Chapter 1: Chapter 01: The fire
The city of Chicago—raw, relentless, and alive with energy—had always been a battleground for dreamers. Its skyline stretched like a monument to ambition, while the rhythm of dribbling basketballs reverberated through alleys, playgrounds, and neighborhood courts. It was a city where legends weren't born; they were forged. For Lucas Turner, Chicago was more than his hometown—it was where his life began, where his dreams soared, and where, all too cruelly, they collapsed.
Once, Lucas had been Chicago's rising star, the kid whose name floated through high school gyms like a promise. Coaches admired his court vision, his smooth footwork, the way he seemed to see plays before they unfolded. Lucas didn't just play basketball—he lived it. It was his heartbeat, his language, his escape. The NBA felt like more than a dream; it felt like destiny.
Then came that fateful night. Under the unforgiving lights of a championship game, Lucas drove to the hoop, fearless as always. He planted hard, pivoting on instinct—until his knee betrayed him. The pop was like a gunshot, silencing the crowd. Pain exploded through his body as he hit the hardwood, the sound of his own scream mingling with the collective gasp of spectators. A torn ACL. Surgery. Rehab. Endless months of uncertainty.
For Lucas, the injury did more than shatter his body; it fractured his identity. Basketball had been his everything, and without it, he felt like nothing. While his peers chased college scholarships, he struggled just to walk. The gym that had once felt like home became a prison of reminders. His highlight reels turned into taunts, whispers of what he could have been.
By the time he was 22, Lucas's world had shrunk. College offers had come and gone, gathering dust alongside his old trophies. The courts where he'd once shined were now places he avoided like a bad memory. Chicago, which had once seemed full of possibilities, had turned cold and unforgiving. Lucas drifted from one job to another, his days quiet, his nights spent flipping through channels, unintentionally pausing on NBA games. Watching players he once idolized hurt in ways he couldn't explain. His knee still ached sometimes, but the real wound—unseen and unspoken—was deeper.
Then came a night that changed everything.
The city was cloaked in autumn's chill as Lucas trudged home from another late shift, hands buried in his pockets. The streets were empty, save for the occasional rumble of traffic. Ahead, a loose ball shot across the pavement, followed by a small boy sprinting into the road, laughter on his lips and no awareness of the truck barreling toward him.
Lucas moved before he could think. His feet pounded against the pavement, his knee screaming in protest, but he pushed through. He reached the boy, shoving him to safety as the headlights swallowed him whole.
The impact was thunderous. Lucas felt weightless for a moment before the world slammed into him—painful, dizzying, unstoppable. Voices. Sirens. Darkness.
When he woke, it was to the sterile hum of a hospital room, machines beeping softly in rhythm with his breathing. His body throbbed, and the ache in his knee was all too familiar, but what hurt most was the quiet—until he heard a voice.
"You saved him, Lucas," his mother whispered, tears clinging to her lashes. "You saved that little boy. You're a hero."
Hero. The word felt foreign, empty even. Lucas stared at the ceiling, wondering if he had sacrificed whatever pieces of himself still remained. Was this who he was now? A shadow of his former self, haunted by a game he could no longer play?
That night, as fatigue pulled him into a restless sleep, something strange happened. Lucas found himself in a space untouched by time. Everything around him shimmered—soft, weightless light stretching endlessly in every direction. A voice, rich and resonant, echoed through the void.
"Lucas Turner."
The name rang in his ears, reverberating with a weight he couldn't place.
"Who's there?" Lucas's voice wavered, though his heart quickened. The voice didn't answer but pressed on.
"You have lived with loss, with regret. Yet in your moment of greatest pain, you chose selflessness. That choice has not gone unnoticed. You are being given an opportunity—one that few receive."
"An opportunity?" Lucas whispered. "For what?"
"To reclaim what was lost," the voice said. "To return, to begin again—with the knowledge you now hold."
Lucas's breath caught. "Return? You mean—"
"A second chance, Lucas. To rewrite your story."
Hope flickered in his chest—tiny, fragile, but real. The idea seemed impossible, yet the thought of reliving those lost years, of holding onto the dreams that had slipped through his fingers, burned brighter than anything he'd felt in years.
"Why me?" Lucas murmured.
"Because you have proven what lies within you," the voice replied. "The choice is yours: remain as you are or go back—to a time when the fire still burned."
The voice paused, as though waiting. Lucas closed his eyes, memories washing over him. The roar of the crowd. The weight of the ball in his hands. The freedom of the game he'd loved so fiercely. For years, he'd avoided those feelings, buried them deep—but now, they swelled within him, refusing to be ignored.
"I want to go back," Lucas said, the words resolute.
The light grew warmer, brighter, until it consumed everything. Lucas felt weightless again, but this time, it was different. It wasn't painful. It felt like… hope.
When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in a hospital bed. The faint smell of worn leather and sweat lingered in the air. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting shadows on walls he recognized all too well. Posters of NBA legends adorned the room—players he'd idolized. Lucas sat up, his heart pounding as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His knees felt… strong.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror across the room and froze. Staring back at him wasn't the face of a man weighed down by regret. It was the face of a boy—barely 12—bright-eyed, full of potential, with his entire future stretched out before him.
Lucas stood, almost afraid the moment would shatter. But when his feet hit the floor, the old basketball by the door caught his eye, and something inside him shifted. He picked it up, the familiar texture beneath his fingertips sparking a jolt of energy through his body.
He was back.
The court was waiting, and this time, he wouldn't let it slip away. The fire he thought had been extinguished roared back to life, stronger than ever.
This was his second chance.
And Lucas Turner would not waste it.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Greeen
Greeen Guess who´s back, back again.