4B pencil. Soft. Human.
His hand, shaking, flew.
He wasn't drawing the ball. He wasn't drawing the thing.
He was drawing the victim.
He drew Milo's face. Not the... the cute, "puppy-dog" face. He drew the... the moment. The impact. The... the fracturing. He drew the wide, shocked eyes. The... the trembling lip. The... the betrayal.
It was a confession, rendered in graphite. It was... it was grief.
He was... lost in it. He was... drowning in it.
BANG-BANG-BANG!
The sound on his door was so violent, so sudden, it was like a gunshot.
Kian yelled, a small, terrified sound, and he dropped the pencil. He fell back in his chair, his heart trying to escape his chest.
"KIAN!"
His brother's voice. Not Leo's "happy" voice. Not "confused." This was... furious.
"OPEN THIS. DOOR!"
Kian couldn't move. The door was locked. It was always locked. But Leo... Leo never...
BANG-BANG-BANG!
"I'M NOT KIDDING, KIAN! OPEN IT! I SAW YOU! I SAW THEM!"
Kian was... cornered. He was... seen.
He scrambled, his limbs not working, his mind white with panic. He unlocked the door.
He tried to step back, but Leo was already through it.
Leo stormed into the room, his face... Kian had never seen this face. It was red. He was panting, his bike ride and his rage all mixed. His eyes were... they were blazing.
"What. The. HELL. Was THAT?" Leo roared.
Kian just... flinched. He had no words. He had no ice. The "Ice-Man" was... melted.
"I... I..."
"Who ARE those kids?" Leo demanded, advancing on him. "Why... why were they... practicing? Why did they... respect you? And why... why did you just... just... LIE TO THEM?"
"I... I don't..."
"DON'T!" Leo shouted, pointing a finger in Kian's face. "Don't you dare say you 'don't know.' I heard him, Kian! 'Mister'! 'Coach'! 'He taught me'! 'Chicken wing'!"
Kian's face went white. He'd heard.
"You... you coached them!" Leo was... he was pacing, his mind and his anger both moving at 100 miles per hour. "You... you hate basketball! But... but you... you taught them? And... and me? You... you gave me their... their scouting report? You... you've been... practicing... on KIDS?"
The accusation was so wild, so... twisted... that Kian's paralysis finally broke.
"NO!" Kian shouted back, his own voice cracking. "It... it wasn't... it wasn't like that!"
"Then WHAT WAS IT LIKE?" Leo yelled. "BECAUSE FROM WHERE I WAS STANDING, IT LOOKED LIKE YOU... YOU FOUND SOMETHING! It looked like they... they needed you! It looked like... you were HELPING THEM! And then... you... you just... you crushed them, Kian! You... you gutted that kid! FOR WHAT? BECAUSE I... I SAW YOU? Because I was there?"
Kian's... Kian's shame was so profound, he couldn't even speak. He was his father. He... he ran.
"It's... it's none... it's none of your business!" Kian snarled, his last, pathetic defense.
"NOT... MY... BUSINESS?" Leo's voice was dangerously low now. He saw... he saw the sketchbook. He saw the... the drawing of Milo's face. He saw the... the scraps... of the other drawing. The torn-up basketball.
Leo's... his fury... it... it just... popped. It was gone.
He looked at his brother. His... his broken, shaking, terrified brother.
"You... you... abandoned them," Leo said, his voice no longer angry. It was... just... a statement. A... a sad... fact.
"You... you just... you just left them." Leo's eyes were wide. "Just... just... like... like he..."
Leo stopped.
He... he hadn't meant to say it. The... the weapon. The... the bomb.
Kian... Kian heard it. He heard the... the unsaid... the unspeakable...
Just like him.
Kian... broke. He didn't just... flinch. He... collapsed. He fell back, his legs hitting his chair, and he... he sat. He... he put his... his face... in his hands.
"I'm... I'm... not... him," Kian whispered, his voice... shredded. "I... I... I hate him..."
Leo just... stood there. His... his anger... it was... gone. He was... he was just... Leo. He was the brother.
He looked... he looked at his little brother. His... his arrogant, cold, brilliant, stupid little brother. Who was... crying.
He wasn't sobbing. He was just... shaking.
Leo... Leo let out a long, slow breath.
"Yeah," Leo said, his voice rough. "Yeah. I... I know."
Kian didn't look up. "You... you don't... I... I did it... I... I ran..."
"No," Leo said. He... he walked... he walked forward. He... he put his... his hand... on Kian's... shoulder.
Kian... flinching... looked up.
"I... I know... you're not him, Kian."
"How...?" Kian's voice was... a child's.
"Because..." Leo said, his... his own... data... clicking... "Because... look at you."
He... he pointed... at the drawing. At... at Milo's... face.
"Because... it's killing you," Leo said, his voice... knowing. "You... you... you feel it. You're... you're guilty. He... he... he never felt anything. He... he just... left. And... and he never... looked back."
Kian... just... stared. He... he stared at his... his brother. His... his dumb, jock... brother. Who... who had just... seen... everything.
Leo... he... he squeezed Kian's shoulder.
"I... I don't... I don't get it, Kian," Leo said, his voice honest, confused. "I... I don't get... any of this. I... I don't get why... you were... 'Coach Kian.' And... and I... I really... don't get... why... you... you did... that... to... to them... to Milo."
He... he let go.
"But... but... you're not... him."
Leo... he... he turned. He... he walked... to the... door. He... he paused.
"Mom's... Mom's making pasta. Just... just... come down. Or... or... don't. Just... just... stop... this..." He... he gestured... at the... the room. The... the shredded... drawing. The... the pain.
He... he left.
Kian... Kian was... alone.
He... he sat. He... he shook.
It's killing you. That's how I know you're not him.
A... a new... thought.
Guilt... guilt... isn't... weakness.
Guilt... is... proof.
Proof... that... I'm... not... him.
He looked at the drawing. At... Milo's... face.
He... he had... to... he had... to fix... this.
The next morning.
The silence in the house it wasn't cold. It was bruised.
Kian... Kian came down. Leo... Leo was... at... the... table.
Kian... Kian grabbed... a... protein bar.
He... he looked... at... Leo.
"I'm walking to the bus stop," Kian mumbled.
Leo looked up. He nodded.
"Yeah," Leo said. "Me too. Bus'll be here in twenty."
Kian nodded.
He walked out the door.
The bikes they stayed in the garage.