Postgame press conference room.
Ryan settled in behind the long table, a wall of sponsor logos at his back. Flashbulbs went off in a solid wave.
The questions came one after another, mostly routine.
"That buzzer-beater got knocked down from three to two for a toe on the line—how'd you feel when you saw the call?"
"Why'd Coach Crawford have you out there forty-five minutes tonight?"
Ryan fielded them one by one, giving nothing away.
A reporter in the back row raised a hand, glancing down at his tablet. "Ryan—just a bit ago, Colter Frye put up a career high of his own at home, forty-one points. Any thoughts?"
Ryan blinked.
That kid? Put up forty-one? Not bad.
The corner of his mouth curled, a grin spreading across his whole face—
"Well—congrats to him."
—
"…Congrats to him."
At the same moment, two thousand kilometers away—Vega City, Zentron Celestial Arena.
The same long table, the same flashbulbs, and Colter Frye ground out those same three words through gritted teeth.
