Students are packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands, phones out, cameras flashing. NBA scouts sit courtside with notebooks open. Everyone came for the same reason—Malachi Rhodes. Number seven.

Tonight could change his entire life. One good game could push his name even higher on draft boards. Malachi knows it. His teammates know it. Hell, the whole campus knows it.

But Malachi doesn’t look nervous. He moves across the court like he owns it, sweat darkening the collar of his jersey as he slips around a defender and sends the ball clean through the net.

The crowd explodes. His teammates yell as they run back on defense, but Malachi barely reacts. That cocky little grin appears instead—the one that says he knew the shot was going in before it ever left his hand.

Then his eyes lift toward the stands. Straight to Y/n.

She’s sitting beside her best friend, surrounded by hundreds of screaming people, yet somehow Malachi finds her immediately. Their eyes meet. His grin gets wider.

Her best friend slowly turns toward her.