Basketball Soul System: I Got Westbrook's MVP Powers in Another World!
Chapter 70 :All-Star Weekend Ended Perfectly

Chapter 70: Chapter 70 :All-Star Weekend Ended Perfectly

The Zentron Celestial Arena vibrated with a primal, electric charge as the third and final day of the All-Star Weekend descended upon Las Vega City on the night of February 23, 2025. This was the grand finale, the beating heart of a three-day extravaganza, crystallized into the All-Star Game.

Twenty-four of the league’s most charismatic players—selected not for their stats alone but for the magnetic devotion they inspired in fans—were set to ignite the court in a clash that promised more flair than fury.

Though the game tilted toward exhibition over cutthroat competition, its constellation of stars filled the arena to its domed ceiling, drawing a sea of spectators and a viewership that could rival the ABA Finals.

Ryan, Jamal, and Eddie had claimed their spots in the upper tier well before the 8:00 PM tip-off, securing a perch where the court’s every nuance was visible, the crowd’s roar a constant, pulsing undercurrent.

The pre-game hours erupted into a carnival of fan engagement, with arena hosts drawing lucky seat numbers at random. Selected fans were escorted down from their seats to center court for a series of quickfire activities—half-court shot challenges, one-minute ball-handling relays, and even impromptu dance-offs with team mascots. Each segment was broadcast on the jumbotron, drawing cheers, laughter, and phone cameras from the crowd.

Jamal sank into his seat, scowling. "Whole damn night—still didn’t get picked."

He yanked out his phone, scrolling through social media to numb the sting.

"Yo, man," Jamal barked, shoving his screen toward Ryan in the next seat. "That noon 1-on-1 with the masked guy? It’s blowing up—people are losing their damn minds!"

Ryan squinted at the video—a jittery, sweat-soaked clip of his tomahawk dunk clashing with the masked man’s effortless fadeaway.

"Thank God I didn’t fold," he said, a crooked grin breaking through. "Losing that would’ve had me memed into oblivion by dawn."

Jamal swung to Eddie, his eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and irritation. "Boss, drop the act. Who was that guy? You’ve got to have a lead."

Eddie chuckled.

"You think I’m sitting on a secret? With those view counts, someone’s definitely sniffed him out. Check the comments—I’m sure you’ll find your answer."

Jamal scrolled, and the top comment crashed into him like a sledgehammer—pinned, with a deluge of likes and replies: "Unreal, Cameron Anderson vs. Ryan Carter!"

"Cameron? No freaking way!"

Jamal shouted, his voice slicing through the pre-game cacophony.

Ryan leaned in, intrigue flickering in his gaze. "He’s a heavy hitter?"

Jamal nodded, eyes alight with awe. "Ten-time All-Star, man. A legend. But after Starships axed him this year, he vanished—months of radio silence. Total ghost."

Ryan nodded slowly. "Makes sense now. No wonder he was that tough."

Their talk faded as the arena’s pulse surged, the clock ticking toward 8:30 PM. The lights dimmed, plunging the crowd into a breathless pause before a volcanic roar erupted.

The arena’s massive speakers crackled to life as the announcer’s voice boomed with electrifying fervor, "Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for—get ready to lose your minds! Here come your All-Stars!"

The words ignited a fresh wave of cheers, the crowd’s energy spiking as spotlights danced wildly across the stands, amplifying the anticipation to a fever pitch.

The twenty-four All-Stars emerged from the tunnels, their silhouettes framed by strobe lights, igniting a seismic wave of screams and applause that shook the rafters.

The Western Conference, led by captain LaVonte, strode out first in sky-blue jerseys that shimmered under the spotlights, drawing a thunderous ovation that rattled the glass.

The Eastern Conference followed, led by Kambon, clad in crisp white uniforms, their entrance sparking an equally fervent cheer that echoed off the dome.

Players crisscrossed the court, exchanging hearty hugs, playful shoves, and quick handshakes, the pre-game ritual a stark contrast to the season’s usual blood-and-guts intensity.

Ryan recognized only a handful of players on the floor: LaVonte, Kambon, Jalen Hardell, and Dario Banchieri.

The rules mirrored standard play—no gimmicks, no tweaks—just pure basketball, though the unspoken consensus was that defense would take a backseat to offensive pyrotechnics.

The announcer’s voice rang out with explosive energy: "The All-Star Game... officially begins!"

At 9:00 PM, the game tipped off with a blaze of pyrotechnics, the ball arcing high as the crowd held its collective breath.

