Game Above Game

The sharp sound of Jaden's alarm shattered the silence of his dorm room. His phone screen glowed 5:15 AM in bold white numbers. Outside the window, the Ironwood campus was still cloaked in darkness, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the courtyard.

Jaden groaned, rubbing his eyes as the alarm blared again.

"Yo, Silk, shut that thing off!" Tank mumbled from across the room, his voice muffled by his pillow.

Jaden silenced the alarm and sat up, his muscles already protesting from yesterday's practice. Every joint ached, every limb felt heavy, but Coach Hale's words echoed in his mind: "Practice starts at six. Don't be late."

He stood, grabbed his training gear, and headed for the bathroom.

---

The Ironwood Gym was dimly lit when Jaden pushed through the heavy double doors. The air was cool, the smell of freshly polished wood hanging faintly in the space.

A handful of players were already stretching on the court. Ethan was one of them, his focus sharp as he worked through a series of warm-ups. Tyler Crane was there too, leaning lazily against the padded wall, smirking when he caught sight of Jaden.

"You made it, Pinehill," Tyler said. "Didn't think street legends had alarm clocks."

Jaden ignored him, dropping his bag near the bleachers and joining the other players.

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

Coach Hale emerged from the locker room, clipboard in hand, his eyes scanning the team like a hawk hunting prey.

"Good. Most of you know how to read a clock. That's a start," Hale said, his voice cold and sharp. "But being here isn't enough. I need to see effort. I need to see commitment. Otherwise, you're wasting my time—and yours."

The players fell silent, their eyes locked on the floor.

"Warm-ups. Now!" Hale barked.

The team fell into motion—jumping jacks, high knees, suicides up and down the court. Jaden's lungs burned as he sprinted from baseline to baseline, his sneakers squeaking against the polished wood.

---

After nearly thirty minutes of brutal conditioning, Hale finally blew the whistle.

"Water break!"

Jaden collapsed against the bleachers, his chest heaving. Tank dropped beside him, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Bro," Tank gasped, "Hale's tryna kill us. Ain't no way this is legal."

Jaden took a sip of water, letting it cool his burning throat. Across the court, Ethan stood tall, barely winded, while Tyler lounged casually near the free-throw line, looking way too relaxed for someone who just ran a marathon.

"Alright, listen up!" Hale called out. "Today, we're focusing on fundamentals. Passing. Shooting. Defense. If you think you're too good for the basics, you can leave right now."

No one moved.

"Hunter!" Hale pointed directly at Jaden. "Front and center."

Jaden jogged to the middle of the court, the weight of every gaze on him.

"Show me you can run a pick-and-roll without turning it into a circus act," Hale said flatly.

Ethan stepped forward to set the screen, and Tyler took the defensive stance opposite Jaden.

The whistle blew, and Jaden's feet sprang into action. Ethan set a solid screen, blocking Tyler's path. Jaden read the play, driving into the space created by the pick.

For a split second, Jaden's instinct told him to pull a flashy spin or hit a no-look pass—but Hale's voice echoed in his head: "Play smart."

Jaden hesitated, then made a clean bounce pass to Ethan, who rolled to the basket and finished with an easy layup.

"Good," Hale said, his voice sharp but less harsh. "Again."

The drill repeated over and over—pick, roll, pass, layup. Jaden felt himself slipping into a rhythm, focusing less on flair and more on precision.

But Tyler wasn't letting up. On the next run, Tyler slipped past Ethan's screen and met Jaden head-on.

"Not this time, streetball," Tyler said, his voice low.

Jaden hesitated again. He faked left, crossed right, and made a split-second bounce pass to Ethan. But Tyler was ready. He lunged and stole the ball mid-pass.

The ball bounced down the court as Tyler smirked at Jaden.

"Again!" Hale barked.

---

By the end of practice, Jaden felt like his body had been put through a meat grinder. His shirt clung to him like a second skin, and his legs felt like jelly.

As the team dispersed toward the showers, Hale's voice rang out again.

"Hunter. Stay back."

Jaden froze, his stomach sinking as the other players gave him sidelong glances on their way out.

Coach Hale walked up to him, clipboard in hand.

"You've got raw talent, Hunter. No one's denying that," Hale said, his voice quieter now. "But talent without discipline is like having a loaded gun with no aim. You need to focus, kid. You need to trust the system."

Jaden nodded slowly, sweat still dripping down his face.

"Yes, Coach."

"Good. Now hit the showers. And Hunter—"

Jaden paused mid-turn.

"Don't let Tyler get in your head."

---

The locker room was filled with steam and the faint smell of soap. Jaden stood under the scalding hot water, his head tilted back, letting it wash away the tension in his shoulders.

Ethan walked over, towel around his neck.

"You held up pretty well out there today," Ethan said.

Jaden let out a tired chuckle. "Didn't feel like it."

"Trust me, Hale doesn't talk to guys he doesn't see potential in. Keep showing up, keep grinding, and eventually… you'll get your moment."

Ethan turned and walked away, leaving Jaden with those words hanging in the steam-filled air.

---

Later that night, Jaden sat on his dorm bed, staring at the basketball in his hands. The faint sounds of students laughing carried in through the open window, and Tank snored lightly from the other side of the room.

In the distance, the Ironwood gym lights still glowed faintly in the dark.

Jaden tightened his grip on the ball, his jaw set.

He wasn't backing down.

Not now. Not ever.

---