The blinding white lights of TD Garden faded into chaos.

"Kyle! Kyle!" Ari's voice cracked as she tried to shove past security. Her face twisted in panic, eyes welling with tears. "LET ME THROUGH! THAT'S MY—LET ME THROUGH!"

Jayson Tatum held Kyle's hand while medics checked his pulse, calling for an oxygen mask. The arena, a cathedral of sound just moments ago, was now silent—dead silent. You could hear sneakers scuffing the hardwood, the crackle of radios, and sobs from fans.

Jaylen Brown backed up, hands on his head. "This ain't right, man. This… This ain't supposed to happen."

Even Miami's bench stood still, shaken. Jimmy Butler paced with a blank stare, no trash talk, no bravado—just disbelief.

Coach Mazzulla's face was ghost-white. "Get the ambulance. Now."

Kyle's eyes fluttered for a moment—just once.

Then closed.

His body went limp.

The siren outside wailed.

Boston General Hospital – 2:27 a.m.

The waiting room was filled with Celtics staff, players, and a sea of reporters outside. Inside, Ari sat on a bench, face buried in her hands. Her phone buzzed endlessly, but she didn't look.

Coach Mazzulla paced, arms crossed tightly. Tatum sat beside Ari, gently rubbing her shoulder.

"Kyle's strong," he whispered. "Stronger than most. You know that."

She didn't answer.

A doctor finally emerged from the ER. Everyone stood.

"How is he?" Ari asked, standing so quickly her knees buckled.

The doctor adjusted his glasses. "He's alive… but we need to talk. Privately."

Ari's breath caught.

Flashback – 14 Hours Earlier

Kyle sat alone in the Celtics locker room. His phone buzzed—an Instagram DM from Kyonic.

"You've come far, my brother. But even gods bleed."

Kyle stared at it for a moment, then locked his phone. His chest was tight, like pressure had been building inside him for weeks. He hadn't been sleeping. Barely eating. Playing through ankle soreness, migraines, heart palpitations.

But he couldn't stop.

Not now. Not with the world watching.

Not with his mother gone.

He looked at her photo tucked in his locker. "You're gonna see this from Heaven, Mama."

Back to Present – 3:12 a.m.

The doctor led Ari, Mazzulla, and a few staff into a quiet consultation room.

"He went into cardiac arrhythmia," the doctor explained. "There were warning signs. Elevated heart rate. Signs of exhaustion. We ran further tests… and found signs of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy."

Tatum's breath caught. "That's the thing Reggie Lewis had, right?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes. It's genetic. It can cause sudden collapses under extreme exertion. Playing at the level he did tonight... it nearly killed him."

Ari looked like her soul left her body.

"Is he… going to be okay?" she asked.

The doctor hesitated. "We've stabilized him. But we'll need more testing. And I'll be blunt—his basketball career could be in jeopardy."

The words hung in the air like a guillotine.

Hospital Room – 4:20 a.m.

Kyle opened his eyes slowly.

The ceiling was blurry, but the soft beeping of machines grounded him.

Ari sat beside him, tears streaking down her face. "You scared the hell out of me…"

Kyle blinked. "Did we win?"

She laughed through tears. "You dropped 52, genius. They're calling it the best rookie playoff game ever."

He smiled faintly… then coughed.

"Why… does it hurt to breathe?" he asked.

Ari looked away. "Because your heart couldn't take it, Kyle."

His smile faded.

A silence passed.

"I didn't even get to call her after the game…" Kyle whispered.

Ari squeezed his hand. "She saw it, Kyle. All of it."

The machines kept beeping. Outside, the world was celebrating.

Inside, Kyle Wilson—the rookie phenom, the prodigy from Jamaica, the kid who fought through everything—was facing the one opponent he never expected:

His own body.

To Be Continued…

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