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It’s fact.

Graham doesn’t look away from the reporters.

He doesn’t shift under the weight of the questions.

And as I stand off to the side, watching him handle this with his usual steady, uncompromising presence, one thing becomes crystal clear.

He isn’t running from this.

From me.

From us.

He’s standing right in the middle of the storm⁠—

And daring it to come for him.

Cameras flash. Reporters keep shouting.

They want more.

More about me.

More about Graham.

More about something that has nothing to do with why we’re here.

But Graham?

He doesn’t give them the satisfaction.

A reporter—one of the smarter ones—leans forward, cutting through the noise.

“Graham, now that this game is behind you, what’s next for the Tigers?”

The room quiets slightly, shifting back to what actually matters.

Graham leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression unreadable but controlled.

“We go back to work,” he says, voice steady. “We take what we learned from this game, and we fix it.”

The reporter nods. “Houston exposed some weaknesses in your defense. How do you plan to address that?”

A flicker of something sharp crosses Graham’s face.

“We weren’t aggressive enough at the breakdown,” he says. “We gave them too much space, too much time to dictate the pace of the game. That won’t happen again.”

Another reporter jumps in. “You mentioned earlier that you’re not here to compete—you’re here to win. Given tonight’s result, do you still believe that’s possible?”

Graham’s jaw flexes, but when he answers, his voice is even stronger.

“Yes.”

The room murmurs, shifting at the weight of his conviction.

“I’ve been here for weeks, not years,” Graham continues. “This team has been building something under Coach Brandt long before I stepped in. And what I see—what I believe—is that this group is capable of more than people are giving them credit for.”

His gaze scans the room, daring anyone to challenge him.