CHAPTER 60: WESTMINSTER TEAM VS NORTHVALE TEAM

The CEO paused, his eyes studying the graphs with quiet focus, then pressed his lips into a thin line. "Hmm... There’s definitely strong potential, but risk remains because of the young leadership. We need another alternative that’s more mature."

His right hand man nodded, having anticipated that response. "Understood, Boss. I’ll look into other options that are more experienced and solid."

The powerful man raised his head again, his eyes turning to the large window, gazing out over the city below. "Alright. Let’s move on to the next item on the agenda. Check the internal documents I left with you. I want to ensure everything remains on track."

He then pushed back against the chair and turned his body, the seat gliding smoothly in the direction of his gaze. His assistant began sorting through the stack of documents on the desk, reviewing each page carefully, making notes on key points to report later.

The room fell into a quiet rhythm, with only the sound of pen tapping on paper and the soft hiss of wheels on the floor as the chair moved. Though Erelon appeared relaxed, there was a sharp edge to his presence. An unmistakable aura of authority and alertness.

Every movement he made conveyed that major decisions were about to be made. And the companies under review, including Alaric’s Craftpartner, were under his close watch.

He turned slightly to his aide and gave a clear directive. "Make sure every piece of data related to Craftpartner is recorded. I want regular updates on their progress. Whether young or not, high potential must always be tracked. We can’t afford to miss a major opportunity."

His assistant gave a firm nod and resumed organizing the paperwork. The CEO rested his elbow on the armrest, chin in hand. Once again immersed in his own thoughts. He continued reviewing several internal reports from other companies, occasionally glancing at the charts and marked recommendations on the same tablet.

One thing was already clear in his mind: even if a company was still in its early stages, if the growth curve was accelerating fast enough, he would still keep them in consideration. Even if they weren’t compelling enough yet for investment.

"Who knows," he muttered to himself, "they might be hiding something truly valuablel something the international market shouldn’t ignore."

...

The day had finally arrived. The long awaited basketball match that even Alaric himself had been looking forward to. And Alaric was the captain.

The sun felt hotter than usual, matching the burning anticipation in Alaric’s chest. His heart thudded with a rhythmic beat, a clear sign of the nerves he felt on the day of his first match in a long time. It was a return to the court after being absent from his favorite game for quite a while, and this one would even be rebroadcast on the campus media.

A breeze moved gently through the air, but the heat still clung tightly to the skin. It wasn’t just the wind brushing against the players, but the unrelenting sun, shining fiercely down on anyone who remained beneath it for too long.

The basketball court was already packed with students from various universities around the city. It was far more chaotic than the sweltering weather that had made a few students consider leaving early, though in the end, they stayed, curious to see how thrilling the match would be.

Colorful banners with university logos waved high in the air, accompanied by plastic trumpet sounds and loud chants from the supporters echoing across the venue.

The inter-campus friendly match, dubbed the "Friendship Basketball Cup," was more than just a sporting event it was a celebrated gathering that doubled as a battle of pride and prestige among universities.

Alaric’s university, "Northvale Institute", was one of the teams in the spotlight that afternoon. Though not the top-ranked university in the city, they were a respected contender. Their opponent, "Westminster Academy", was widely known for its strong athletic program and top-tier facilities.

From the very start, Westminster exuded confidence. Their supporters came in full force, dressed in matching team apparel that radiated school pride.

Alaric stood at the sidelines, wearing Northvale’s dark blue jersey. It had been a while since he played in a proper competition, but his body still moved fluidly, and his dribble was light and quick. His focus remained razor sharp. When the whistle blew, the game began.

At first, Alaric played it cool. A small smirk tugged at his lips every time an opponent tried to snatch the ball. He glided across the court, released a clean shot, and the ball sliced through the air and dropped straight into the hoop. Cheers erupted from the Northvale section. "RIC! RIC! RIC!" some students chanted, already familiar with his reputation as a top player.

But it didn’t take long for him to realize something: his team wasn’t holding up. The ball slipped through hands too often, passes were off-target, and player coordination felt disjointed. Twice they missed golden opportunities because of poor communication. Alaric took a deep breath and shook his head, trying to keep his composure.

Meanwhile, Westminster displayed impressive synergy. They read their opponents’ moves with ease, executed fast breaks, and scored point after point. Their cheers from the stands grew louder. The scoreboard read 5–3 in favor of Westminster.

Sweat started to pour down Alaric’s temple as he inhaled deeply. He glanced at his teammates: Rael, quick and agile but often reckless, and Jordan, the powerhouse who leaned more on strength than tactics. Both looked frustrated, silently blaming one another with sharp glares.

"Rael!" Alaric called out during a brief pause, delivering a quick strategy he’d pieced together. "Stay up front. Don’t try to force your way through the middle. Let me and Jordan handle the defenders over there."

Rael furrowed his brow. "Up front? But—"

"Just trust me. You’re fast. Don’t waste your energy pushing where it’s crowded. Jordan, stay back. Guard the area near the rim. Don’t let anyone through. You’ll be our last line of defense."

Jordan gave a crooked grin and nodded. "Last line? Alright, I got this."

Alaric had quickly analyzed the situation. Their first goal was to defend better and hold the line. Only then could they turn the tide and build up points.

Wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, he said, "We’ll run a triangle defense. Speed up front, flexibility in the middle, and strength in the back. If the front line burns out, the middle becomes the bridge. We’ll call it the Trinity Shield."

His teammates exchanged puzzled looks, but Alaric didn’t dwell on explanations. His philosophy was simple: don’t let the opponent drain your fastest players. That way, stamina is preserved, and counter-attacks remain possible.

The game resumed. Alaric now moved more assertively, often cutting off his opponents’ paths. He stole the ball several times and passed it to Rael, who sprinted forward and scored. 5–4. The Northvale supporters erupted again, though the noise hadn’t quite returned to its former intensity.

But Westminster wasn’t going to sit back. They adapted fast. Their player in jersey number 11 broke through Rael’s defense and nearly scored again. Northvale’s efforts weren’t enough to match Westminster just yet.

The whistle signaled the end of the first half. The scoreboard still showed Northvale trailing by one.

On the bench, tension ran high. Rael rested his head on his knees, muttering under his breath. Jordan fanned himself with a towel, and the rest of the players simply smiled bitterly. Some shook their heads as if to say, "This is too much. They’re just better."

Alaric exhaled deeply. His eyes wandered to the scoreboard, then to the roaring Westminster section. A thought ran through his mind: "If this keeps up, we’re not just going to lose. We’ll be humiliated in front of everyone."

He closed his eyes, took a breath, and muttered to himself, "Alright Ric, focus. This isn’t just for fun anymore. This is about our school’s pride."

The crowd roared louder as the announcer called the players back onto the court for the second half.

Alaric and his teammates stood again, still catching their breath, jerseys drenched in sweat. From the stands, each player’s name was being shouted in turn, adding more heat to an already intense atmosphere.

The whistle blew, and the pace of the game picked up once more. Westminster stayed aggressive, pressing hard against Northvale’s defense. Jordan and Alaric tried to break through, but were blocked by two taller defenders.

Rael attempted a mid-range jumper, but the ball bounced off the backboard and out.

Alaric remained the focal point. With a burst of speed, he found an opening and scored, prompting a relieved cheer from the Northvale supporters. But overall, the second half felt unbalanced. Northvale’s communication was still off. Several passes didn’t connect, almost resulting in turnovers.

Another whistle blew, marking the end of the third quarter. The court remained electric. The players’ breathing grew heavier, exhaustion visible on their faces. But that’s when the game got interesting, when it became not just about strength, but also strategy.