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Leo mutters a curse under his breath.

Dominic’s fingers tighten into fists.

Graham exhales sharply. “This wasn’t about talent. This wasn’t about strength. It wasn’t even about skill. It was about belief.”

His voice drops lower, steadier.

“We didn’t believe,” he continues. “Not when it mattered. And because of that, we let them dictate the game.”

The weight of his words settles into the room.

For a long moment, no one moves.

Then, finally, Graham exhales.

“This is what losing feels like,” he says. “I want you to remember it. Burn it in.” His gaze flicks to Dominic. “Because I promise you—this is the last time it happens.”

Dominic’s jaw clenches. “Damn right.”

There’s a murmur of agreement.

The fire is still there.

The hunger.

Graham nods once. “Get cleaned up. Rest. And then we get back to work.”

He turns to leave, but before he does, he glances at me.

“Check Carter’s knee.”

I nod. “Already on it.”

And then he’s gone.

On his way to the press conference, where the real storm is about to hit.

The reporters are waiting like vultures.

Graham walks in, his expression unreadable, and takes his seat at the podium.

Brooke stands off to the side, arms crossed, scanning the room for potential trouble.

It doesn’t take long.

The first few questions are predictable.

“What went wrong in the second half?”

“How do you plan to recover from this loss?”

Graham answers with his usual controlled intensity.

“We weren’t clinical enough. We let too many opportunities slip, and a team like Houston will punish you for that.”

“The Sabercats have been undefeated all season. Do you think the Tigers are capable of competing at that level?”

His jaw tightens. “We’re not here to compete. We’re here to win. And we will.”