The gym lights flickered as Jordan laced up his sneakers. Another late night. Another solo session. The echo of bouncing balls from earlier was gone now, just him and the sound of the vending machines from the hallway.
He should’ve been home hours ago, but couldn’t shake what Coach said after practice.
“You’re falling behind, Jordan. You’re a leader. But right now? You’re just average.”
Average. The word stung worse than a rolled ankle.
He was supposed to be the guy. The one scouts came to see. The one with the vertical, the ball handle, the killer instinct. But recently, he was just off. Shots were short. Legs felt heavy. Confidence slipping.
And the new kid, Xavier, was taking over. Six foot five, already built like a college player. He barely tried and dropped 30 in his first scrimmage. Coach had started drawing up plays for him.
Jordan slammed the ball down in frustration. The sound echoed, sharp and loud. He bent over, hands on his knees.
“I can’t lose this shot,” he muttered.
From his backpack, he pulled out a small black pouch. Inside was a small box he hadn’t opened, yet.
Derrick from the rival school had given it to him after an AAU tournament.
“You wanna make it to the next level?” Derrick said grinning. ‘Everybody up there is using something. This one’s clean. Undetectable. One cycle and you’ll be flying.”
Jordan hadn’t declined the offer. He just tucked the box into his bag.
“I’ll consider it”
Now here it was, sitting in his hand like a loaded question.
The label read: “TestoLean X” a steroid disguised as a natural enhancer. No prescription. No guarantees. Only promises.
He flipped the box over, reading the instructions.
One capsule a day. Results in two weeks.
He imagined it, faster cuts, more explosiveness, louder dunks. Reclaiming the starting spot. Scouts nodding. Offers coming in. His name is trending.
He clenched the box.
“It’s not cheating,” he muttered. “It’s survival.”
The first few days felt like a dream.
His vertical jumped by two inches. His stamina surged. He went from struggling in practice to dominating. Blocks, steals, fast breaks, Coach started yelling his name again, drawing up plays for him.
Even Xavier started passing him the rock more.
At school, whispers started.
“Yo, Jordan’s back.”
“He’s on one right now.”
“Man’s bouncing out the gym.”
He’d look in the mirror and feel powerful. His arms looked fuller. His jaw is more defined. His skin glowed from gym lights like a star on the rise.
But then came the edge.
He started snapping more. Yelling during drills. He shoved a teammate after a missed rotation. Coach gave him a warning.
Sleep got weird. His heart raced at night. Sometimes, he woke up drenched in sweat, hands clenched into his fists.
Still, he kept going. He couldn’t stop now.
Until the day of the showcase.
The gym was packed, scouts, cameras, rivals.
This was his chance.
Jordan came out firing, two dunks, a deep three, a chase down block. The crowd roared. Everything felt like it was finally aligning.
But in the third quarter, he landed funny after a rebound. His knee buckled.
He hit the floor hard.
Pain shot up his leg like lightning. He tried to stand, but couldn't.
Silence filled the gym.
His coach and the trainer rushed over.
As they helped him off the court, he caught a glimpse of his mom in the bleachers, face tight with worry.
He didn’t cry. Not from pain, anyway.
At the hospital the doctor had bad news, a partial ACL tear. Out for the season. Maybe even longer.
Back home, everything went quiet. No practice. No texts from teammates. No scouts reaching out. Just ice packs, dull aches, and long nights in his room.
The bottle of TestoLean X sat on his desk. Half empty. He stared at it everyday. He looked stronger than ever but felt more broken than he ever had.
One night, his mom knocked gently and walked in. “Mind if I sit?” She asked.
He shrugged.
She looked at the pills on his desk, then back at him.
“I know what they are,” she said “and I also know why you did it.”
He looked away, ashamed.
“I just wanted it so bad,” he whispered. “A chance. To prove that I wasn’t done. That I was good enough.”
She nodded slowly. “Wanting something badly isn’t wrong. But how you get it matters.”
He felt tears rise but forced them back. “I messed up.”
“You made a choice,” she said “and now you know it wasn’t the right one. That’s not failure, that’s a lesson.”
They sat in silence for a while.
Finally, she stood. “You’re still my son. Still an athlete. Still enough.”
Then she left.
Months later, Jordan was back in the gym. Knee brace tight, sweat dripping, but clean.
No shortcuts. No cycles. Just slow, hard work.
The comeback was hard. Slower than he liked. No one was filming. No scouts in sight.
But the fire was still there. This time, it burned quieter. Stronger.
One night, He saw a younger player struggling at the free throw line. The kid looked up to him. Everyone knew that.
Jordan walked over, offered some tips, and stayed after to shoot with him.
Not for the spotlight.
Just for the game.
Because he remembered who he was before the box. Before the hype.
He wasn’t chasing shortcuts anymore. He was building something real, one rep at a time.