Saturday night — Downtown Iron City.
Ryan met up with his agent Eddie, and Jamal for dinner at a buzzy new steakhouse off Main, a local hotspot with dim lighting and leather booths. The vibe was relaxed, the food good, and conversation light—until Ryan casually dropped the MV bomb.
Eddie’s fork froze mid-air, brow creasing. "Hold up. An MV? What’s the deal?"
Ryan grinned. "Remember All-Star Weekend at Nox Lounge? I freestyled some bars, K-Vibe loved ’em, bought the track off me. It’s done, and now he needs me for the video."
Eddie’s eyes sharpened. "You sold it?"
Ryan grinned. "Yeah. Ten grand. Full copyright transfer. Not bad for a few off-the-cuff bars, right?"
Eddie put his glass down—hard. "Why the hell didn’t you tell me?"
Ryan blinked. "I thought it was just a fun little side thing. I wasn’t planning to make music my career or anything."
Eddie snapped. "You realize you signed a full-representation contract with me? I’m supposed to handle all commercial matters—Image rights, endorsements, licensing—even music. Everything."
Ryan’s grin faded, sensing trouble. "My bad, man. I thought it was just a quick freestyle, no big deal. I’m not trying to be a singer. Want me to cut you in on the ten K?"
Eddie’s eyes flashed. "It’s not about the money, Ryan. Ten grand’s peanuts. You breached our contract. That’s the issue."
Ryan shrank back, genuine. "I’m sorry. Didn’t think it through."
Jamal tried to lighten the mood. "C’mon, boss. He didn’t mean any harm—"
"Zip it!" Eddie snapped, his glare shutting Jamal down.
Jamal, wide-eyed, clammed up—Eddie’s temper was rare and terrifying.
Eddie sipped water, calming himself. His jaw unclenched as he exhaled slowly, regaining control. "I’m not mad about the ten grand. I’m mad you did it without me. That’s what I’m here for—so you don’t step in it. You’re a star now, Ryan, with a Vantix deal and other endorsements. If that song stirs up any drama, it’s your name on the line."
Ryan’s stomach dropped. "I didn’t know it was that serious. Sorry."
Eddie waved it off. "Forget it." He leaned in, all business. His voice lowered, commanding attention. "Walk me through the sale."
Ryan hesitated. "He had a printed contract. I skimmed it. Looked standard. I signed."
Eddie snorted. "And he’s crediting you as co-writer and lyricist? Smart. That track’s a banger—slapping your name on it guarantees buzz, especially in hoops circles. Ten grand? He got a steal."
Ryan scratched his head. "Yeah... I kinda knew it might blow up."
Eddie’s eyes narrowed. "He’s bold, by passing me. Thinks I won’t sue?"
"Please don’t," Ryan said quickly. "He’s a friend. I don’t want this getting ugly."
"You heard the song?" Eddie asked.
Eddie’s voice turned icy. "If he tweaked the lyrics—politics, sex, drugs, anything controversial—you’re screwed."
Ryan paled. "It’s just a hype track, right?"
Eddie smirked. "Hope so. What’s the MV deal? Appearance fee?"
"Uh... it’s a favor, no charge," Ryan mumbled.
Eddie raised an eyebrow. "No contract?"
Ryan blinked. "You need a contract for a free cameo?"
"That’s your likeness, Ryan. Without a signed release, I could drag him to court."
Ryan groaned. "C’mon, Eddie, he’s a friend."
Eddie waved him off. "Relax. I won’t nuke him. But give me his number—I’ll talk to him myself."
Ryan sighed and handed it over. "Be cool, yeah? He’s good people."
"I know how to handle it." Eddie paused.
"If we sort it out, I’m flying with you to Orvara to sign the deal and make sure the MV’s clean—your outfits included."
Ryan nodded. "I know. Vantix only. No Roarers gear, either."
Eddie smirked. "At least you remembered that much."
Jamal, finally sensing it was safe, piped up again. "Hey, if it’s all good... can I come too? I’ve always wanted to see Carver Park."
He leaned forward, eyes bright, picturing the legendary blacktop where streetball dreams were born.
Carver Park was streetball’s holy grail, and Jamal, a blacktop baller, had always dreamed of seeing it, but money was tight before.
Eddie shot him a look. "I’m going to babysit a situation, not lead a field trip. You want in? Buy your own damn ticket."
Jamal grinned. "Bet. I’m down."
He could afford it now. Ever since Eddie bumped his pay, Jamal wasn’t living large, but he wasn’t scraping by either.
A round-trip ticket? Worth the pilgrimage.
Dinner wrapped. Ryan headed home, his thoughts swirling.
Lesson learned: being famous meant every small thing had ripple effects. Fame came with strings. No more moving on impulse.
