They’d never run that set in practice. Hell, Ryan barely knew the basic plays—he was still tripping over simple reads.
"Offense!" Crawford barked, his marker flying across the whiteboard like it was on fire.
Seventy-five seconds of timeout. No time for nuance.
"Ryan, Darius—you’re trading the rock. Constant motion. Hand-off after hand-off.
Don’t stand. Keep moving. Make those bastards chase. Run ’em ragged. If you get a lane, don’t hesitate—attack it like you want blood. Drive hard. Collapse their defense. Make ’em shrink... and then kick it out."
The pen tapped so hard it clicked against the board with every stroke.
"Shooters—space out. Let it fly. Rain hell."
Crawford spun toward the defensive setup.
"Switch everything on D! I don’t care who ends up where—run! All of you! Trap the ball the second they pick it up. Smother it. Force mistakes. Axton doesn’t get the ball—deny every damn pass!"
Crawford slammed the marker into the board one last time.
"One rule," he growled. "We play fast."
Lin inbound to Ryan—two seconds flat past half-court.
Darius ghosted along the baseline from the opposite wing, crossing behind Lin in a low X-cut, dragging a defender into confusion. Ryan drifted toward him—quick DHO(Dribble Hand-Off). Simple, clean.
Ryan veered off the moment he released the ball.
He didn’t know where he was supposed to go—but he remembered Crawford’s voice: Don’t stand. Keep moving. So he moved.
Dragging a defender with him.
Darius took the handoff and slashed inside—one hard dribble just past the arc. Kamara set a ghost screen, then slipped hard to the top of the key. Axton followed without thinking.
And just like that, the lane was wide open.
Darius snapped his hips and shook his defender—a sudden, snake-like slither into the paint. Help rotated in—but he wasn’t finishing.
The ball whipped to the corner.
Lin was already there.
Feet set. No wasted motion.
The Roarers’ bench exploded, players on their feet, three fingers raised high.
The Boulders inbounded. Four players sprinted into their sets, while their point guard casually brought the ball up.
Ryan saw he was coming up solo. He spread his arms and pressed up—tight.
The point guard blinked. Tight pressure? This early in the fourth?
He slowed, eyes sweeping the floor. Ryan mirrored him, took two steps back—then struck.
Ryan wasn’t even going for the steal. Just wanted to disrupt the rhythm, make him uncomfortable. But as the guard juked left, Ryan’s freakish wingspan grazed the ball.
The ball squirted loose. The guard lunged, but Ryan was quicker. A clean strip at half-court—no defenders in sight.
A one-man fastbreak, capped with a two-handed tomahawk.
Another inbound from the Boulders. This time, nothing wild. The guard eased it past halfcourt, wary now.
Darius picked him up at the three-point line.
He looked for Axton on the wing—but Kamara was there, bodying him with a three-quarter front, completely cutting off the passing lane.
A split-second of indecision—
Ryan flew in from the weak side, forming a scissor trap with Darius. One vicious chop—
Ryan slapped the ball clean. It ricocheted off the guard’s knee and flew out of bounds.
Roarers’ sideline ball. Darius brought it up. Hand-off to Ryan curling around—plus a hard screen that crushed his defender.
Ryan caught, looked inside—then stopped. No help. No contest.
Coach’s voice echoed in his head:
"Let it fly. Rain hell."
He rose up. Pull-up three.
Kamara snagged the offensive board. Pumped once—Axton bit hard, flying past.
Kamara bent his knees, waited—then launched.
Ryan sprinted forward, ready to slap hands with Kamara in celebration—
But a sudden shove from behind stopped him.
Darius stood there, annoyance written all over his face.
"Your threes are dogshit today. Quit chucking."
Ryan froze. Wanted to clap back—but remembered what Kamara told him. Darius talked trash, picked fights, even got suspended once for hitting a teammate.
Ryan stared him down.
Darius’s heel slipped back involuntarily, betraying a flicker of nervousness.
"...Got it," Ryan muttered.
Then the whistle blew.
The Boulders called timeout.
As Ryan jogged away, Darius exhaled.
Shit. Forgot who I was dealing with.
His mind flashed back to Ryan’s first day at the Roarers’s main practice court...
The look in his eyes when he almost threw hands.
Yeah, Darius talked trash. Yeah, he’d thrown hands before. But only at guys who’d take it.
Ryan wasn’t one of them.
P/S:Thank you all for your support—I’ve officially signed the contract.
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I hope you’ll keep reading and enjoying what’s to come!