The Flight Boys gathered around Coach Taylor in the makeshift locker room area, still buzzing from their incredible comeback. Sweat-stained compression shirts stuck to their bodies, but the energy was electric.
Taylor stood before them with a huge grin, looking like a completely different person from the man who'd torn into them at halftime.
"Gentlemen, that was BEAUTIFUL!" he beamed, clapping his hands together. "Absolutely beautiful execution in that second half. That's championship football right there!"
The team exchanged glances. Marcus leaned over to Deshawn.
"Bro, did this man just forget he called us soft-ass entitled bitches two hours ago?" Marcus whispered.
"Selective memory," Deshawn whispered back, trying not to laugh.
Taylor continued, oblivious to the confused looks. "That comeback showed me everything I needed to know about your character. The way you responded to adversity, the way you executed under pressure—that's what winners look like!"
Tristain sat quietly, the cold fury from the game slowly melting away. He was starting to feel like himself again, the predatory mindset fading as the adrenaline wore off.
"Now, here's the thing," Taylor said, his grin widening. "After a performance like that, we're about to get some serious attention. I've already had three major tournaments reach out wanting us to participate."
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through messages.
"We've got the Elite 7v7 Championship in Tampa next month, the West Coast Elite Showcase in Los Angeles, and—" he paused for dramatic effect "—the Texas State Championship Tournament in Dallas."
Tristain felt his stomach drop. Three more tournaments. Three more weeks of this intensity, this pressure, this... killing mindset he'd just discovered.
Shit. Three more tournaments. Can I handle going to that dark place again?
His teammates were whooping and celebrating, but Tristain just nodded silently.
"Coach, when are these tournaments?" Marcus asked.
"Tampa's in three weeks, LA is a two weeks after that, and Texas is the grand finale in July. Boys, we're talking about playing against the absolute best talent in the country. College scouts, media coverage—the whole nine yards."
Taylor's excitement was infectious, but Tristain felt a knot forming in his stomach. The weight of expectations, the pressure to perform at that level again...
"But first," Taylor continued, "y'all have earned some rest. Hotel rooms are ready, team dinner's at seven. Celebrate tonight, because tomorrow we start preparing for Tampa."
---
As the team gathered their gear, phones started buzzing with notifications. The ESPN highlights were already going viral.
"Yo, check this out," Deshawn said, scrolling through Twitter. "ESPN just posted our highlights with the caption 'Flight Boys complete MIRACULOUS comeback against #1 Warren Central.' We're trending!"
Marcus looked over his shoulder. "Bro, look at these numbers. 50K retweets already? That's insane."
Tristain pulled out his phone and nearly dropped it when he saw his notifications. His Instagram was going absolutely crazy.
"Yo, what the fuck," he muttered, opening his profile.
Followers: 147K (up from 12K that morning) Following: 324Posts: 47
His latest post from yesterday—a simple pre-tournament picture with Marcus—had exploded to 156K likes and 8,200 comments.
"Bro, show us!" Deshawn demanded, grabbing the phone.
"Holy shit, T! You almost at a 200k followers!" Marcus whistled. "That's some serious clout."
Tristain scrolled through his DMs, which were flooded with blue checkmarks and verification badges. College coaches, NFL players, celebrities, and thousands of random people trying to get his attention.
@SportsCenter: "FLIGHT BOYS QB goes PERFECT in second half! 15/15, 378 yards, 4 TDs in historic comeback! 🔥✈️"
@Ballislife: "This connection is UNREAL! Marcus Walker and Tristain Dyce putting on a CLINIC! 👑"
@247Sports: "Tristain Dyce stock 📈📈📈 After this performance, every major program in the country will be calling!"
The comments were flooding in:
"This kid is the real deal!""That second half was perfection!""Flight Boys just announced themselves to the world!""Warren Central really thought they had it 😂""That QB-WR connection is next level!""Daddy can throw 😍😍😍""Marry me please"
"Damn," Jaylen said, looking at his own phone. "I gained like 15K followers today. My DMs are going crazy with college coaches and... other people."
"Other people?" Elijah grinned. "You mean girls, bro. Just say girls."
"Shut up," Jaylen laughed.
But amid all the celebration, Tristain noticed something else in his notifications—a message request on Instagram from Michael Torres, Warren Central's quarterback.
