Opening Scene – Three Days After the Ant GameKyle Wilson sat on a padded treatment table in the Celtics' Vegas hotel suite. Ice wrapped around his left ankle, sweat still drying on his forehead. His knee was sore. His back ached.

He wasn't injured.

Not yet.

But the body was barking.

"How's it feel?" asked the team's physical therapist.

Kyle rotated his ankle slowly, wincing.

"Tight. Pressure right above the heel."

The therapist nodded.

"Classic stress signs. You're running hot. We need to scale you back."

"No."

"Kyle—"

"I said no."

He stood up, walked over to the window. Looked out at the Vegas skyline.

"I didn't get here by resting."

Coach Vaughn's WarningLater that evening, Coach Vaughn pulled Kyle aside after the team meeting.

"You're putting too much weight on your frame, kid."

"I'm 6'8, 230. I can carry it."

"That ain't what I meant."

He tapped Kyle's chest.

"You got the whole damn world inside there. Rage. Pressure. Legacy. Mama. Mixtapes. Chino. America. You gotta let that sh*t breathe."

Kyle looked away.

"I don't know how."

Coach Vaughn sighed.

"Then this league is gonna break you before you break through."

Summer League Game 2 – Fatigue HitsCeltics vs. Lakers

A highly anticipated matchup. Kyle was sluggish from the tip.

His jumper was flat.

Lateral movement slow.

Defensive rotations delayed.

The Lakers' wing—an undrafted 3-and-D specialist—gave Kyle buckets early. And whispered after each one.

"A lottery pick getting cooked by a nobody?"

By halftime, Kyle had 4 points on 2-for-7 shooting.

The Celtics trailed 47–39.

Halftime – Cracks AppearIn the locker room, Kyle sat alone. Head down.

Ari texted:

You good?

He stared at the message. Didn't reply.

Marcus texted too:

A bad game ain't the end. You ain't broken.

Still no reply.

His teammate, a second-rounder from Kentucky, leaned in.

"You don't gotta carry us, bro. Just hoop."

Kyle looked up, eyes bloodshot.

"This ain't a f***ing game to me."

"That's the problem."

Second Half – Sparks But No FireKyle bounced back a little in the third—forced turnovers, hit a corner three—but the rhythm never came.

The Celtics lost 91–82.

Media pounced.

"Was Kyle Wilson overhyped after one game?"

"Wilson's body language shows signs of wear."

"That ankle wrap a concern?"

"Should Boston rest him the next game?"

Postgame Presser – Kyle SnapsA reporter asked:

"Kyle, rough shooting night. Were you tired? Or was the matchup tougher than you expected?"

Kyle clenched his jaw.

"You ever lose someone close to you, then get stalked by gang leaders, rebuild your body, bury your mom, launch a company, and then come out here to prove you belong?"

The room froze.

"I didn't think so."

He stood up and left.

Ari's Office – Damage ControlAri was already on the phone with media reps.

"He's emotional. He's a rookie. Let him breathe."

"He's gotta learn to navigate these moments," the Celtics PR manager said.

"He doesn't need to be coddled. He needs space."

After the call, she slammed her laptop shut. She picked up her phone and texted Kyle.

Come see me. Now.

Private Talk – Rooftop TensionLater that night, they met on the rooftop of their hotel. The city below buzzed with light, music, chaos.

Kyle leaned against the edge, hoodie up.

"You mad?"

"I'm worried."

"Don't be."

"You're running too hot, Kyle. I see it. You ain't sleeping. You're overtraining. Your leg's barking and you're trying to play hero."

"You think I care about a sore ankle?"

"No. I think you care about proving you survived. And now you're afraid you're gonna fall off."

Kyle didn't respond.

She stepped closer.

"I don't need you to be perfect. I just need you to be human."

He finally looked at her.

"What if I don't know how to be?"

The Sponsorship Meeting – Cracks in the BrandThe next morning, Kyle and Ari met with Under Armour reps interested in co-branding Kyonic.

They loved the Reaper concept. They wanted to offer a $3 million, three-year marketing partnership, plus full creative control over a co-branded shoe line.

Then the VP said:

"We'd want to tone down the story. Cut the gang stuff. Make it more 'clean grind' than trauma."

Kyle blinked.

"So… erase my past?"

"It's just… more marketable."

He stood up.

"Then market someone else."

Ari chased him out after.

"That's $3 million, Kyle."

"I ain't for sale."

"It's not selling out. It's buying power."

"You really think I give a sh*t about the money?"

She paused. Hurt.

"You don't care about a lot lately. Except hurting."

Summer League Game 3 – Redemption?Kyle suited up. Taped heavily. No jewelry.

Just business.

Coach Vaughn pulled him aside pregame.

"You get one legacy. But you get infinite chances to build it."

Kyle nodded.

First half? Back to basics.

Diving for loose balls.

Taking charges.

Swinging the ball.

Setting hard screens.

No ego.

He ended the game with 12 points, 7 rebounds, 3 steals, 2 blocks.

The Celtics won.

The media buzzed again. But this time, the focus shifted.

"Kyle Wilson proving he can be more than just highlight reels."

"Boston may have a future defensive anchor."

"Is the Reaper learning patience?"

Physical Toll – The Recovery RoomAfter the game, Kyle couldn't walk straight.

The swelling on his left knee had returned.

Trainers urged rest.

But he refused to sit out.

Until Ari barged into the training room.

"If you play the next game, I walk."

He blinked.

"What?"

"You're not gonna make me watch you destroy your body for a meaningless game."

He looked down.

"You're serious."

"More than ever."

A long pause.

"Okay."

Coach Vaughn Announcement"Kyle Wilson will be shut down for the remainder of Summer League for precautionary reasons."

Fans reacted with disappointment.

Critics whispered.

But Kyle?

He watched the last game from the bench.

Taped up. Hoodie on.

Eyes never blinking.

Final Scene – Late-Night Training RoomEveryone else asleep.

Kyle alone with a trainer at 1:12 AM.

The room cold. Lights dim.

Ice on both knees.

A Kyonic hoodie covering his face.

The trainer spoke softly.

"You scared it's all gonna fall apart?"

Kyle nodded once.

"It already did. I'm just holding on to the ashes."

The trainer handed him a journal.

"Write. Don't explode."

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