Success always asks for payment.
Marcus felt it everywhere now. In the way opponents planned entire games around stopping him. In the way commentators no longer compared him to rising players but to names spoken with reverence. Legends. Men whose jerseys hung from rafters and whose careers had shaped eras.
At first the comparisons felt unreal.
"He reads the game like the greats."
"Different era but same calm."
"He does not rush history. He bends it."
Marcus did not respond to any of it. He kept doing what had carried him this far. Arrive early. Leave late. Work when no one was watching.
Records began falling quietly.
Not flashy ones. Not headlines screaming milestones. But meaningful ones. Efficiency streaks. Defensive ratings. Game control numbers that analysts loved and veterans respected.
Old players started showing up to matches.
Some watched in silence. Others nodded slowly.
One former legend stopped him in the tunnel after a hard-fought win.
"You don't play like someone chasing greatness," the man said. "You play like someone protecting it."
Marcus thanked him and moved on.
The season tightened. Pressure rose. But instead of shrinking Marcus expanded. He led without shouting. He demanded without humiliating. He lifted others without needing credit.
And slowly the conversation changed.
He was no longer the comeback story.
He was no longer the surprise.
He was the measure.
Away from the court something else shifted too.
Lena's parents began to watch differently.
At first, they came quietly. Sitting farther back. Arms folded. Faces guarded. They watched Marcus not just score but sacrifice. They saw him take hits and get back up. Pass when the crowd wanted a shot. Speak respectfully in interviews. Never boast. Never bite.
One evening after a game Lena's father waited near the exit.
Marcus saw him and paused.
"You played well," the man said stiffly.
"Thank you," Marcus replied.
They stood in silence for a moment.
"I used to think security came from money," Lena's father continued. "From titles and guarantees. But I see how men follow you. How you carry yourself. That is not luck."
Marcus nodded. "I know where I came from. I won't forget it."
That mattered.
Little by little the resistance softened. Conversations replaced lectures. Questions replaced warnings. Lena's mother began asking about training and travel. About fatigue. About discipline.
They saw something money could not buy.
Stability.
One night Lena squeezed Marcus's hand and whispered, "They believe in you now."
Marcus smiled quietly. "I just stayed consistent."
By season's end the league released its rankings.
Marcus stood above names that once felt untouchable.
Not because he chased them.
Because he outlasted them.
Fans argued. Analysts debated. Former greats weighed in.
But Marcus stayed grounded.
He knew legends were not passed in one season.
They were built in how a man carried pressure without losing himself.
As the final games approached and the world leaned closer Marcus understood something clearly.
This rise was no longer fragile.
It was rooted.
One chapter remained.
Not about proving worth.
But about deciding what legacy really meant.