Date: June 16, 2021

Location: Phoenix, AZ

Time: 3:48 A.M.

Kyle couldn't sleep.

He sat in his hotel suite's dim kitchen, hunched over an iPad glowing with scouting clips. His crutches leaned beside him like forgotten swords. An untouched protein shake sat sweating on the counter.

He rewound a Suns possession for the fifth time.

Play: CP3 high pick-and-roll. Celtics switch late. Booker lifts weakside. Ayton dives.

Result: Corner three for Cam Johnson.

Kyle tapped pause.

"Too slow," he murmured. "They're biting on Booker like he's Prime Kobe."

He scribbled notes furiously. His handwriting was a mess, but the ideas were clear: pre-switch coverage, help rotations one second sooner, deny the lift man, blitz CP3 earlier in the clock.

His phone buzzed.

Text from Coach Udoka (3:49 A.M.):

"You up?"

Kyle smirked.

Reply:

"Already 20 clips in. I got some wrinkles you'll want to see."

8:00 A.M. – Coaches Room, Film MeetingCoach Udoka, assistant Ben Sullivan, and defensive coordinator Damon Stoudamire gathered in a small side room of the team hotel.

Kyle hobbled in with his iPad and a stack of printouts.

"Alright," Coach said. "Let's see what the kid cooked up."

Kyle plugged in, mirrored his screen.

"We're treating Ayton like he's a non-threat in motion," Kyle started. "But when CP3 manipulates the weak side, we're late to the lift. That's why they're eating us on those weakside threes."

Ben nodded, impressed. "We saw that too."

"But here's the wrinkle," Kyle said, flipping to another clip. "If we have Rob float instead of commit to Ayton's roll, it closes the airspace. Then Jaylen can stunt the lift, recover to the wing, and force CP3 to pass out earlier."

Coach leaned in. "And if Booker's the handler?"

"We blitz early and rotate to the corners. Cam Johnson doesn't create off the dribble. If we make him beat us off one or two bounces, we win."

Silence.

Then Coach nodded slowly.

"Alright," Udoka said. "We're installing this today."

He paused.

"You're doing walkthrough with us. Script the rotations. You run the scout."

Kyle blinked. "Me?"

Coach pointed at him. "You're not our 6'9" freak right now. You're our brain. So use it."

11:30 A.M. – Practice Facility, Suns' Home CourtPlayers jogged through light drills, loosening up. The Finals weren't just games—they were chess matches played at lightning speed.

Kyle stood at the center of the film huddle with a whiteboard. His boot padded his movement, but his voice was sharp.

"CP3 uses this look to bait overhelp. He's reading the help man—so we shade Ayton's roll, but don't commit. Make them guess."

Jaylen asked, "What if he skips to Booker?"

Kyle didn't flinch.

"Close out, but angle him baseline. Force the two. Live with it."

Tatum watched carefully. "How do we rotate if the lift guy cuts instead?"

"Switch it low. Rob tags. Al recovers to the corner. We're long enough to shrink that space."

Smart walked up and gave Kyle a light fist bump. "Coach K out here," he joked.

Kyle just smiled.

"Let's get to it."

Evening – Kyle's Hotel RoomAri sat at the edge of the bed, her legs crossed, scrolling social media. The chatter was already hot:

"Celtics missing that Wilson burst."

"Is Kyle gonna suit up in Game 3??"

"Boston's Kyle Wilson is the first rookie to lead an NBA film session?? Wild."

She looked up at him, still pacing while scribbling notes on paper napkins and stat sheets.

"You've got that look again," she said.

"What look?"

"The 'I'm not done yet' look."

Kyle finally paused.

"I was built for the floor. But I'm learning how to lead off it too. If I can't fight with them on the court, I'll make sure they walk into battle armed."

He looked down at his boot.

Then at the Celtics logo on the practice notes.

"This ain't over," he whispered. "Not even close."

Later That Night – Inside the Suns' Locker RoomUnbeknownst to the Celtics, Monty Williams had gotten word.

"Kyle's in the film room?" one assistant asked.

Monty nodded. "Yeah. They're throwing brainpower at us now."

Booker grinned. "Good. Let's make 'em think harder."

But deep down, Monty knew—Game 2 wasn't going to be just a battle of players. It was becoming a war of minds.

And Kyle Wilson, injured or not, had just entered the chessboard.

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