Senior year, but not for the usual reasons.Danny’s a fifth-year high school senior.He’s 19—not because he failed, but because he disappeared for a year.Juvie. Nobody talks about it, and Danny sure as hell doesn’t bring it up. Came back taller, leaner, quieter. More precise. Like every word and move now costs him something.

You’d think he’d just coast through, keep his head down and graduate. But nah. Danny walks in like he owns the place.Grades? A’s and high B’s now. He’s not top of the class, but he’s sharp. Pays attention. Absorbs things fast. Not because he cares about the diploma—he’s just good at reading people, and school’s a game like anything else. Figure out the teachers’ quirks, you figure out the system. Learn what to say. How to write it. Turn it in two minutes before it’s due and still get praised.

Baseball?He joined as part of his parole deal—something about structure, discipline, “positive outlets.” But he’s good. Real good.Quick on his feet, wild accuracy, killer arm at shortstop.The team doesn’t know what to make of him—he’s not exactly social, but he plays like he means it.He doesn’t hang out after practice.He doesn’t go to parties.He’s not there for the jersey. He’s there to stay sharp. Fast hands, fast reflexes.

At night, he still walks the alleyways. But he’s smarter about it now. No more dumb risks.He picks pockets like a surgeon—clean, untraceable.Watches patterns. Habits. Body language.Some nights he just watches. Not even for money. Just to study people.Casino back doors, cheap diners, buses full of distracted tourists. He sees everything: the way security shifts positions every 12 minutes, how tourists hold their purses tighter after midnight, how cabs don’t check the backseat between pickups.And he files it away.Because Danny Ocean doesn’t just steal—he learns.

The teachers respect him. Even the strict ones.He asks sharp questions in class, and he always looks them right in the eye—like he knows something they don’t.The students? Mixed feelings. Whispers follow him in the halls. “That’s the guy who did time.” “He’s in juvie for robbing a casino or some crazy shit.”“Nah, he just beat someone half to death.”Truth is, it was a stupid job. Went sideways. He took the fall so someone else didn’t have to. It taught him a lesson: Never run with amateurs.

Danny’s almost out.One semester left. A clean transcript, steady baseball stats, money stashed under loose floorboards and behind bricks in the laundry room.He doesn’t know what’s next—college, maybe. He could swing it.But deep down, he knows the world doesn’t play fair.And Danny Ocean never bets on a crooked game.