The ball hung at its apex after the opening tip, and for a suspended moment, everything was quiet. Then chaos.

Robert Williams tapped it to Smart, who immediately pushed pace. Kyle sprinted the right sideline, his first playoff possession alive with electricity. The crowd noise hit him in waves—not the usual regular-season murmur, but something deeper, more visceral.

**First Quarter - 11:32 remaining**

Trae Young checked Kyle with a forearm as they crossed half-court. The contact was light, testing. Kyle answered by cutting off his driving lane, forcing Young to retreat dribble.

"Got all day, rook," Young smirked, sizing him up at the logo.

Kyle said nothing. Kept his stance wide, hands active.

Young went for the stepback three. Kyle's closeout was textbook—high hand, no foul. The shot clanged long.

**9:15 remaining**

First offensive touch. Kyle caught the ball on the left wing, Bogdanovic sagging off. He pump-faked, drove baseline, and absorbed the contact from Collins for a tough reverse layup. The and-one sent the Garden into a frenzy.

As he stepped to the line, the familiar cadence of "Kyle! Wilson!" chants rolled through the stands. He exhaled, spun the ball in his hands once, and knocked down the free throw.

**6:48 remaining**

Defensive assignment shift. Young started hunting switches, but Udoka had drilled them: *No switches on Wilson's matchups.* Kyle fought through three consecutive screens to stay attached, his jersey now soaked through.

Young finally shook him with a behind-the-back dribble into a floater. Kyle contested, but the shot dropped.

"Welcome to the playoffs," Young muttered on the way back downcourt.

**Second Quarter - Celtics lead 31-28**

Bench unit minutes. Kyle watched as Hauser and Brogdon stretched the lead with corner threes. His hands fidgeted on the towel—he needed to get back in.

**4:12 remaining**

Udoka pointed at him. "Wilson. On Young."

The Hawks ran a horns set. Kyle read the play before it developed—down screen for Young, who curled toward the top. Kyle went under, anticipating the handoff. He was wrong.

Young rejected the screen, darted backdoor. The pass hit him in stride for an easy layup.

Timeout Celtics.

Udoka grabbed Kyle's jersey. "You're guessing. Stop guessing. *Know.*"

**Halftime - Celtics up 52-49**

The locker room buzzed with tension. Tatum and Brown dissected coverages in the corner. Kyle sat alone, replaying Young's backdoor cut on his tablet.

Marcus plopped down next to him. "He got you once. He won't get you again."

Kyle nodded, rewinding the clip. There—Young's left foot twitched before the cut. A tell.

**Third Quarter - 8:05 remaining**

Same horns set. Same action. This time, Kyle watched Young's feet. The micro-shift came again.

As Young rejected the screen, Kyle was already sliding to cut him off. The pass sailed out of bounds.

Young glared. Kyle allowed himself a small smile.

**5:18 remaining**

Offensive explosion. Kyle hit back-to-back threes off stagger screens, then poked the ball free from Young in transition. The dunk that followed brought the crowd to its feet.

But Atlanta adjusted. They started trapping Kyle off picks, forcing him to pass. Two straight turnovers.

**Fourth Quarter - 3:41 remaining - Tied 89-89**

Crunch time. Udoka drew up a Spain pick-and-roll for the final possession. Kyle would set the backscreen for Tatum.

The play broke down immediately. Atlanta switched everything. Kyle found himself isolated on Young with :08 left.

He went to his go-to move—a hard jab right into a crossover left. Young bit. Kyle stepped back, rose up...

*Clang.*

Overtime.

**Overtime**

Fatigue set in. Kyle's legs burned on every closeout. Young started exploiting it, drawing fouls on tired contests.

With :12 left, Celtics down 1, Kyle redeemed himself—a deflection on Young's drive led to a Brown runout. The go-ahead dunk sent the Garden into bedlam.

Final possession. Young brought it up, Kyle hounding him full-court. A high screen forced the switch onto Horford. Young hesitated, then launched from 30.

*Swish.*

Hawks win 107-106.

Kyle stood frozen as the Hawks celebrated. The shot replayed on the jumbotron—his man, his assignment.

A hand gripped his shoulder. Tatum. "Series ain't won in one game."

But as Kyle walked off, the weight of the loss settled in his bones. He'd had his chances. Missed reads. Missed shots.

Playoff basketball wasn't just about talent. It was about precision. And tonight, he'd learned the hard way.

**Postgame - Locker Room**

Reporters swarmed Tatum and Brown. Kyle dressed in silence, ignoring the few questions tossed his way.

His phone buzzed. Ari: *You okay?*

He didn't reply.

Instead, he pulled out his notebook. Beneath the draft photo, he added two words:

*Remember this.*

The series was just beginning. And Kyle Wilson had just received his real playoff education.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.