The first quarter was a masterclass in showmanship—crossover dribbles that left defenders flailing, no-look passes that drew oohs and aahs, and dunks that sent the rim trembling with seismic force.

LaVonte opened the scoring with a silky step-back three, the net barely moving as the West jumped ahead 3-0. His smooth follow-through drew a roar, fans on their feet. Kambon wasted no time responding, grabbing the inbounds and going coast-to-coast in a blur of white. With a swift euro-step past two defenders, he laid it in off the glass. 3-2.

The opening minutes turned into a highlight reel. Western guard Jalen Hardell lobbed an alley-oop from just past half court, and forward Tremaine Hill caught it mid-air, reversing it for a thunderous slam. The crowd lost its mind.

On the other end, Eastern Dario Banchieri executed a no-look bounce pass through two defenders, finding Kambon in stride for another layup.

LaVonte continued to sizzle, hitting a side-step jumper from the corner, then following it up with a steal and a behind-the-back dime to Hardell.

Not to be outdone, Kambon bullied his way into the paint, lowering his shoulder and muscling past his defender for a powerful finish off the glass.

Next possession, he backed his man down again, absorbing contact before spinning into a left-handed scoop layup. The crowd roared as he flexed slightly on the way back. The score climbed: 15–14, West just ahead.

Ryan leaned forward, eyes tracking every movement.

Though the defense was light, the way they exchanged buckets with such ease and creativity reminded him—this was what the All-Star Game was all about.

By mid-quarter, the pace was frantic. Both teams ran at full throttle, trading buckets with almost no stoppage.

LaVonte dished a behind-the-back pass to Hardell for a corner three; Kambon answered by threading a bounce pass between two legs for a dunk. The crowd gasped at each exchange.

The quarter closed 52-48 in favor of the West, but nobody was focused on the score. It was a celebration of skill, flair, and joy.

Halftime arrived with the scoreboard reading 95-92, the West still holding a slim lead. Nobody played defense beyond token resistance, but nobody complained either. This was All-Star basketball—a festival, not a war.

The third quarter picked up where the first half left off, but with more experimentation. LaVonte ran a two-man game with Hill, throwing a lob off the backboard that Hill finished with a windmill. Kambon orchestrated a fast break off a turnover, throwing a no-look lob to a trailing Banchieri, who cocked back and flushed it with authority.

With two minutes left in the fourth, the game was tied at 182-182.

The crowd buzzed, unsure if they were about to witness a real finish.

LaVonte nailed a fadeaway to make it 184-182.

Kambon answered with a tough drive, gliding past two defenders for 184-184.

Then came the final sequence. LaVonte hit a contested jumper, then forced a turnover and lobbed it to Hill again, now 186-184. Kambon hit a pull-up three. 186-187. On the next possession, LaVonte ran a high pick-and-roll, snuck a no-look bullet pass to Hardell, who finished the layup just as the buzzer sounded. 188-187. Game.

Just look at the score—that was an all-out offensive showcase. Defense? It was little more than a formality.

But nobody in the building cared. They came for spectacle, and they got it.

Of course, a real game with serious defense and physical intensity would’ve made it perfect—but let’s be honest, no one’s risking injury at an All-Star showcase.

The ceremony then proceeded to the presentation of the All-Star championship trophy.

After the award was handed out, the arena filled with a thunderous wave of excitement as the announcer’s voice thundered through the speakers, dripping with enthusiasm, "Ladies and gentlemen, hold onto your seats—this is the moment of glory! Give it up for your 2025 All-Star Game MVP!"

LaVonte, with 50 points, was crowned MVP. He hoisted the crystal trophy as confetti exploded around him, pyrotechnics painting the air in red, white, and blue sparks. The crowd roared, the dome shaking as phones lit up like fireflies.

The All-Star Weekend closed on a high note.

As Jamal left his seat, he clapped Ryan on the back. "Next season, bro, I wanna see you on that All-Star floor."

Ryan looked ahead, eyes sharp. "Bank on it. I’m taking that spot."

The next morning, 24 February, dawned crisp and gold. The trio checked out of their hotel, rolling duffels in tow, their spirits high and conversation lively.

At the airport, as they boarded their flight back to Iron City, Ryan glanced out at the Vega City’s skyline fading into haze.

The break was over. Ahead waited film sessions, weight rooms, away games, and endless travel.

But in his chest, the fire from last night still burned. He didn’t just want to make the All-Star team. He wanted to dominate it. And next time, it wouldn’t be from the upper tier.