By the middle of the third quarter, the loudest people in Liberton High’s gym were wearing grey and blue.
That hadn’t been the case when Wallace first arrived.
Liberton’s smaller gym had been busy well before tip-off, with students occupying most of the available seating along one side of the court and enough parents scattered among them to create the sort of noise Fergus had begun associating with away games.
Every Wallace miss during warm-ups had earned a few exaggerated cheers from somewhere behind the basket, while the introduction of Liberton’s starters had been greeted enthusiastically enough that Fergus could barely hear Arthur joking beside him.
McKenzie hadn’t reacted to any of it.
The message before the game had been almost identical to Thursday’s.
Liberton were 1 – 2, Wallace were 2 – 1, and neither record would put the ball through the hoop for them.
If Wallace wanted to become the sort of team that qualified for the knockout tournament rather than merely talked about doing so, they needed to win games they were capable of winning.
Twenty minutes later, it was difficult to argue they hadn’t listened.
Liberton actually scored first.
Their point guard came around a screen, caught Arthur half a step behind and finished a difficult lay-up high off the glass.
The home crowd responded as though the basket had confirmed something, and when Jaime missed Wallace’s first attempt at the other end, Liberton immediately pushed again.
That was about as comfortable as they looked all evening.
William secured the defensive rebound on Liberton’s next possession and sent Arthur running.
Arthur didn’t force the break, instead drawing two defenders towards him before slipping the ball across to Finn in the corner.
Finn’s three dropped cleanly through the net, and Wallace never trailed again.
What followed wasn’t a spectacular run so much as the gradual dismantling of everything Liberton wanted to do.
Their guards could get downhill, exactly as McKenzie had warned, but they struggled once Wallace kept the first defender attached.
Arthur worked hard at the point of attack, William repeatedly stepped into driving lanes without overcommitting, and Merrick controlled enough of the defensive glass to prevent Liberton’s greatest strength from becoming a factor.
Even when they missed, Wallace rarely gave them the second and third opportunities they normally relied upon.
At the other end, Jaime quickly discovered that none of Liberton’s perimeter defenders could consistently stay in front of him.
He didn’t need much encouragement after that.
His first basket came from a hard drive along the right side, absorbing contact before finishing off the glass.
The next came from several feet farther out when his defender retreated too deeply, and Jaime stopped for a jumper.
Two possessions later he rejected William’s screen, crossed back towards the middle and drew enough attention that Merrick was left alone beneath the rim.
The frustrating part for Liberton was that stopping Jaime didn’t solve anything.
When they brought a second defender towards him, William began finding space.
He scored on a cut from the weak side, followed it with a short jumper and then bullied his way through a smaller defender after Arthur found him in transition.
Wallace weren’t doing anything particularly complicated.
The ball simply kept moving until someone had an advantage, and more often than not that advantage ended with either Jaime or William.
Fergus watched the opening stretch from the bench with Callum sitting a few seats away.
The difference from St Cuthbert’s was enormous.
There was no Edric forcing Wallace to double the post, no frantic exchange of baskets and no sense that every mistake might decide the game.
By the time McKenzie first looked towards his reserves, Wallace had already created a double-digit advantage.
“Robertson.” Fergus was standing before the coach said anything else.
He checked in for Finn and immediately found himself guarding Liberton’s number six, a thin guard roughly his own height who had spent the opening minutes trying to create penetration from the wing.
Fergus settled into his stance and reminded himself not to hunt for anything.
That lasted approximately two possessions.
Number six caught the ball near halfway and began dribbling with his right hand while waiting for a teammate to clear through.
His bounce was higher than Arthur’s and considerably less protected, and Fergus immediately recognised the moments when the ball travelled outside the safety of the guard’s body.
Cookie Thief made those moments easier to understand.
It didn’t make Fergus faster.
That distinction became painfully obvious when he reached for a bounce that wasn’t as exposed as he’d thought.
Number six pulled the ball backwards before Fergus could touch it, then accelerated around him.
Fergus instinctively tried to recover and caught the guard’s forearm.
The whistle came immediately.
“Foul, fifty-two.” Fergus grimaced.
McKenzie didn’t shout.
Somehow, the disappointed look was worse.
“Defend him, Robertson.
You don’t need to steal it.” Fergus nodded and raised one hand to acknowledge the foul.
