The week leading up to the "Kim Family Dinner" was a new kind of hell for Kian and a new kind of heaven for Leo.
For Leo, his world had clicked into place. The mutiny was over, the "manifesto" was in effect, and he was, for the first time, a true and undisputed leader. Practice had transformed. It was no longer a mix of hype and confusion; it was a workshop.
"No, Dylan, higher!" Leo commanded, running a drill on Tuesday. He was implementing Kian's "Floater" solution. "It's not a push-shot. It's an arc. Touch, Dylan. Touch!"
Dylan Riley, his face a mask of sweaty concentration, drove left again. He planted his left foot, elevated, and pushed a high, soft, right-handed floater. It kissed the glass and dropped through.
The entire team, which had stopped to watch, let out a low, impressed "Oooooh."
Dylan looked at his own hand, stunned. "I... I did it."
"It's a counter," Leo said, grinning, his voice full of his brother's logic. "It's your counter. It's a logical compromise. Again."
Dylan, for the first time, smiled. He ran back in line. The "Ice-Man" and the "Flash" were, by proxy, finally working together.
Leo's social life was just as structured. He and Chloe were inseparable. They studied in the library (where Maya and Elara were also studying, creating a strange "Basketball Brain Trust" table). They met after practice. He was, as Silas had noted with disgust, "disgustingly happy." The upcoming dinner was, for him, a victory lap.
For Kian, the dinner was a ticking bomb.
His life, too, had found its new, strange, exhausting rhythm.
Mornings, he had the bus. He and Anya Petrova. They had, as if by silent treaty, claimed the back of the bus as their territory. They didn't talk much. But their silence was… companionable.
"You're... drawing... plays," she'd said quietly on Wednesday, her green eyes glancing at his notebook.
"I'm... solving... a problem," he'd replied, not looking up.
"Is... that... what you call... it?" she murmured, a small smile in her voice. "A... 'problem'? My brother... he... called it... 'art'. He... also... called it... 'a... curse'. I... guess... you... at least... picked... a... new word."
He'd just kept drawing.
Afternoons, he had his real work. The private gym was his kingdom. He was a tyrant. He was Coach Kian, and he was building something.
"NO!" he roared, his voice echoing. He blew his whistle. "TIMMY! You faded! You caught the pass, and you faded... away... from the... pressure! A shooter... steps... INTO... the shot! A shooter... WANTS... the ball! You... are not... a... shooter! You... are... a... coward! AGAIN!"
Timmy, his small face streaked with tears he refused to let fall, nodded. "YES, MISTER!"
It was brutal. It was working.
But now, it was Friday night. The bomb was about to go off.
"Kian, are you ready?" Alicia called from the hallway.
Kian stood in his room, staring at his reflection. He was wearing... chinos. And a button-down shirt. It felt like a costume. He felt like a... a fraud.
"I... I look... ridiculous," he muttered.
"You look wonderful, honey!" Alicia said, bustling in. She was wearing a nice dress, her face bright with a nervous, hopeful energy. "You look... handsome. Like... a normal... boy."
That, Kian thought, was the problem.
"And Kian," she said, her voice dropping, her hands fussing with his collar. "Please. Please. Tonight. For Leo. Just... be nice. You... don't have to talk. Just... don't... analyze... anything."
"I... am... always... nice," he said.
Alicia just sighed and patted his cheek. "No. You're not. But... I love you anyway. Let's go. Your brother is vibrating by the front door."
The Kim house was everything the Vance estate was not.
It wasn't a cold, marble fortress of old money. It was a large, modern, glass-and-wood home that was full of light, plants, and noise. Music was playing—not classical, but jazz. It smelled... delicious. Like... bulgogi and garlic.
Chloe opened the door, her face beaming. "You're here!"
Leo, who was wearing a sweater-vest Kian had silently mocked for ten minutes, just lit up. "Hey! Wow, your... your house... is... amazing."
"Leo, Mrs. Vance, thank you so much for coming," a woman said, walking up. She was warm, her eyes bright like Chloe's. "I'm Min-seo, Chloe's mom. And this... is... my husband, Jin-woo."
And then... he appeared.
Mr. Kim. The Scout.
He was not what Kian expected. He wasn't a hype man like Miller. He wasn't ancient like Arthur. He was... like Kian. He was quiet. He was observant. He was lean, intense, and his eyes... his eyes were analytical. He looked at Leo, not as a boyfriend, but as an asset.
