Four of the Roarers’ starters, all but Ryan, wore grim faces as the memory of last game’s 41-point drubbing in three quarters came rushing back, wrapping around them like a cold shadow.
Ryan caught their vibe, his jaw tightening. "Yo, snap out of it!" he barked, voice cutting through the arena’s roar. "Game’s just started!" His words crackled like a streetball challenge, pulling his squad’s eyes to him, a spark reigniting.
Ryan took the ball across halfcourt, the Iron City crowd’s chants pulsing like a heartbeat. Jake Callaway, the Lumina’s small forward, glued himself to Ryan, his defense tight, arms wide like a cage.
At the right wing, 45 degrees from the arc, Ryan planted his right foot, pivoting, his left probing with quick jabs—textbook step-back footwork. His eyes locked on Callaway’s chest, reading every twitch. Callaway’s weight shifted, just a fraction, and Ryan pounced, dropping his center of gravity like a coiled panther.
Lightning break. One step, and he blew past Callaway, the crowd erupting as his speed carved through the defense. Callaway’s gut sank—How’s this kid’s first step so damn fast? He scrambled to recover, chasing Ryan’s shadow.
Ryan didn’t hesitate, pulling up for a midrange jumper, his form smooth, the ball arcing under the arena’s blazing lights. Swish.
The net snapped clean.
Ryan slapped hands with his teammates, their high-fives sharp, a jolt of fire spreading through the lineup. That bucket wasn’t just points—it was a pulse, a signal to Iron City that the Roarers were back in the fight.
Lamar brought it up again, eyes scanning, body swaying. This time, Ryan stayed locked in—no cheap fakes, no easy lanes. Lamar threw a couple of shimmies, but Ryan didn’t bite.
So Lamar called Derrick up for a high pick-and-roll. The instant Derrick’s shoulder clipped Ryan, Lamar darted right, pulling the help defender with him. With a flick of his wrist, he lobbed the ball to Derrick rolling down the lane.
Derrick caught it in stride, sold a soft floater, Malik towering over him with both arms up.
Then—boom—Derrick slammed the ball to the floor, and charged the hoop, leaping with a snarl, aiming for a thunderous dunk.
But a massive hand swallowed the ball mid-air.
Malik had spun and recovered in time, swatting it clean to the hardwood.
The crowd erupted, Iron City’s pulse shaking the stands. The ball skidded across the hardwood, and Gibson scooped it, firing it to Darius. Darius blazed downcourt, a blur against the Lumina’s scrambling defense, laying it up with ease.
Seeing Darius’s bucket, Malik pumped his fist and roared, his voice raw, a lion reclaiming his ground.
Last game, Derrick had torched him, a rookie humiliating a former Defensive Player of the Year. That 41-point loss still burned, a scar on his pride. Malik wasn’t at his peak anymore, but he’d be damned if a kid like Derrick would clown him again.
Tonight, he played with a fire to prove it, every block a statement.
Lumina didn’t wait long to answer. Lamar called Derrick up for another high pick-and-roll. The Roarers braced for the same lob they’d seen before, Derrick rumbling down the lane—only this time Lamar stepped back behind the arc. Release.
That was Lamar’s bread and butter. He led the league in three-point volume, jacking 9.7 attempts per 100 possessions at a 37.8% clip. And when it came to step-back threes, no one was even close—40.6% from that spot, a league-best by a mile. Guarding him one-on-one was asking for trouble; the only real answer was to send help.
Not that Lamar was flawless. On defense, he was a soft spot. Like most high-volume scorers, he didn’t exactly hang his hat on stopping people. Few could dominate both ends.
Roarers’ ball. Ryan crossed halfcourt, his eyes scanning like a streetball general. Lamar was on Darius, so Ryan signaled for a pick-and-roll, pulling Darius to screen Callaway.
Lamar switched onto Ryan, his feet sluggish, a known weakness in his lateral speed. Ryan jabbed left, then exploded right, dusting Lamar in a blink. Derrick loomed in the paint, his frame a fortress, but Ryan faked a layup, drawing Derrick skyward like a puppet. At the last second, he whipped a bounce pass to Malik, who rose and slammed it home with a thunderous dunk. The arena shook, Iron City roaring approval.
Back the other way, Lamar went right back to the same play—Derrick screening high. This time the Roarers sat on the step-back, only for Lamar to slip the ball to Derrick on the roll. Derrick sidestepped Malik and crushed it with both hands. When he landed, he barked in Malik’s face, eyes burning with challenge.