It was an annoying mistake because there had been no reason for it.
Liberton hadn’t been threatening anything.
The guard had been several metres from the basket, Wallace’s defence was set, and Fergus had abandoned good position because he’d seen the possibility of a steal.
The next time number six received the ball, Fergus kept his hands active without reaching.
The guard dribbled left, crossed back towards his right and tried to accelerate, only to find Fergus still in front of him.
He retreated, tried again and eventually passed.
Nothing appeared in the box score.
It was considerably better defence.
Fergus’s first points came shortly afterwards.
Arthur pushed the ball after another Liberton miss, and Fergus ran the right side before cutting towards the lane.
Arthur found him just as a taller defender stepped across from the paint.
A normal lay-up would have travelled directly towards the defender’s reach, so Fergus gathered and released his floater before getting too deep.
The ball dropped softly over the contest.
Two points.
Wallace continued pulling away.
Jaime was already into double figures before the first half was particularly old, while William seemed to score whenever Liberton became too concerned with stopping him.
Finn hit another outside shot after returning, and Arthur mixed his own scoring with the simple passes that kept Wallace organised.
McKenzie began rotating more freely.
Callum entered for Merrick and immediately became involved in exactly the area they’d discussed on Thursday.
Liberton missed from the corner, and Callum established position before the shot reached the rim, keeping his opponent behind him and collecting the rebound securely.
A few possessions later he grabbed another in traffic and earned a sharp “Good, Fraser!” from McKenzie before sending the outlet to Arthur.
Fergus noticed Callum grinning as he ran back.
The first half became increasingly comfortable without becoming careless.
McKenzie wouldn’t allow that.
When Wallace’s lead grew beyond twenty, and Jaime attempted a difficult pass through two defenders rather than making the easy reversal, the coach immediately called his name.
When Finn failed to box out because he’d already started thinking about transition, McKenzie corrected him as well.
The scoreboard might have suggested the game was finished.
McKenzie behaved as though Wallace still had something to prove.
Fergus understood why.
Taking care of business wasn’t merely winning.
It was refusing to become sloppy because the opponent wasn’t strong enough to punish every mistake.
That lesson became particularly relevant when Fergus made his worst decision of the game.
He had the ball near the right wing with Callum moving towards him as though to set a screen.
Liberton’s defender shifted early, expecting Fergus to use it, and Fergus saw Arthur briefly open near the top of the key.
The pass was available.
Fergus didn’t make it.
Instead, he tried to thread the ball towards William cutting through the lane, believing he could squeeze it between two defenders before the gap disappeared.
His passing mechanics were fine.
The ball travelled quickly and accurately towards exactly the space Fergus had chosen.
Unfortunately, the decision was terrible.
A Liberton defender stepped directly into the lane and intercepted it.
Fergus stopped for half a second before sprinting back.
Liberton converted at the other end.
McKenzie waited until Wallace had the ball again before calling towards him.
“Simple pass, Robertson!” Fergus knew.
Bullet Passing couldn’t rescue a pass that never should have been attempted.
He had possessed an easy option in Arthur and ignored it because the more difficult pass had looked better for an instant.
When Wallace came down again, Fergus received the ball in almost the same area.
This time he moved it directly to Arthur and cut.
Nothing dramatic happened.
That was the point.
By halftime Wallace had turned the game into exactly what McKenzie wanted.
Liberton were still competing, and their crowd still responded whenever they managed a good sequence, but the difference between the teams was obvious.
Jaime and William had driven the offence, Arthur controlled the pace, Finn provided spacing, and Wallace’s defence had prevented Liberton from building any sustained momentum.
The second half widened the gap.
Liberton came out aggressively and scored on their opening possession, only for William to answer immediately.
Jaime followed with another drive, Arthur knocked down a jumper, and Finn buried a three after Wallace moved the ball from one side of the floor to the other.
The home crowd became quieter with each exchange.
McKenzie continued using his bench.
Fergus returned earlier than he expected and this time entered with Callum already on the floor.
The lineup was less experienced than Wallace’s starters, but the lead gave them room to play through mistakes rather than being removed after one bad possession.
Fergus’s second basket came from the baseline.
Arthur penetrated from the opposite side and forced Liberton’s defence to collapse towards the middle.
Fergus cut behind his defender, received the pass beneath the backboard and found the rim protected from the near side.
