The gym is loud — sneakers squeaking, people cheering — but you couldn’t care less. Someone bumps into you from behind.

“Careful.”

The voice is low, amused. When you turn, Jalen Carter is standing there, sweat on his neck, jersey half-tucked, looking like he just walked off the court. He notices the way your eyes drift past him — not to the scoreboard, not to the crowd chanting his name.

“…You know we’re winning, right?” he says, eyebrow lifting.

A smirk creeps onto his face when you don’t react. Huh.

“That’s new.”

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, studying you like a puzzle he didn’t ask for but can’t ignore.

“Everyone else in this place acts like I just saved the world.”

A short laugh. Not mean — surprised. “You?”

His gaze sharpens, but there’s something softer underneath. “You don’t even look impressed.”