Semifinals Preparation

The semifinals and finals were just two hours away, and Coach had told us to rest and relax in the meantime. But I couldn't sit still. My mind kept drifting back to Tatum. I had to see for myself how good he really was. So, I slipped into the gym and found a seat just as the second half of his game was starting.

From the moment I started watching, it was clear—Tatum wasn't just good. He was on a different level. Every move he made was smooth, calculated. He dominated the court with an effortless confidence, weaving through defenders like they weren't even there, draining shots from impossible angles. It wasn't just his skill; it was his presence. He played like he knew he was better than everyone else on the court, and he was. I realized that between him and me, was a little gap, but i wasn't certain for who this gap is favorable. As I watched him play, a knot tightened in my stomach. This game wasn't going to be easy.

At the final whistle, Tatum's team won by 123 - 20. They delivered a complete blowout.

As the teams began to clear the court, I caught a glimpse of Tatum walking off with his teammates. For a split second, our eyes met. He didn't smile, didn't nod—he just looked at me like he already knew we'd face each other in the final, and that he'd win. The intensity in his eyes sent a chill down my spine.

Lost in his thoughts, Akira walks to the outside of the gym. Completely alone.

Is someone looking at me?

Next to the door that leads to the outside was a tall kid with his team.

"Hey, isn't that the kid who thinks he can beat Tatum?" one of them sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He had a cocky smirk on his face, the kind that made you want to prove him wrong. His friends snickered, clearly enjoying the show.

I stopped, narrowing my eyes at him. "And you?"

The boy pushed off the wall, stepping closer. He was taller than me, with dark hair and a confident swagger. "Name's Jayce. You'll know it soon enough when I'm dropping buckets on you in the next game. But you?" He shook his head, looking me up and down. "You better get your sleep, little man. You're gonna need it."

I clenched my fists, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and determination. This guy was trash-talking me like I was just some kid who wandered onto the court by mistake. I didn't back down, though. I met his gaze head-on, refusing to let him see me sweat.

"Big talk," I shot back, my voice steady. "We'll see if you can back it up on the court."

Jayce laughed, the sound grating on my nerves. "Don't know what people around here are so impressed with. You played against the worst in the tournament. Let's see what you do against a real player."

His friends laughed along with him, but I didn't let their taunts get to me. Instead, I used it as fuel. I was going to prove to Jayce, to Tatum, and to everyone else that I wasn't just some kid. I was here to win.

As they walked away, still chuckling, I stood there for a moment, the anger simmering in my chest. I wasn't just going to beat them—I was going to dominate. But first, I needed to clear my head. 

I couldn't shake the image of Tatum's performance, so I headed to the court outside the gym, where it was quiet. The sun was setting, casting long shadows on the pavement as I picked up a ball and started dribbling. In my mind, I wasn't just playing—I was going one-on-one with Tatum.

I imagined him guarding me, his intense eyes locked on mine. I dribbled left, he followed. I crossed over, but he stayed with me, his defense tight, almost suffocating. My heart raced as I tried to shake him, spinning around him with a quick move, then stepping back for a shot. I could feel the pressure, the weight of the upcoming match pressing down on me as I released the ball.

Just as the ball left my fingertips, I heard my captain's voice cut through the air.

"Akira! What are you doing out here? You need to rest!"

The shooted from Akira ball hit the rim and bounced off, missing the mark. He clicked his tongue in frustration when he missed the shot.

"You need to rest," he said firmly. "This tournament is important, Akira. More important than you might realize. My dad and even Coach Mark told me. Coaches from middle schools and even high schools come to these tournaments to scout talent. It's your chance to make a name for yourself, to start your journey to the NBA."

Akira's expressions change suddenly, he clearly never thought about that.

Is he really ten years old? I knew he was right. This was the last tier of tournaments where kids could afford to mess around. Beyond this point, it was more serious, in the USA, for basketball players, you need to stand out early. If I wanted to make it to the NBA, I had to stay focused. Winning this tournament wasn't just about pride—it was about my future.

"Tatum's good," I admitted, my voice quieter than before. "Really good."

The captain's expression softened slightly. "Yeah, he is. But so are you. You've got what it takes, Akira. Just don't let him get in your head. You promised us a win, remember?"

I clenched my fists, determination hardening in my chest. "I won't lose. I'll beat him."

After the brief encounter, my captain led me back inside. But instead of going straight to rest, I suggested we do some light stretching as a team. We found a quiet corner in the gym and went through some simple exercises, keeping our bodies loose while avoiding overexertion.

As we stretched, a few of the older kids who had already been through a few tournaments like this started sharing stories—some were funny, others a bit more serious. One of them talked about a kid who got so nervous before his final that he could barely dribble the ball.

"Just remember," one of them said, giving me a knowing look, "it's just another game. Don't let the pressure mess with your head."

His words stuck with me as we finished up. We grabbed some water and finally headed to the resting area, where the rest of our team was lounging around, trying to relax.