Standard disclaimer applies.

Note: The extent of my basketball knowledge goes only as far as Slam Dunk. And past Sakuragi Hanamichi's wailing, there isn't much that you can gather from it :D


Heart of the Game
Part IV


"Zeke, you need to learn to pass the ball faster! Michael! I said dribbling! Not drooling! Get your act together team! What are you, a bunch of sissies? Sissies belong in the theatre, not in basketball!"

The impact of the silence nearly knocked the assistant coaches off their feat. Neither players nor the people on the sidelines knew whether Coach Bolton's comment was an intentional stab at Troy or otherwise, but all eyes turned to the said player either way. Troy, to his credit, didn't seem to have heard, or was blatantly ignoring it his fathers words (and him on a whole). He'd neither said, nor looked at any of them directly when he wasn't passing the ball since the moment he'd stepped through the doors.

"Troy! Pass the ball! There is no 'I' in team!"

As if his fathers' words physically slapped him in the face, Troy spun around on a whim and just threw the ball at the hoop. Missing the net, it bounced off of the rail, hit the backboard and fell to the floor with a dull thud before rolling away, rebounding off one of the players' foot.

Upon closer inspection, one could see the steam rising out of Coach Bolton's ears as he stomped his way to where Troy was standing nonchalantly to the side, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the back of his arm.

"What the HELL is the matter with you, Troy? If you think that sloppy playing is going to get you anywhere in life, you're wrong! You're just too fucking wrong! What the fuck were you thinking! Doesn't this team matter to you anymore? Are you willing to throw away your entire career, your entire future just because of some silly, childish tantrum? Are you listening to me?" growling out the words, the coach grabbed Troy roughly by the arm and turned his around, stopping him mid-step as he was just about to walk away.

"No, I'm not."

"Excuse me?"

"You asked if I was listening to you, I said 'I'm not'. Can I go now?" he tried to jerk his arm out of his father's vice like grip, but failed. If anything, the grip just became tighter.

"NO! You can't go now! Not until you tell me what the fuck has been going on inside that head of yours!" caught up in his anger, Coach Bolton didn't notice the rest of the team and his colleagues gathering around him as a precaution if the situation were to get out of hand. And it seemed at this moment, they were more worried about prying Troy off of his father than the other way around.

"Troy…" Chad began, but was ignored.

"As I told you yesterday, dad, you couldn't even begin to comprehend what I have on my mind."

"Is this because I've been pushing you harder? Or because I told you to spend less time with Gabriella? I'm doing this for your own good, Troy. For your future."

"And I'm doing this because I'm pissed off," he tore his arm out of his fathers' clutches in a show of shocking strength and shoved his father right into one of the people standing behind. "Don't you see, dad. Everyone does something for a reason, and it's seldom for the sake of other people. You're just doing this for you! For your reputation just because your teammate is now an established member of a basketball club, and you're just some crummy, unhappy middle aged man coaching a bunch of loser, high school basketball wannabe--"

Whatever Troy had intended to say after was halted, when he felt an intense sting in his left cheek as his head flew to the side.

"How dare you say that to me, you ungrateful brat!" the man seemed to be brimming with anger as he locked an intense glare on his son, who had raised his hand up and clutched his now reddening cheek. Troy kept his gaze away, looking at the floor instead of the people, especially not his fuming father. "I have been coaching for years, and never have I met a boy as unappreciative as you. My own SON! I don't know what your problem is, and quite frankly, I don't think I even care anymore. I've tried to help, but I see now that it's all been a great waste. So why don't you and your egotistical pride out of here. The team doesn't need people like you on it."

Turning his back to the still motionless Troy, Jack ordered the rest of the team back to their practice, which they obliged, albeit hesitantly; leaving Troy to stand alone in the middle of the court.

"PRACTICE, ALL OF YOU!"

The sound of the whistle rang and basketballs started flying around once again, yet, Troy did not move from his spot, eyes still firmly glued to the floor, blinking continuously as if he were adjusting his vision to something.

The rest of the team couldn't help but stare at their shunned captain out of the corner of their eyes, feeling guilty at having abandoned him like that. But he was the one that had brought it onto himself. He was the one who had done a completely three-sixty, personality wise, and they couldn't help that he was the one who had insulted his father and coach right in front of the entire basketball team. They couldn't help it…but at that moment, they heard the distinct thump of a body hitting ground and looked over to where Troy had been previously standing, only to find him on his stomach on the polished floors, unconscious.

"Troy!"

Immediately, all activities stopped, basketballs were dropped to the ground as they rushed to their fallen members' side.

Coach Bolton was just about to yell at them for the halt, when his eyes were too, drawn to the gathering crowd. Releasing the hold he had on the clipboard in hand, he rushed to where the entire team had gathered around Troy's fallen body. The angered expression on his face dying quickly only to be replaced by anxiety and he ran those few meters, which seemed like an eternity to him. "Troy!" He yelled, dropping to his knees before his body could come to a full halt next to Troy. Placing a hand on the small of his sons' back, he attempted to shake him awake gently.

His eyes never fluttered, neither of his limbs moved even a millimeter. His lips were parted slightly, facing his splayed out right arm in front of him; sweat beads covered his forehead and dripped onto the polished floors.

"Get the nurse! Someone call an ambulance!" he yelled to the people around, not caring whoever took the order, as long as they did so. The only thing that was playing over and over in his mind was a prayer that the higher power would not take away his son. His mind was running at full speed, frantic thoughts mingling with the worry and anxiety, and the thoughts that if it would happen, then Troy would die thinking that his father had shunned him…believing that his own father hated him.

"Chad and Zeke went to get the nurse and call ambulance."

He vaguely noticed when someone informed him of the proceedings, but he couldn't concentrate on it. His mind was in a state of chaos and he bent down to look into Troy's unconscious face, hand moving to brush away the wayward bangs from his forehead. "Hang in there, son," he whispered into Troy's ear, planting a small kiss on the side of his temple. "Hang in there. Help's on the way."

To be continued…


Well, I haven't written a cliff-hanger in a looooong time (credited to the fact that I've been writing mostly humour one-shots that require not cliff-hangers) but said medical jargon with commence in the next chapter. One again, I stress that I am no doctor; I have just done some research (I'm wound that way) on the points that I've chosen to use in the story (that actually inspired the story in the first place) and though I'll try to keep it as simple and correct as possible, it might not all work that way, so…be gentle.