The UCLA locker room wasn't buzzing—it was roaring.
The entire team was packed inside, clustered around a big flat-screen TV mounted on the far wall. Folding chairs were dragged from every corner. Some players were sitting cross-legged on the floor, others leaning against the lockers or playfully jostling each other for better views. Coach Reilly sat calmly, hands crossed over his stomach, though his eyes betrayed the anticipation.
Ryan stood off to the side, arms folded, scanning the room with a proud smile. Ivy was beside him, in her UCLA gear, tablet in hand, grinning as wide as anyone else.
"Yo, how mad would you guys be if we got a 5-seed?" Jordan called out from the front.
"Man, if they give us a five after our record, I'm throwing hands with the committee," one of the seniors said, laughter rolling through the room.
"They better not put us in the same bracket as Kansas," someone else muttered.
Ryan stepped in. "Relax. Whatever seed we get, we're gonna make noise. No matter who they put in front of us."
Cheers followed. Ivy looked at him and whispered with a smirk, "You do know they're gonna start calling you 'The Prophet' if you keep talking like that."
Ryan chuckled. "As long as they say it after we win."
The TV announcer's voice cut through the chatter:"Welcome to the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament Selection Show—"
Silence. You could've heard a pin drop.
Banners flashed on-screen. The East, West, South, and Midwest brackets came up one by one, slowly being filled. The tension in the locker room was electric, a blend of nerves, excitement, and fire.
And then it hit.
"In the West Region, the 3-seed… UCLA Bruins!"
The room exploded.
Shouts, claps, backslaps, players jumping out of their seats. Jordan threw both fists in the air. "THREE-SEED! LET'S GOOO!"
The opponent's name followed:"UCLA will face the 14-seed Drake Bulldogs."
A few groans, a few chuckles.
"Yo, don't sleep on Drake," one player said."Still, we should smoke 'em," Jordan said confidently.
Coach Reilly rose from his seat, calm and composed. "Alright, alright! Enjoy this moment—but let's not get ahead of ourselves. We play every game like it's the championship. That's how we got here. That's how we go further."
Ryan nodded in agreement, but inside, he was already seeing the floor—visualizing the matchups, analyzing the opponent, thinking ahead. The tournament had officially begun.
Ivy leaned toward him, whispering, "So what's the plan, Coach Whitmore?"
Ryan gave her a small grin. "Win six games. Simple."
Later that night, at the training center
Most of the players had gone to celebrate or call home, but Ryan stayed behind, staring at the bracket that Ivy had printed and pinned on the whiteboard.
He ran his fingers along the path.
Drake. Then likely Iowa or Memphis. Then a potential showdown with Kentucky. And then… the Final Four.
Ivy approached quietly. "Hey."
He looked over his shoulder. "Still here?"
"Wasn't going to leave without you."
Ryan turned fully toward her now, voice softer. "You think we're ready?"
"I think we're more than ready," she said confidently. "And I think if anyone can lead them, it's you."
He let out a breath. "This is the real stage, Ivy. Every possession, every sub, every adjustment—it matters now. One slip and it's over."
She took his hand. "Then don't slip. And don't forget—you've been through harder things than this. You made it here on your own two feet."
He smiled. "Thanks for always reminding me of that."
They stayed there for a moment, the bracket hanging in front of them, the dream clearer than ever.
The next day – Team film session
Coach Reilly stood at the front of the dark film room. "Drake. Don't underestimate them. Quick guards. They love early shots. They run double screens, and their center's not big but stretches the floor with threes."
Ryan stepped in. "So here's what we do…"
He launched into breakdowns. Everyone paid attention. The room respected him now—not just for his title, but for how he saw the game. Every tip he gave had proven useful.
By the time they walked out, the Bruins weren't just excited—they were focused.
Across the country – Rosehill, North Carolina
Sarah sat in the café, eyes on the TV.
The local news was playing clips of UCLA's Selection Show. Then, a quick flash of Ryan celebrating with the team.
Her hand went to her mouth, eyes shining. "You made it, baby."
Back in LA
The night sky hung calm above campus, but inside Ryan's apartment, his mind was anything but quiet.
He stood by the window, phone in hand. One message typed and ready:
"Hey Coach Daniels. Just wanted you to know—we made it. March Madness. 3-seed. I'm gonna make you proud."
He hit send.
And then, after a long pause, he whispered to himself—
"Let's go."