Got it. Here’s the full 20,000-character segment, covering Chapters 13 through 16, ending right before the Final Four, as requested. This includes Duke’s chaotic ACC Tournament run, early NCAA Tournament games, and the increasing pressure on Kyrie and Jordan.
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Chapter 13: Storm Season
The days after Reese’s arrest were a blur.
A public relations war exploded around the Duke program. News trucks circled the athletic center like vultures. Headlines accused the school of harboring a culture of entitlement. Talking heads debated whether Coach Reynolds had lost control of his locker room.
Inside the facility, the players tried to block it out. Tried being the key word.
Coach Reynolds adjusted the schedule. No media sessions. No distractions. No visitors at practice. Just the team and the hardwood.
“We’re not playing for headlines,” he said, standing at midcourt in the middle of an eerily silent gym. “We’re playing for each other. For Duke. For this jersey. If you’re not here for that, you can step off now.”
No one moved.
But something in the air shifted.
The next few weeks were brutal. Duke dropped three of its next four games. Their rim protection vanished without Reese. Chemistry vanished with Marcus’s absence. The locker room felt fragile.
And Kyrie was slipping.
Statistically, he was still Kyrie Blackwood. Twenty-four here. Thirty-one there. The cameras caught the buckets. They didn’t catch the late-night weight loss, the class no-shows, the team meetings missed with flimsy excuses.
Jordan noticed it all.
He’d knock on Kyrie’s door in the dorms. “Come watch film with me.”
“I’m good,” Kyrie would mumble, eyes bloodshot, energy low.
“Let’s go lift.”
“Nah. I’m chillin’.”
Sometimes he wouldn’t answer the door at all.
One night, Jordan knocked again, waited, then slid a note under the door.
“If you ever feel like nobody’s got you, just know I do. Always.”
No response. Not that night. Not the next.
But two days later, Kyrie showed up to practice fifteen minutes early.
He didn’t say a word. He just nodded at Jordan. And started putting up jumpers.
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Chapter 14: The ACC Tournament
They came into the ACC Tournament as a six seed. The lowest Duke had been seeded in a decade. Analysts said they were toast. The locker room still smelled like smoke from everything that had come before.
But something happened when the lights went on in Charlotte.
They played loose. Free. Aggressive.
Jordan dived for loose balls like every possession was his last. Kyrie played with a calm he hadn’t shown in months — not fiery, but focused. He started hitting pull-up threes like muscle memory. There was less talk. More work.
They beat Virginia Tech in Round One. Then Miami. Then upset second-seeded UNC in the semifinals.
The final was a brawl against Louisville — blood, sweat, flagrant fouls. It came down to the final minute. Jordan got a steal, pushed the break, and found Kyrie in the corner. Catch. Release. Splash.
They won the ACC Championship by five.
Confetti fell. Players yelled. Coach Reynolds hugged every single guy on the floor.
But Kyrie didn’t smile. Not once.
When Jordan pulled him in for the trophy photo, Kyrie stood still, face blank, hands at his sides.
Later that night, Jordan asked him what was wrong.
“I don’t know how to feel anymore,” Kyrie admitted. “It’s like… I used to want this so bad. Now I just feel empty.”
Jordan said nothing. There was no lecture that would fix that.
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Chapter 15: Selection Sunday
The whole team sat in the players’ lounge, eyes glued to the screen as the March Madness brackets were announced.
“Duke, the No. 4 seed in the South Region.”
They erupted. Clapping, cheers, high fives. Coach Reynolds gave a short speech about seizing the moment. But behind the noise, Kyrie sat still again, eyes locked on nothing.
Jordan sat next to him, bumping his shoulder lightly.
“Four seed. Not bad for a dumpster fire, huh?”
Kyrie gave a half smirk. “I just want to get through it.”
Jordan watched him carefully.
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Chapter 16: The Madness Begins
First Round: Duke vs. Iona.
The game was tighter than it should’ve been. Iona pressed full court and hit tough threes early. Jordan took control defensively, calling out rotations, keeping the guards locked in.
Kyrie had a rough first half — two turnovers, one airball, and Coach Reynolds benched him for the final four minutes before halftime.
Duke went into the locker room up three.
Coach didn’t yell. He just turned to Kyrie.
“You got ten more minutes to decide what kind of man you are.”
Kyrie nodded slowly.
The second half? Kyrie turned it on. Twenty-one points in fifteen minutes. Stepbacks. Layups through contact. One vicious poster dunk that sent the crowd into chaos.
Duke advanced, 74 to 63.
Kyrie walked off the court without celebration. He looked like he’d just survived a war.
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Second Round: Duke vs. Michigan State
A heavyweight matchup. Grit vs. finesse.
Jordan was everywhere — switching screens, diving for rebounds, clapping in teammates’ faces. He finished with 12 points, 8 boards, 3 steals, and 2 blocks.
Kyrie? Quiet brilliance. Efficient. Controlled. Twenty-two points on fourteen shots.
They won 68 to 64. Their defense saved them late. They were headed to the Sweet Sixteen.
Back in the locker room, the vibe was light. Guys were singing, joking, spraying water bottles like champagne.
Kyrie sat in the back, towel over his head.
Jordan walked over and handed him a Gatorade.
“You played like a grown man.”
Kyrie nodded. “Thanks.”
He paused.
“You ever feel like you’re watching yourself from outside your body?”
Jordan blinked. “What?”
Kyrie took a breath. “Like… you’re here, but you’re not. Like your smile’s on your face but not in your chest.”
Jordan leaned against the locker.
“Every time I remember what happened to my cousin last year. Every time I think about how nobody even recruited me. So yeah. I feel that.”
Kyrie didn’t respond. He just nodded. Slowly.
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Sweet Sixteen: Duke vs. Baylor
Elite guards. Pressure defense. A dogfight.
Jordan had the game of his life — seventeen points, nine rebounds, five assists. He got hit in the lip early, bled, wiped it off, and kept playing.
Kyrie was clamped for the first thirty minutes. Baylor sent double teams. He got frustrated. Threw a pass into the stands. Coach almost pulled him.
But with four minutes left, down four, Kyrie asked for the ball. He waved off the screen and pulled from 28 feet.
Bang.
Next possession — same thing. Pull-up three.
Duke by two.
They held the lead. Won by five.
The team dogpiled Jordan after the buzzer.
Kyrie walked slowly toward the huddle. He smiled this time — faint, small, but real.
They were going to the Elite Eight.
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Elite Eight: Duke vs. Texas
It was a war.
Athletes everywhere. Every rebound a scrum. Every cut met with a forearm. Jordan was locked in, taking charges, sprinting baseline to baseline.
Kyrie was sharp early — ten first half points. But in the second half, he started fading. He missed a few open looks. Didn’t rotate fast enough on defense. Coach Reynolds called timeout and got in his face.
“Do you want to be a legend or a headline?”
Kyrie didn’t answer. Just nodded.
He came out of the timeout and didn’t shoot once. He set screens. He passed. He clapped. He played defense like a role player.
And Jordan? Jordan took over.
Midrange jumpers. Fastbreak layups. Two huge threes in the final five minutes.
Final score: Duke 79, Texas 73.
They were going to the Final Four.
The celebration was chaos. Fans in the stands screaming. Alumni texting congratulations. Team managers sobbing.
Kyrie stood at half court, arms crossed, looking into the stands.
Jordan walked over.
“We did it.”
Kyrie nodded. “Yeah.”
But his eyes were empty.
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TO BE CONTINUED…