"Mr. Vance," he said, shaking Leo's hand, his grip firm. "A pleasure. I... I enjoyed... your... last... two games. Your... adjustment... against... Northwood... was... very... mature."
"Th-thank you, sir!" Leo stammered, his face bright red. He saw it.
"And this... must be... Kian," Mr. Kim said, his gaze shifting.
Kian felt the focus of the scout land on him. It was... uncomfortable. He just nodded, his hands in his pockets.
"Kian is... an artist," Alicia said, jumping in, deflecting. "He's... very... talented."
"An artist," Mr. Kim repeated, his eyes scanning Kian, as if he... didn't... quite... believe it. "How... fascinating. Please. Come in. Sit."
The dinner was... loud. Chloe's mom and Alicia hit it off instantly, talking about nursing (Min-seo was a doctor) and children.
Leo and Chloe were... disgusting. They were laughing. They were... happy.
Kian... Kian was trapped. Between Arthur's command to fix his relationship with Leo, and Alicia's command to be nice.
And across the table... Mr. Kim... was... watching him.
"So, Leo," Mr. Kim said, his voice cutting through the chatter. "The Winter Cup. It's... a tough... bracket... this year. You... will likely... draw... St. Jude's... in the... semi-finals."
Leo's face went serious. "Yes, sir. We... we know. We're... preparing... for them."
"Javi Rojas," Mr. Kim said, as if the name itself was a statistic. "He's... a generational... talent. He's... un-guardable... in the... pick-and-roll. You... go under... the screen... he... pulls up. You... go over... he... is... too fast. You blitz... him... he... finds... the open... man. He has... no... flaws."
He said it as a fact.
And Kian... Kian... his mother's... son... the... fixer... he heard... it. He... heard... the... broken... data.
He... he didn't... mean to... speak. The words... just... fell out.
"That's... wrong."
The table... went... dead... silent.
Leo froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Alicia closed her eyes. Chloe looked baffled.
Mr. Kim... stopped. He... slowly... turned... his... analytical... gaze... onto... Kian.
"Excuse me?" Mr. Kim said, his voice not angry. Intrigued.
Kian... was trapped. He... had... to... defend... his... data.
"He's... not... flawless," Kian said, his voice quiet, but clear in the silent room. "He... is... right-hand... dominant... on his... pull-up... jumper. Off... the dribble. He... he... can't... create... his own... shot... going... left. He... can only... score... going... left... when he... uses... a floater... or... gets... all the way... to the... rim."
The room... was... frozen.
Leo was staring at Kian. He... Kian... had... scouted... St. Jude's?
Mr. Kim... was... locked... in. "He... averages... 48%... from the... left... elbow..."
"As... a spot-up... shooter," Kian countered, his own... analytics... flowing. "Not... off... the... bounce. If... you... force... him... left... and... hedge... hard... with your... center... to... take away... the floater... he... is... forced... to... pass. His... assist-to-turnover... ratio... when... forced... left... is... 1.2. When... he... goes... right... it's... 4.1. You... don't... stop... him. You... just... make him... a... passer. It's... a... high-probability... defensive... scheme."
Silence.
Alicia was staring at her son. Her... Kian. Who... was this?
Leo... was... scribbling... mental notes. Hedge... hard... on... the... floater...
Chloe... was... watching... Kian... as if... he... had just... grown... a... second... head.
Mr. Kim... just... stared... at Kian. He... stared... for a... full... ten seconds.
And... then... he... smiled.
It... wasn't... a... polite... smile. It... was... a... sharp, predatory, joyful... smile. It... was... a... shark... recognizing... another... shark.
"An artist," Mr. Kim said, his voice full of a new, deep respect. "You... said... he... was... an artist, Alicia."
He looked... at Leo. "Leo. You... are... a... fine... captain. You... are... a... leader. You... are... a... worker. I... will... enjoy... watching... you... play."
He... then... turned... his... full... attention... back... to... KIAN.
"You," Mr. Kim said, his voice... dropping. "You... have... my... number. After... this... dinner... I... expect... you... to... use it. I... want... to... see... your... data... on... Javi's... shot-release... angles. I... think... you're... holding... back."
Kian... was... trapped. He... had... gone... to... a... dinner... to be... a... ghost.
He... had... just... walked... out... with... a... job... offer.
He... looked... at... Leo. Leo... was... beaming. Not... with... jealousy. With... PRIDE. 'That's... my... brother. The... genius.'
Kian... hated... everything.
"...Okay," he mumbled.