It was turning into a shootout. Both sides were hot, neither able to stop the other. Seven minutes in, the Roarers trailed 25–27.
Lumina’s coach took advantage of a stoppage to rest Lamar. For all his offensive brilliance, Lamar carried some extra weight and didn’t have the best stamina.
Coach Crawford, smelling blood, kept his starters in, his game plan sharp: exploit Lamar’s absence.
And it worked. Without their offensive anchor, Lumina’s attack sputtered. In just ninety seconds, the Roarers ripped off an 8–4 run to take a 33–31 lead.
Lumina called their first timeout. Crawford subbed out Malik and Gibson for Stanley and Sloan, fresh legs to keep the pressure on. Ryan and Darius, the Roarers’ backcourt dynamos, stayed on, tearing into Lumina’s defense like wolves. First quarter done: Roarers 40, Lumina 35. Iron City’s faithful roared, sensing a statement win brewing.
The second quarter ignited, Iron Vault Arena a cauldron of noise, its steel rafters trembling under the chants of Iron City’s faithful, neon haze seeping through the stands. The Roarers hit the court with Ryan, Lin, Stanley, Sloan, and Kamara—a scrappy mix of starters and bench, ready to hold their 40-35 first-quarter edge. The Emerald Bay Lumina countered, bringing back Lamar Dixon, his presence a storm cloud, eyes glinting with All-Star menace.
Lamar seized control, a one-man wrecking crew under the arena’s blazing lights. In two blistering minutes, he drained three step-back threes and a silky midrange jumper, each shot a dagger, his swagger taunting the Roarers’ defense. The Lumina surged, flipping the score to 44-45.
Crawford snapped for a timeout, face tightening. He loaded the huddle with defensive instructions, circling Lamar’s number on the clipboard like a crime scene photo. "Stanley — stick to him. Everywhere. Every damn screen."
But once a shooter’s blood runs hot, it’s a different game. It didn’t matter if Stanley was in his jersey, if Ryan switched onto him, if a seven-footer’s wingspan was blotting out the rafters. Lamar was in that zone — the one where the rim looks like the mouth of a canyon.
Out of the timeout, he buried another three, then knifed to the rim for a layup, barely breaking stride. Crawford just shook his head. Against a star gone supernova, there’s no "scheme." You’re praying for a miss.
Lamar was a storm now — no one could bottle him.
Stanley couldn’t stop him. Ryan couldn’t either. Kamara? No chance. Four minutes in, the Roarers trailed 44-52, the gap yawning toward double digits, Iron City’s roar dimming with each bucket.
Worse, Ryan was due for a rest, his legs burning from carrying the offense. Subbing him out now, though, would be suicide—Lumina would bury them. During a dead ball, Crawford swapped Lin for Darius, his eyes sharp, strategizing under pressure.
"Tell Stanley and Ryan: trap Lamar on the catch. I don’t care if we leave guys open — they’re not him."
He was right. Lumina’s lineup outside of Lamar was short on real shooters. Doubling would leave someone unmarked, sure, but no one else could bend a defense like Dixon. Cut off the head, and the snake loses its bite.
So when Lamar brought it up again, Ryan abandoned Callaway on the wing and pounced with Stanley, clamping Lamar near the timeline. Lamar saw it coming and slung the ball early to Callaway. Wide-open three.
Sloan vacuumed the rebound and hit Ryan in stride for the break. Ryan went straight to the rack, finishing through traffic for two.
Next trip, same trap. Lamar dumped it to Derrick Langley inside, but Sloan bodied him just enough — shot rolled off. Then another trap. This time the pass swung back to Callaway. Midrange jumper, short.
The Roarers were eating on the other end. Ryan broke down his man, collapsed the defense, and kicked it to Kamara in the corner.
Just like that, the 8-point hole was almost gone. 52–51, Lumina hanging by one. The visiting coach didn’t wait to see if it would last — he slapped for a timeout, his voice cutting through the crowd.
On the Roarers’ bench, Crawford gathered the huddle. "Stay with it. I don’t care if somebody else starts hitting shots — you do not let Lamar breathe. The moment we give him daylight, he kills us, and he drags the rest of them with him. Keep his touches ugly, keep him running. No exceptions."
Every head in the huddle nodded. Ryan’s jaw was set, sweat streaking his chin. Stanley pounded his chest once. They’d found the only crack in Lumina’s armor — and for the first time all night, it felt like they might be the ones dictating the terms.