The tournament day arrived, bright and crisp. The hospital gymnasium buzzed with energy as teams gathered in their colorful uniforms.
Jill, clipboard in hand, gathered their team for a final briefing.
“Each game has five players on the court,” Jill explained, glancing at her clipboard. “Normally, we’d have substitutes, but since we’re short-handed, everyone’s playing full-time. Four quarters, ten minutes each—so pace yourselves.”
Her old team captain instincts were clearly resurfacing.
Everyone stretched, warming up with varying degrees of enthusiasm and skill. Kevin looked particularly nervous, his stocky frame making each stretch a small battle as he struggled to touch his toes.
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In the first game, Naosa pulled Kevin near the hoop.
“You’re the center. Just wait here,” she said with an encouraging smile, positioning him. “When you get the ball, just shoot.”
Kevin looked uneasy but nodded, determined.
Jill gathered everyone into a huddle. “Miguel is point guard, Sally is shooting guard, Nao is small forward, and I’m power forward. Let’s try this setup for now.”
Her voice had a competitive edge that surprised them all.
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As the game began, Miguel won the toss. Naosa caught the ball, dribbled with unexpected agility, and scored a quick basket—her movements fluid and practiced.
She high-fived Jill and Miguel, her energy infectious. Kevin and Sally each got a bright smile, the team spirit building with every play.
Jill and Naosa moved in surprising sync—passing smoothly, anticipating each other’s moves. Years of experience showed in their timing and positioning.
The first game ended with a solid win, leaving their opponents looking shell-shocked.
Miguel clapped, grinning. “You guys were awesome! I didn’t see that coming.” He wiped sweat from his brow, genuinely impressed.
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In the second game, their confidence grew. Kevin caught Naosa’s perfectly timed pass and made a shot, his face lighting up with surprise and joy. Miguel’s height helped in screens, creating space. Sally even sank a free throw, her usual scowl briefly replaced by satisfaction.
Win after win carried them straight into the finals, their chemistry growing with every game.
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Just before the last game, Jill looked across the court, her expression tightening.
Their opponents were already warming up—sharp passes, focused footwork, practiced ease.
They were from Dr. Deb Mason’s team—renowned throughout the hospital for their competitiveness.
Deb, one of the most experienced Senior Lab Managers, stood on the sidelines with her arms folded, her gaze sharp and calculating. Beside her stood her assistant manager—the one who’d wanted the promotion Alex got. He was smirking as he watched the ragtag research team prepare.
No one said it out loud, but the tension was obvious.
Deb’s team didn’t think much of Alex’s—especially with Alex himself conspicuously absent.
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Miguel, ever the diplomat, tried to lift the mood.
“Just enjoy the event! It’s okay if we lose!” He clapped his hands, forcing cheer.
The ladies gave him a look that could have frozen lava.
Miguel and Kevin exchanged a look—brief, silent, deeply uncomfortable. Neither dared say a word.
The final game began fiercely. Both teams fought hard, neither willing to give ground.
In the second quarter, Sally took a rough shove and fell hard on the polished floor. She waved off concern, insisting she was fine, but her ankle began to swell despite her attempts to hide it.
Miguel stepped away from the court, already dialing. “I’m calling Alex,” he muttered under his breath.
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Alex hadn’t known about the tournament at all—but something in Miguel’s tone got him moving.
“Alex will arrive at halftime,” Miguel told the others. “Sally, just stand in the corner for now, okay? Minimal movement.”
When Alex showed up minutes later—still looking half-asleep and wearing mismatched athletic clothes—Miguel pulled him in without ceremony.
“I didn’t sign up for—” he began, then froze when he saw Sally limping.
“You okay?” His irritation melted into concern.
“I’ll sub in. Sit down and rest,” he said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as they passed.
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The game was tight. Momentum swung back and forth.
With Alex in, the team stabilized. His natural competitiveness emerged—surprising even himself.
In the final minutes, the score was tied.
Sweat dripped. Breaths came hard. The crowd leaned in, electric with anticipation.
Alex made a quick steal, reading the opponent’s movement perfectly.
His competitive instincts took over—until suddenly, everything else faded. And in that crystal-clear moment, he heard a voice.
“I’m here.”
Clear as day. Familiar as his own heartbeat.
His chest tightened.
Without thinking—pure instinct—he passed the ball.
Naosa caught it and scored with perfect form, the ball slicing clean through the net just as the final seconds ticked down.
The whistle blew.
They won.
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Cheers erupted. Jill and Miguel hugged, jumping up and down. Kevin pumped his fist in the air, his shy demeanor forgotten. Sally, still on the bench, actually smiled—a rare, genuine expression of joy.
But Alex didn’t celebrate.
He stood still, eyes scanning the gym, searching the crowd.
That was her voice.
“Where are you, Séraphine?” he whispered, his voice swallowed by the noise.
He quietly stepped away from the court while the others celebrated, eyes searching for a face he knew couldn’t be there.
“I miss you so much. I just want to see you again—even if only in a dream.”
The words fell from his lips like a prayer to empty air.
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Meanwhile, Naosa checked her watch and gasped.
“Oh no! Kazu will be home soon and I haven’t made dinner yet! Sally, Kevin—take care!” she called, already halfway to the exit, bag hastily grabbed.
Miguel raised a brow at her abrupt departure. “That was sudden.” He turned to ask Alex about it—
But Alex was gone too.
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As Naosa pedaled home in a rush, Alex wandered the opposite way—slowly, aimlessly,
lost in the memory of a woman who existed only in dreams.
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