Tristain opened the message:
@MichaelTorres_QB: "Yo man, incredible game today. That second half was something else. You went into a different zone out there. Mad respect 🙏"
Tristain stared at the message for a moment. The killer instinct from the game was completely gone now, replaced by the quiet respect that came after a hard-fought battle.
He typed back: "Appreciate that bro. Y'all played us tough. You're gonna be special at Michigan State 💯"
@MichaelTorres_QB: "For sure man. Probably gonna see each other at some camps this summer. Maybe the draft in a few years 😂"**
@TristainDyce: "No doubt. Let me get your number, stay in touch"**
They exchanged numbers, and Tristain followed him back on Instagram. A few minutes later, DeShawn Williams sent him a follow request too.
@DeShawnWilliams: "Bro that connection with Marcus is insane. Y'all got something special. See you at the next level 💪"**
Tristain followed him back and sent his number as well. It felt good to connect with players who understood the game at this level, who respected the competition without the heat of battle clouding their judgment.
Group Chat: Certified Corp
Tristain, Marcus, Torres, Williams
Torres: "Y'all really had me shook in that second half 😅"**
Marcus: "That corner route you hit in the first quarter was nasty though"**
Williams: "Marcus really said 'hold my beer' and started cooking in the second half"**
Tristain: "We all just pushing each other to be better 💯"**
---
Before heading back to their rooms, the team made their way to the hotel restaurant for their scheduled dinner. As soon as they walked into the dining area, heads started turning.
"Is that the Flight Boys?" someone whispered.
"Oh my god, that's the quarterback who went perfect!"
Within minutes, people started approaching their table. First, it was parents of other athletes from the tournament.
"Excuse me, are you Tristain Dyce?" A middle-aged woman approached with her phone out. "My son plays for Milwaukee Elite. Could we get a picture? He says you're going to be the next big thing."
"Of course," Tristain said, still adjusting to the attention. He stood up and smiled for the photo.
"You're gonna be playing on Sundays, young man," the woman's husband said, shaking Tristain's hand. "Mark my words."
Then came the little kids—younger siblings of tournament players who'd been watching from the stands.
"Are you really 6'2"?" a tiny kid, maybe eight years old, asked while staring up at Tristain in awe.
"Something like that," Tristain laughed, kneeling down. "You play football?"
"I'm gonna be a quarterback like you!" the kid beamed.
As Tristain was signing a napkin for the kid, three girls approached the table. They looked about his age, clearly athletes themselves.
"Hi," the first one said, twirling her hair. "We're doing this TikTok where we shake hands with the best looking people at the tournament. Can we get you in it?"
Marcus nearly choked on his water. "Bro, you made it," he whispered.
"Uh, sure," Tristain said, standing up. The girls filmed themselves shaking his hand, giggling the whole time.
"Can I get your number too?" the second girl asked directly. "You know, for networking purposes."
"I appreciate it, but I'm good," Tristain said politely. "I'm focused on football right now."
As the girls walked away, Deshawn shook his head. "My man's got game and doesn't even know it."
"Shut up," Tristain laughed, sitting back down.
The attention continued throughout dinner—more photos, more handshakes, more people telling him he was going to be famous. By the time they finished eating, Tristain was exhausted from all the social interaction.
By 8 PM, most of the team had scattered to their rooms, exhausted from the emotional and physical toll of the day. But as always, everyone ended up gravitating toward Marcus and Tristain's room on the third floor.
"Yo, T, you got the PS5 set up?" Deshawn called out as he knocked on the door.
"Always," Tristain replied, opening the door to find half the team in the hallway.
Soon the room was packed. Marcus and Jaylen were deep in a 2K battle, controllers clicking rapidly as they argued about who was better with the Lakers. Elijah and Carlos were waiting for next game, while Terrell was sprawled on one of the beds scrolling through TikTok highlights of their game.
"Bro, look at this," Terrell said, holding up his phone. "This video of your touchdown pass to Marcus has 200K views already!"
Tristain glanced over while waiting for his turn at Madden. "That's wild, man."
Deshawn was setting up the next Madden franchise. "Yo T, you better pick a team that's not the Chiefs. You already think you're Mahomes."
"I was thinking more Aaron Rodgers today," Tristain said with a slight smile. "But I'll take the Packers."
"That's even worse!" Marcus laughed from the other bed. "At least pick a team that needs help!"
The banter continued as they rotated through games, the tension from earlier completely dissolved. This was what Tristain loved most—just being a teenager with his teammates, talking trash and playing video games.