The angle looked awkward until the repetitions from Mikan drills took over.
Rather than forcing the ball through the defender, Fergus continued beneath the basket and finished a reverse lay-up on the opposite side.
The ball kissed the glass and dropped through.
He liked that basket more than the floater.
The reverse finish was something he’d begun experimenting with because his lack of size made protecting the ball around the rim increasingly important.
It wasn’t some new System skill, only an extension of the close finishing he’d practised hundreds of times.
The footwork still needed work, but the basic control with either hand gave him options he hadn’t possessed months earlier.
His third basket came in almost the same way later in the quarter.
This time Fergus caught the ball closer to the paint and saw the help defender arriving from his right.
He took one more step beneath the rim, used the basket itself to protect the ball and finished another reverse on the far side.
Six points.
Three makes from five attempts.
Fergus didn’t know the numbers during the game, but he knew he was playing well.
The best defensive possession came against the same guard he’d fouled earlier.
Number six brought the ball towards the right wing, dribbling low enough that Fergus resisted the first temptation to attack it.
He stayed square, moved with him and waited.
The guard changed direction once, then again, before trying to accelerate with his left hand.
On the second bounce the ball drifted slightly too far ahead.
This time Fergus didn’t lunge.
He stepped into the space, attacked the exposed dribble and knocked the ball cleanly away before the guard could bring his hand back over it.
The ball rolled towards halfway.
Fergus chased it down.
Steal.
He pushed immediately in transition, but instead of forcing his own shot when a defender recovered, he found Callum running through the middle.
Callum gathered the pass and finished off the glass.
Fergus pointed at him as they turned back towards defence.
Callum’s grin was enormous.
“Being tall!” he shouted.
Fergus laughed while retreating.
The assist was his second of the game.
His first had come from a simple pass to Finn after drawing a defender towards him, and the third arrived later when he drove from the wing, stopped short of Liberton’s help and dropped the ball towards William for an easy finish.
Nothing about the three assists made Fergus look like a point guard.
That was fine.
Arthur remained far better at organising the offence, manipulating defenders and recognising opportunities before they fully developed.
Fergus was beginning to understand that contributing as a passer didn’t require pretending he possessed Arthur’s vision.
Sometimes it simply meant drawing one defender and giving the ball to the open teammate.
His other defensive highlight hurt considerably more.
Liberton’s point guard beat Arthur near the top and attacked the lane with his head down.
Fergus was guarding the weak side when he recognised the path developing.
Charge Champion provided the same clarity he’d experienced against Jaime on Tuesday: where the drive was going, how much time he had to establish position and whether he could arrive before the attacker.
Fergus moved across.
He planted himself outside the restricted area and stopped moving.
The guard looked up too late.
Contact struck Fergus squarely in the chest and sent him onto his backside.
The whistle followed.
“Offensive foul!” Wallace’s bench erupted.
Arthur was laughing before Fergus had even stood up.
Fergus accepted William’s hand and climbed to his feet while trying not to rub his chest.
Taking charges was useful.
He was beginning to suspect he would never enjoy the actual charging part.
McKenzie gave him a nod as Wallace took possession, although the approval lasted only until the next defensive sequence, when Fergus nearly drifted too far towards the ball and received a sharp reminder to stay attached to his assignment.
The game didn’t stop requiring concentration merely because he’d made one good play.
By the fourth quarter, there was no meaningful doubt about the result.
Jaime and William had done most of their damage already.
Together they finished with forty points, repeatedly punishing whichever defensive choice Liberton made.
When defenders stayed home, Jaime attacked his matchup.
When help came, William found gaps around the lane.
Arthur had contributed steadily without needing to dominate the ball, while Finn’s shooting ensured Liberton couldn’t simply crowd the paint.
With the margin beyond twenty, McKenzie finally sat most of his starters for an extended stretch.
The reserves inherited the game.
Callum received more minutes than he had in any of Wallace’s first three matches.
He didn’t suddenly become an offensive star, but he rebounded, defended the paint and set screens hard enough to create room for teammates.
Other reserves who had spent most of the season watching from the sideline finally received proper stretches as well, and the quality inevitably became rougher as Wallace’s most experienced players remained on the bench.
McKenzie accepted mistakes.
He didn’t accept laziness.
