Thomas Sangster

The arena hums like a hot beehive. Thomas Sangster stands in the warm-up circle, his sneakers squealing on the parquet floor. The smell of sweat, rosin, and burnt plastic—for him, it's the smell of life.

He receives a pass on the right wing. His legs explode into motion, honed by thousands of workouts. He lifts off the floor, feeling weightless. The world freezes. The ball is in his right hand, he's already preparing to dunk.

But his opponent intervenes. The ball slips from his hands, and a sudden jolt knocks him off his feet. A blow lands on his right leg. It bends, but the weight breaks it, the ligaments tearing. Thomas lets out a strangled breath in shock, and the world goes dark.

The hum of an ambulance, the voices of trainers and doctors, a stretcher, lights. He woke up in a hospital room. The pain was slightly less, thanks to the painkillers. The door opened slightly, and he saw a girl in a gown.

"I'm your attending surgeon. You have a complex fracture and a complete ligament tear. The operation will be risky, but I'm ready to take it on. Your career is in my hands now, and I'll do everything I can to ensure it doesn't end so foolishly."