The price of stardom was losing the freedom to just be.
Back in bed, Ryan mindlessly scrolled through videos, trying to wind down.
A text from Eddie popped up:
"Handled. I’ll book our flights."
"Thanks. Appreciate you."
A second later, his phone rang. K-Vibe.
"Bro," came the voice. "Eddie just chewed me out like a principal."
Ryan winced. "Sorry, man. I didn’t think it’d blow up like that."
"Nah, it’s on me," K-Vibe sighed. "Should’ve looped him in from the start."
"We’re good," K-Vibe said. "But uh... you’re not doing the cameo for free anymore."
Ryan sat up. "What? Dude, I wasn’t backing out—I told you I’d do it for free."
"I know. But Eddie pushed hard—wanted a cut of the MV’s streaming revenue."
Ryan panicked. "Man, I didn’t ask for that!"
"Relax," K-Vibe laughed. "I didn’t want the hassle, so I told him I’d do a flat 100K—friend rate—for your cameo. No backend, no mess."
Ryan cringed, embarrassed. A free favor turning into 100K felt weird. "Sorry, bro."
"It’s cool. If the video hits a hundred million views, I’m banking anyway. Catch you Monday."
Call ended. Ryan stared at the screen, shook his head, and smiled.
Even when he didn’t mean to chase the bag... the bag still found him.
Sunday, 7:30 PM. Iron Vault Arena.
The Roarers tipped off right on time against the eighth-seeded Brontic Bay Krakens. No surprises here: Roarers took care of business, securing a 121–111 home victory and extending their win streak to two.
Ryan didn’t light up the stat sheet with fireworks but delivered a rock-solid 25 points, 8 assists, and 7 rebounds, keeping the engine humming.
By early Monday morning, Ryan, Eddie, and Jamal were already at the airport, boarding the 10:30 AM flight to Orvara. Ryan passed out almost immediately after takeoff, making up for lost sleep.
At 12:30 sharp, they touched down at Orvara International. Sun baked the tarmac, and heat shimmered up from the runway like waves.
Ryan texted K-Vibe while striding through the terminal. The trio, no suitcases, carrying just backpacks, stepped onto the arrivals curb when a sleek black seven-seater SUV glided up.
The tinted window dropped. K-Vibe, in shades, leaned out and snapped his fingers with a grin.
"Yo!" he said. "Welcome to Orvara."
They climbed in. In the front passenger seat sat a sharply dressed man in his 40s, decked out in elevated streetwear.
He turned and gave a nod.
K-Vibe gestured. "My manager. Name’s Paul Eisenberg."
Eisenberg looked straight at Eddie. "Apologies for the trouble. K-Vibe moved without looping me in. Should’ve handled it cleaner."
Eddie offered a thin smile, then glanced at Ryan. "Don’t sweat it. Kids these days all jump the gun."
Eisenberg chuckled. "We’ll sign at the hotel."
"Fine by me," Eddie replied.
K-Vibe pulled out and, just a moment later, turned into the Cell Phone Waiting Lot. Ryan, Eddie, and Jamal exchanged puzzled looks. Before they could ask, K-Vibe cut in: "Gotta pick up one more. Almost here."
"Who?" Ryan pressed, curiosity piqued.
K-Vibe’s grin turned sly. "You all know him. But I’m not telling yet."
Ryan’s mind raced, ticking through ABA names tied to streetball. His mental Rolodex was thin, though, and he gave up guessing.
Eddie scoffed. "Pfft. Who else could it be."
Jamal turned, intrigued. "Who?"
Eddie mimicked K-Vibe’s tone. "Not telling yet."
Eddie and K-Vibe exchanged a quick smirk.
There was no tension between them. Eddie’s late-night call had been all business—contracts, rights, appearances. K-Vibe respected that. No hard feelings.
K-Vibe reached for the dash. "Alright. Check this out."
Ryan recognized the beat immediately. Remember the Name. Damn near a replica of the version from his original world. No surprise, he’d hummed the whole melody to K-Vibe during an early session.
It was the first time Ryan and Jamal heard K-Vibe’s final version. Eddie had already played it a few times the night before to vet the lyrics. All good. Nothing controversial—some "fuck" and "fucking" sprinkled in, but standard for rap, nothing sketchy.
When it ended, Ryan nodded, genuinely impressed. The bass still pulsed in his chest, hyping him up.
"This is gonna blow up."
"Damn right," K-Vibe said, smirking.
A text pinged on his phone. He glanced at it.
"Aight, big dog just landed."
He shifted into gear and pulled back toward the pickup zone, tires humming on the hot asphalt, as Ryan and Jamal leaned forward, itching to see who’d step out.