---
Around 10 PM, as the room finally started to quiet down, Tristain stepped out onto the small balcony and pulled out his phone. He scrolled to Ayana's contact and hit the FaceTime button.
After a few rings, her face appeared on the screen. She was in her room back in North Bridgeton, books spread across her desk, wearing a Northwestern hoodie.
"Well, well," she said with a smirk. "If it isn't Mr. Perfect Quarterback himself."
"You look good in that hoodie," Tristain said, grinning. "Purple's definitely your color."
"Don't try to smooth talk me after that performance today," she said, but he could see her fighting back a smile. "You watched?"
"Of course I watched. The whole family did. Mom was screaming at the TV so loud the neighbors probably thought someone was getting murdered."
"How'd I look?" Tristain asked, genuinely curious about her perspective.
"Like someone I didn't recognize," Ayana said, her tone becoming more serious. "That second half... you looked different. Cold. Focused in a way that was almost scary."
"Scary, huh? You sure that wasn't just me being sexy on the field?"
"Boy, please," Ayana rolled her eyes, but she was definitely smiling now. "Your ego's already big enough."
"I mean, I did just gain like 100K followers today," Tristain said, pretending to examine his nails. "I'm basically famous now."
"Oh god, don't tell me you're getting a big head already."
"Maybe a little," he admitted with a laugh. "But for real though, I felt different out there. Like something switched in my head at halftime."
"Is that good or bad?"
"I don't know yet," Tristain admitted, his tone getting more serious. "It helped us win, but... I don't know I kinda liked who I became out there."
Ayana studied his face through the screen. "Well, you look like yourself again now. Maybe that's what matters. You can turn it on when you need to, but you don't have to stay there."
"Coach said we got three more tournaments this summer. Tampa, LA, and Texas."
"Three more? Tristain, that's..." she paused, clearly calculating the mental and physical toll. "That's a lot of pressure."
"I know. I'm kind of freaking out about it."
"Hey," Ayana's voice softened. "You just proved you can handle anything they throw at you. But don't forget to stay yourself in the process, okay?"
Through the sliding door, Tristain could hear Marcus yelling "GREEN BEAN!" and Deshawn calling him ass.
"These idiots are keeping me grounded," he said, gesturing toward the room.
"Good. You need that." Ayana shifted in her chair, and Tristain caught a glimpse of her bare legs under the hoodie.
"Damn, you been working out?" he asked, his voice dropping slightly. "Your legs look good."
"Tristain!" she blushed, pulling the hoodie down. "You're such a perv."
"I'm just saying what I see," he grinned. "Can't blame a man for appreciating beauty."
"You're lucky you're cute," she said, shaking her head. "But seriously, don't let all this attention go to your head. You're still the same guy who couldn't figure out how to work our coffee machine for the first month."
"Hey, that thing is unnecessarily complicated!"
"It has two buttons, Tristain. Two."
"Whatever," he laughed. "I miss you though. For real."
"I miss you too," she said quietly. "Just... try to come back in one piece, okay? And maybe not so intense next time. You kinda scared me today."
"I'll try to dial it back. But no promises if someone tries to embarrass us again."
"There's the moody man again," she observed. "Just remember to turn it off when you come home."
"I will. I promise."
"Now go get some sleep. You look exhausted."
"I am. But it's a good exhausted, you know?"
"I know. I'm proud of you, T. Even if you scared me a little today."
"Thanks, Yana. That means everything."
"Don't get all soft on me now," she said with a grin. "Save that energy for Florida."
"You got it. Love you."
"Love you too, superstar."
After they hung up, Tristain stood on the balcony for a few more minutes, looking out at the Chicago skyline. The mindset was completely gone now, replaced by a quiet satisfaction and the comfortable tiredness that came after a job well done.
He could hear his teammates still gaming inside, their laughter and trash talk filtering through the door. Tomorrow would bring new pressures, new expectations, new tournaments to prepare for.
But tonight, he was just a seventeen-year-old kid who'd had the game of his life, surrounded by his best friends in a hotel room, playing video games and trying to process what had just happened.
Three more tournaments. We'll figure it out. One game at a time.
He slid the door open and rejoined his teammates, ready to lose himself in another round of Madden and forget about being perfect for a while.
"Yo T!" Marcus called out. "Come get this work in 2K!"
"You sure you want this smoke?" Tristain grinned, grabbing a controller.
For now, this was enough. The future could wait until tomorrow.