Ross raised one hand in acknowledgment, the other still clutching the trophy. He didn't need to say a word. His legacy had spoken for him.
Reporters swarmed. Social media exploded. Sports networks broadcast the replay of his Game Four poster dunk from every angle, with slow motion commentary and excited panel debates:
"Is Ross Oakley the greatest to ever play the game?" Most had already answered that question years ago.
It was the perfect ending to another perfect season.
For Ross.
But not for Colton Reyes.
As the confetti continued to fall, Colton sat alone at the edge of the bench, towel draped over his head, eyes blank.
He hadn't played a minute in the final quarter—not after being broken, outplayed, and humiliated game after game. Not after being targeted.
Because Ross hadn't forgotten what Colton said in Game One.
He hadn't forgotten the trash talk, the personal jab, the desperation in Colton's eyes when he tried to bait a legend.
