Saturday – 5:44 p.m.
Finals – Rose Heights vs. Tivoli Tech
National Stadium Auxiliary Gym – Kingston
The arena was overflowing.
Not just with people—but with history. With noise. With tension.
Hundreds lined the walls. Local celebrities. JABA officials. Reporters. Even a European scout or two. Word had gotten out—"Kyle Wilson is the real deal."
And now?
Everyone wanted to see the fire for themselves.
Kyle sat in the locker room, headphones on. Eyes closed. Breathing slow.
He wasn't listening to music.
He was listening to Rico's voice.
The old recording they made on a $10 mic in the school bathroom.
"They gon' call you King one day, star. Just don't forget the price of the crown."
Coach Barrett entered.
"Finals. Four quarters. One chance."
He held up a laminated paper.
On it: "THEY DON'T BELONG HERE."
Tivoli Tech's coach had said that in an interview earlier that week.
Said Rose Heights' run was a fluke. That Kyle was overrated. That poor kids don't finish.
Barrett passed it around.
"You gon' let them write your story?" he asked.
The team replied in unison:
"Nah, coach."
Then Barrett looked at Kyle.
"You lead. You fall, we fall. But if you rise…"
Kyle stood.
Voice calm.
Deadly.
"Then we all fly."
Tip-Off
The moment the ref threw the ball up, everything blurred.
Kyle tapped it forward.
Dre scooped it. Drove. Missed.
Tivoli's 6'6 center grabbed the board like it owed him money.
Then came their transition.
Boom. Slam. Crowd erupts.
Down 2.
Kyle nodded. "Okay. Let's go to war."
First Quarter – Punch in the Mouth
Tivoli was everything they feared: tall, disciplined, aggressive.
They rotated on defense like pros. Their guards were quick—always trapping, always pushing Kyle left.
They weren't just playing basketball.
They were playing chess.
Kyle missed his first three shots.
Down 8 halfway through the quarter.
Coach Barrett called time.
No yelling.
Just:
"You've bled before. Bleed again."
Kyle walked back on the court. Chin high.
Then delivered.
Pull-up midrange.
Steal and score.
Baseline drive. Reverse layup.
End of 1st: 20–18 Tivoli.
Second Quarter – Strategy
Kyle shifted gears.
Slowed the pace.
Started using screens smarter. Drew double-teams, then dished out to Dre and Ramon.
They started to eat.
Three after three.
Kyle on defense was everywhere—denying the passing lanes, talking constantly.
Defense turned to offense.
By halftime?
Rose Heights up 41–37.
Halftime Locker Room
The team was loose. Not cocky. Just... hungry.
Coach Barrett handed Kyle a marker.
"Write your own speech."
Kyle stared at the whiteboard.
Then scrawled in thick letters:
"NOT A FLUKE."
No one needed anything more.
Meanwhile… Outside the Gym
Chino watched from the shadows, smoking.
His right-hand man whispered, "The kid cooking."
Chino said nothing.
Just exhaled a long, cold breath.
Then flicked the cigarette and said:
"Win or lose, tonight's his last game in Jamaica."
Third Quarter – Fireworks
Tivoli came out gunning.
Their shooting guard—#9, Martel—hit three straight threes.
Crowd went ballistic.
Rose Heights fell behind 51–46.
Then Kyle responded.
He took a hard foul to the chest.
Fell. No whistle.
Got up.
Next play—steal.
Dribbled coast-to-coast.
Eurostep around two defenders.
And-1.
The entire gym shook when he flexed.
He didn't yell.
Just pointed upward.
"That's for you, Rico."
Fourth Quarter – Legacy
Final 8 minutes.
Tie game.
The crowd was a warzone of voices. Whistles. Shouts. Phone lights flashing.
Every possession felt like life or death.
Kyle went to work.
Jab. Crossover. Pull-up: Bucket.
Next play: no-look dime to Dre: Bang.
Tivoli pushed back. Slam. Three. Block.
Tied at 66.
Then—3:21 left—Kyle drove baseline. Defender slid under.
BOOM.
Kyle hit the floor.
Clutching his ankle.
Whole gym went quiet.
Coach ran over.
Trainers surrounded him.
Kyle gritted his teeth.
"Tape it. Mi finishing this."
Final 2 Minutes – Legend Mode
Taped and limping, Kyle hobbled back in.
The crowd roared louder than it had all night.
He nodded at Dre.
1:48 on the clock. Down 2.
Kyle called an iso.
Clock ticked.
He faced their 6'5 guard.
Dribble.
Dribble.
Crossover.
Stepback three.
Shot arced like it had wings.
Swish.
Up 1.
Bench exploded.
But the job wasn't done.
Tivoli hit back.
69–68.
Last possession. 14 seconds. Rose Heights ball.
Kyle called time.
They huddled.
Coach looked at Kyle. "You want it?"
Kyle looked at the team.
Then said:
"Let's finish this."
Final Play
Ball inbounded.
Kyle caught it near half-court.
12…
11…
10…
Crossover.
Defender stayed tight.
8…
7…
He faked right.
Spun left.
Dre cut baseline.
Defender bit.
Kyle rose up—
Midrange jumper.
7 feet.
Clean.
Swish.
Buzzer.
Rose Heights – 70. Tivoli – 69.
The Crowd ERUPTED.
Players tackled Kyle.
Tears fell.
Flashbulbs popped.
And for the first time since Rico died…
Kyle smiled.
Big.
Unfiltered.
Trophy Ceremony
Kyle stood in the center, holding the trophy.
But he wasn't looking at it.
He looked up at the rafters.
Imagined Rico sitting there.
Grinning.
Ghost stood behind him.
"You made it," he said.
Kyle nodded.
"But this ain't the end."
Ghost grinned. "Nah. It's just the beginning."
Later That Night – Ghost's Court
One last pickup game under the moon.
No crowds.
No refs.
Just Kyle.
Ball in hand.
U16 jersey on.
And a dream, finally alive.