A reserve failing to rotate correctly still heard about it.
A poor box-out still stopped play during the next dead ball.
When Fergus jogged back after one Wallace miss because the score had become comfortable, McKenzie shouted his surname loudly enough that Fergus immediately accelerated.
That was probably the moment Fergus understood Thursday’s message most clearly.
Wallace weren’t practising how to beat Liberton anymore.
They were practising how to behave when winning.
The final minutes passed without drama.
Liberton continued attacking despite the hopeless margin, earning applause from their supporters whenever they scored, while Wallace resisted the temptation to turn the game into an exhibition.
Fergus spent the final stretch on the bench after McKenzie gave the deepest reserves their opportunity, and for once he didn’t mind leaving the floor.
He had played well.
Not perfectly.
The distinction mattered.
He had scored six points on three of five shooting, including a floater and two reverse lay-ups.
He had three assists, one clean steal from an active dribbler and a charge.
Defensively, he’d generally stayed in front of his assignments and continued showing improvement around screens.
He had also committed an unnecessary foul because he’d chased a steal that wasn’t there and thrown away a possession by attempting a pass that didn’t need to be attempted.
Both mistakes bothered him precisely because they had been avoidable.
The buzzer eventually sounded with Wallace comfortably ahead.
89 – 57 For a moment Fergus simply looked at the scoreboard.
Thirty-two points.
Angus would definitely consider that a smashing.
The Wallace players exchanged handshakes with Liberton before returning towards their bench.
There was satisfaction in the group, but none of the wild celebration that had followed the St Cuthbert’s game.
Jaime looked pleased with himself, which wasn’t unusual after he’d scored well, while William appeared considerably less interested in discussing his own contribution.
Arthur was already arguing with Finn about something that had happened several possessions earlier.
Callum dropped onto the seat beside Fergus.
“Three and one.” Fergus smiled.
“Three and one.” “No correction?” “We’re definitely three and one.” Callum nodded approvingly.
“You’re learning.” McKenzie allowed them another few seconds before bringing everyone together.
His expression gave little away.
“That’s what taking care of business looks like.” A few players smiled.
“Don’t mistake that for me saying everything was good.
We had lazy possessions.
We gave away fouls we didn’t need to give away.
We tried passes that weren’t there.” Fergus knew one of those was directed at him.
“We’ll look at it Tuesday.
But you came into somebody else’s gym against a team you should beat, and you beat them.
No drama.
No excuses.
That’s one more win.” He looked around the group.
“Three and one.” Hearing McKenzie say it made the record feel more substantial.
Wallace had already won half as many games as the previous team had managed before finishing 7 – 8, although Fergus knew comparing four games with an entire season was pointless.
Eleven league matches remained.
St Francis and Boroughmuir were still ahead of them, and several teams around Wallace would have opportunities to keep pace.
But Wallace had done what they could control.
They had won.
On the bus home, Fergus sat near Callum while the rest of the team gradually became louder around them.
Jaime and Arthur were debating who had made the better pass during one particular sequence; Finn was insisting that one of his misses should have counted as an assist because Merrick had scored after the rebound, and William appeared to have decided the safest response was to ignore all of them.
Fergus leaned against the window and thought about his own game.
Six points wasn’t eleven.
There had been no game-winner and no milestone appearing before his eyes.
He didn’t care.
The two reverse lay-ups mattered because they were finishes he wouldn’t have trusted months earlier.
The three assists mattered because none had required him to force himself into being a point guard.
The steal mattered because he’d waited for a genuinely exposed dribble instead of reaching simply because Cookie Thief existed.
The charge mattered because Tuesday’s surprising moment against Jaime had already translated into recognising another opportunity in a game.
The mistakes mattered as well.
Especially the mistakes.
He had reached once when he shouldn’t have and been punished with a foul.
He had ignored an easy pass and produced a turnover.
Neither failure meant the skills weren’t working.
If anything, they reminded Fergus of what the System had been teaching him since the beginning.
Understanding an action didn’t remove the need to choose correctly.
Outside the window, Edinburgh moved past in the evening light while Wallace carried another victory home.
Three wins.
One loss.
Eleven games remaining.
For the first time since the season began, qualifying for the knockout tournament no longer felt like something McKenzie had written on a board because every team needed a goal.
Wallace were actually building towards it.