LINDON — The room filled long before he walked in.
Boosters draped in crisp, royal blue BYU polos. Parents lifting children onto their shoulders. Friends, neighbors, and fans clutching rolled-up posters like prized possessions.
They had come on Sept. 18 for a launch party — Red Bull was celebrating AJ Dybantsa’s debut on the cover of The Red Bulletin.
Executives worked the room, shaking hands and making sure the event felt as welcoming as possible. A DJ perched on top of a tank-like Red Bull vehicle blasted music until the floor thumped beneath people’s shoes.
“BYU basketball is gonna have a big year,” he shouted, rattling off names like North Carolina, Villanova, UConn, as if to etch them into the calendar.
Then, with a grin, he gave a line meant to stick: "A young legend in the making." The words carried as much weight as they did promise.
And then he was there. AJ Dybantsa. Eighteen years old, though you wouldn’t know it from how he moved. A camera crew shadowed his steps.
The room buzzed with nervous energy, He walked through the crowd toward a hoop in the corner, a quick smile flashing before his face went blank again.
He floated a few casual jumpers, each one drawing quiet delight, a subtle reminder of why everyone had shown up.
Soon, the line formed. Jerseys, magazines, and anything fans could shove forward. Dybantsa signed them all. Patient, carrying himself the way cover athletes are supposed to, even if this was his first time in that role.
On The Red Bulletin’s cover, his eyes stare out with a promise: “AJ Dybantsa, soaring toward NBA stardom, is ready to blast off at BYU.”
Inside, he makes his intentions clear: “Winning a championship is the only goal at BYU.”
Those words felt heavier than they looked on the page.
The early polls — as low as No. 11, as high as the top five — confirm what everyone in the room already sensed. This program has never walked into a season with this much expectation.
Something is changing in Provo, and everyone can feel it.
Peter Flax, The Red Bulletin’s editor-in-chief, lingered near the crowd.
“His demeanor reminds me of Anthony Davis,” he said. “Soft spoken at first, but once you get to know him, he’s very open. A lot of athletes hold back, but AJ doesn’t. He says exactly what he means.”
And what he means is basketball.
“He doesn’t really have hobbies,” Flax said. “AJ the player and AJ the person — they’re the same. Basketball is his life.”
BYU coach Kevin Young slipped into the crowd, offering his support with little more than a nod and his presence.
Later, when Dybantsa's mother and close friend arrived, the teenager in him cracked through. His smile widened. His body language softened. For a moment, it wasn’t about the cameras or contracts — it was about family.
Then the moment passed. He was swept back into the orbit of obligations, executives, and cameras. The crowd didn’t mind. They left with signatures, with photos, and with stories to tell.
But what lingers isn’t the autographs or pictures. It’s the sense of standing at the edge of something.
The idea that this was more than an event, more than a magazine cover. For a program that has dreamed for decades, it felt like the start of something real — and AJ Dybantsa is the center of it all.