The crowd was electric.
College finals. Packed gym. Noise bouncing off the rafters like a war drum. Everyone was yelling—some in joy, some in panic, some probably just because it felt good.
Kai Monroe sat on the bench like none of it mattered.
Back straight, elbows on knees, head low. He didn't fidget. Didn't glance around. Didn't speak. The only movement was his thumb slowly tracing the seam of the ball resting at his feet.
Timeout.
His teammates were hyped. One guy practically broke the Gatorade cooler screaming. The coach paced, barking adjustments and half-muttered prayers. And Kai just sat there, breathing slow, staring through the court like it was something only he could read.
"Hey!" Coach barked, snapping him out of it. "You alive in there?"
Kai blinked once. "Still breathing."
Coach huffed, fighting a smirk. "That last play—crazy shot. Nice arc."
Kai gave a lazy shrug, as if dropping a double-clutch three in transition wasn't a gamble. "Felt right."
"Felt reckless," Coach corrected. "One of these days that rim's gonna get tired of you flirting with it."
Kai gave the smallest grin. "That rim and I have a long history."
"Just try not to get yourself killed finishing it."
Whistle blew. Timeout over.
Back to war.
The lights didn't dim, but the rest of the world did.
Kai stepped onto the court like gravity didn't quite apply to him. Ball in hand. Game in his veins. It wasn't nerves—it was clarity. His teammates were tense. So were the defenders. But Kai?
Kai was just still.
He dribbled up court slow, like time was waiting on him.
90 – 92. Two points down. Five seconds left.
He crossed half-court, eyes scanning. Defender tight. Kai shifted once to test him, then slowed again. Let the moment stretch. Let the tension coil.
Could take the three. Wide open. Clean look. But…
No.
Too easy.
The crowd was on its feet. The coach was yelling something, probably "shoot it!" or "pass!"—maybe both.
Kai made his decision.
Crossover—snapped ankles. Defender staggered.
Kai drove.
He didn't run to the rim. He cut toward it like a blade.
Two steps. Three.
He jumped early—stupid early.
The crowd gasped. Four defenders rotated in, arms reaching like shadows.
And then—
Black.
...
There was no falling.
No impact.
Just… silence.
Then light. But not like sunlight. More like the glow off a TV screen in a dark room—blue, flickering, unreal.
Kai's eyes cracked open. He couldn't feel his face, his arms, or even the weight of his chest rising. It was like floating inside a thought. Like dreaming without a dream.
The world around him was… wrong.
The floor had no texture. The space above didn't end. And in front of him—
A figure.
Not tall. Not short. Human… ish. Its face shifted slightly, not like it was changing, but like reality couldn't decide which version of it was real.
The thing looked at him like it already knew every decision he'd ever made.
"Reckless."
Its voice wasn't loud, but it echoed.
"You jump early. You shoot off-balance. You court the rim like it's your only religion." It took a step closer. "And yet, somehow, it always works. Until it didn't."
Kai tried to speak. His lips didn't move. Tried to move—nothing.
"You're not unconscious. Not dead either. You're… let's call it between updates."
The figure tilted its head.
"We've been watching you, Kai Monroe."
Kai's thoughts crashed against that like a wave. We?
"You think it's luck that saved you all those times. It wasn't." The figure's expression sharpened. "And it wasn't luck that broke you today, either. It was you."
His heart wanted to thud. It didn't.
"We don't care that you're flashy. Or brave. Or broken. We care that you act without fear of the cost." The air shimmered faintly, like heat rising off concrete. "And that... makes you interesting."
The figure leaned forward slightly.
"You get one more shot. Just one. A second half most people never see."
Kai felt something cold crawl across his spine, and still—he couldn't move.
"But this time," it said, smiling faintly, "you'll have help."
[System Installation Complete – Reflex Core Activated][Welcome back.]
The light stabbed through his eyelids like needles.
Kai winced and cracked them open, blinking slowly. The ceiling above him was hospital white—too bright, too still. The air smelled like antiseptic and muted noise.
He tried to move.
Nothing happened.
His arms didn't lift. His fingers didn't twitch. His body might as well have been filled with sand.
What the hell…?
He turned his head slightly—only slightly—and took in the room. Monitors beeped faintly. An IV hung to his left. A folded blanket sat untouched near his legs.
This wasn't the locker room. This wasn't the dorms. This wasn't anywhere he remembered.
The door opened and a nurse walked in, glancing at a chart. She looked up—and froze like she'd seen a ghost.
"You're… awake?"
Kai tried to speak, but his throat was dry as dust.
"Oh my God," she whispered, dropping the chart and backing out. "Doctor! He's awake! Room 315—he's awake!"
A few seconds passed and the door opened again—this time with a woman in a white coat, calm but quick. She moved to his bedside with practiced urgency.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, doing the flashlight thing with his eyes.
Kai blinked sluggishly. "Where…"
"You're in St. Laurel's Hospital," she said, voice firm but kind. "You were in a car accident. It's… been over a year. You were thirteen when they brought you in."
Kai's heart stuttered.
"I—sorry," he said hoarsely. "What did you call me?"
She tilted her head gently. "Darius. Darius Navarro. That's the name on your chart. Your student ID was found at the scene."
"I'm not—" Kai paused, throat burning. "I'm not that guy."
She studied him carefully, making notes as she spoke. "Can you tell me your name?"
"…Kai. Kai Monroe."
The doctor didn't flinch, but something in her expression flickered.
"I see," she said, tapping on her clipboard. "Well, it's possible you're experiencing identity confusion. After this much time in a coma, amnesia isn't uncommon. The brain does strange things to protect itself."
Kai stared at the ceiling.
Darius Navarro.
He didn't know that name. Didn't know this room. This body.
None of it felt like his.
He closed his eyes—his head starting to ring—and let the weight pull him back under.