ITHACA, N.Y. -- Corbin Zentner loves movies — Christopher Nolan-directed epics where the ending makes sense only after you've seen everything that came before.

In many ways, his own story follows that same pattern.

It doesn't begin with a bevy of scholarship offers or a lofty recruiting ranking. It starts 30 miles southeast of Salt Lake City, in a close-knit family where competition, faith and ambition laid a foundation that ensured that Corbin would be able to write his own script.

Zentner grew up in Alpine, Utah, the oldest of four siblings, in a household where effort mattered and plans were made with intention. His dad Troy, an entrepreneur who once played junior college basketball, was his first coach and his loudest believer. When Corbin was barely into double digits, his father asked a simple question: Do you want to play college basketball? When he answered back 'yes,' Troy Zentner taught him how to see a vision and work backward from it.

"Once I said I wanted to play college basketball, my dad was like, 'Okay — then let's do this the right way,'" Zentner said. "That was kind of how our family operated."

His mom Holly, a former state champion soccer player, brought a different kind of influence. She taught him how to compete, how to carry himself with humility, and how to be himself in ways far from the court.

"She's fiery," Zentner said. "She taught me how to compete, but also how to be myself."

She also fostered his deep love of movies — Ferris Bueller's Day Off on the first day of summer, every year — a tradition that persists. Those details matter, because they reflect who Zentner has always been: thoughtful, observant, grounded.

Zentner's faith as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, rooted in childhood but tested through experience, became his own. Prayer became part of how decisions were made. When the chance came to leave comfort behind and attend Wasatch Academy, the move didn't make sense emotionally. It felt disruptive. But it felt right. He followed it anyway. 

"I didn't want to leave," he said. "But I felt like it was something I needed to do, even if I didn't fully understand why."

In hindsight, it opened everything. That decision led him to Mali, which in turn solidified his decision to go on a service mission.

On humanitarian trips to the West African nation, Zentner helped build basketball courts, desks and classrooms. He worked in villages that lacked basic resources, played pickup games that drew entire communities, and formed relationships that lasted far beyond the trips themselves. One of those relationships brought "Fouss" into his family - Fousseyni Traore, a teenager from Mali who became, in every way that matters, his brother. Fouss recently graduated from BYU after a decorated basketball career and now plays professionally in France.

"We didn't speak the same language at first, but we figured it out," Zentner said. "We'd stay up watching movies all night - The Walking Dead, Mission Impossible, the Bourne movies - just eating gummy bears and dried mango."

Watching his parents open their home reshaped Corbin's understanding of commitment—of choosing people fully, even when it complicates the plan. Family, he understood, is defined by choice as much as blood.

Those experiences planted the seeds for another defining choice: serving his LDS mission. Zentner spent time in Texas and Portugal, where faith stopped being inherited and became personal.

"There's nothing that tests your faith like being put in situations where you don't have answers," he said. "You just have to walk forward and trust that growth is coming."

Basketball, for a time, faded into the background. Growth didn't.

By the time he returned, basketball had changed.

So had he.

Cornell entered his life not as a certainty, but as a possibility. He applied while on his mission, typing essays on a lagging phone during rare breaks, unsure whether basketball would follow him there. When acceptance came, another fork in the road presented itself: chase hoops elsewhere, or bet on education and possibility?

He chose the latter with trust that the rest would work itself out.

Arriving as a walk-on meant embracing uncertainty. Playing time wasn't promised. Development wasn't linear. Yet Zentner found joy in traveling with the team, learning systems, building relationships. When opportunities came, he was ready. When they didn't, he remained steady. 

"I was just grateful to be around it," he said. "Every day felt like a bonus."

But don't confuse Zentner's story for the script of 'Rudy,' an underdog who is simply honored because of his hard work and dedication. Zentner has emerged as one of the top sharpshooters on a team that leads all of Division I in 3-pointers made per game.

As one of the team's top backcourt reserves during the 2025-26 season, he has a pair of double-figure scoring games and makes nearly 46 percent of his 3-point attempts. He assists on six baskets for every one turnover he commits, an elite mark in collegiate athletics.

His steadiness, basketball IQ and hard-nosed pestering defense have him playing key minutes in his senior year before suffering an injury that kept him out of the team's first four Ivy League contests. Zentner's return is anticipated to be a big lift as Cornell attempts to qualify for Ivy Madness for a fifth consecutive season, one where the conference's automatic NCAA bid is decided on the floor of Newman Arena.

By the time Zentner arrived at Cornell, the pattern was familiar. Big decisions weren't impulsive. They were prayerful. They were shared. And they rarely followed the traditional script.

Then he met Ashlyn.

Zentner met his wife through family connections back home. Their fathers played a little cupid - Troy Zentner sent Ashlyn a video of Corbin playing basketball. They laughed through that cringe in the early days of dating, but their relationship and connection grew across distance, schedules and uncertainty — another leap of faith layered onto an already uncommon college experience. When Ashlyn moved to Ithaca, they became something rare at Cornell: a married student-athlete household.

"It's different," Zentner said. "There aren't a lot of people doing this here."

Different — but grounding.

In a college environment built on impermanence, marriage provided Zentner even more stability.

While Corbin balanced basketball, academics and leadership within the program, Ashlyn worked, built her own business, and helped create stability in a season of constant motion. Their apartment became a gathering place — team dinners, movie nights, a quiet sense of normalcy that can be hard to find in college athletics.

"She makes all of it possible," Zentner said. "I've tried working, doing school and basketball — it's brutal. She holds everything together."

Marriage didn't change how Zentner approached basketball. It clarified it.

Now a senior with meaningful minutes under his belt, Zentner has become something increasingly rare in college athletics: a player whose value extends well beyond the box score. Teammates see steadiness. Coaches trust him. Younger players lean on him. At home, life looks a little different than most college apartments — but it fits.

When Zentner looks back on his Cornell experience one day, it won't be about counting stats or starting roles. He knows when this movie ends, it will do so not with a single defining moment, but with a collection of thoughtful, hard-earned choices and faith - in himself, his teammates, his family, his God.

"It's about trusting the journey," he said. "Doing hard things the right way and believing they'll take you where you're supposed to go."

Sometimes, the most meaningful path is defined by who you walk it with, and Zentner has found his people at every turn.