Basketball Soul System: I Got Westbrook's MVP Powers in Another World!
Chapter 75 :Ten-Game Stats

Chapter 75: Chapter 75 :Ten-Game Stats

The final buzzer still echoes in the arena, and courtside reporter Jenna Walsh clutches the Roarers’ stat sheet, her brow furrowed. It’s a mess of numbers, and she’s stumped on who to interview.

Darius was out serving a suspension, but the other 11 players all logged minutes. Seven of them—not counting the Garbage Time Big Four of DeShawn, Brent, Jalen, and Omar—hit double figures, their point totals bunched so tight it’s like picking a winner from a photo finish.

Ryan? Solid, but not dazzling: 19 points, 3 boards, 5 dimes. Lin’s 22 points and Malik’s 20 outshine him, but neither screams "must-interview."

Lin, the team’s high scorer, went 8-for-17 from the field and 4-for-10 from deep, plus a couple at the line—decent, but hardly headline-grabbing.

Jenna scans the sheet again—and stops at Sloan.

The third-year benchwarmer.

Off the bench, he posted a pristine 15 points and 15 rebounds—a 15+15 double-double that demands attention.

It’s his first time ever getting the courtside interview nod.

Jenna weaves through the post-game chaos to find Sloan, still catching his breath, towel slung over his shoulder.

His eyes widen when she approaches, mic in hand—a mix of shock and glee flashing across his face.

"Sloan. First off, congrats on an absolute monster night—15 points, 15 boards. How’s it feel to step up like that?"

Sloan’s grin is half-nervous, half-ecstatic. "I’m just... happy. Real happy. Just, you know, super happy to help the team."

Jenna nods, rolling with his jitters. "You were a beast on the glass tonight, especially that putback dunk in the first half. What was the key to dominating the boards?"

Sloan rubs the back of his neck, chuckling. "Uh, just... happy to be out there, you know? I was just trying to stay active, stay happy. Get those rebounds, help the squad."

The crowd’s still buzzing, and Jenna pivots. "Crawford threw you into the point-guard experiment during garbage time. How’d it feel running the show?"

Sloan’s eyes light up. "It was... awesome. I’m just happy I got to try out more positions."

Jenna smiles, sensing he’s riding the adrenaline.

"Alright, Sloan, what do you want to say to Roarers Nation?"

Sloan pauses, then leans in. "The one who controls the rebound, controls the game."

Jenna’s eyebrows shoot up. "That’s a fire quote. Thanks, Sloan—great stuff tonight!"

Sloan beams, still buzzing, as Jenna wraps the segment.

——

The Roarers returned to the locker room, the vibe electric—six straight wins had the place buzzing.

In the Roarers’ front office, the PR team gathered around a cluttered desk, coffee cups and game notes scattered everywhere.

First name on the board? Sloan.

The kid had just dropped a stunning 15 points and 15 rebounds off the bench—easily the best game of his career.

It wasn’t just the numbers; it was the energy, the timing, the hustle. He’d earned it, and more importantly, he needed it. His first-ever post-game presser wouldn’t just celebrate the night—it could give his confidence a real lift.

"Let’s shine a little light on him," someone said. Heads nodded.

Next on the list? Ryan.

Why? Tonight marked his tenth game in the ABA—a milestone worth noting.

One of the PR staffers had already printed out a clean stat sheet summarizing all ten games.

Their director skimmed the numbers, broke into a grin, and nodded.

"Get these to the media," he said.

A PR assistant strides into the press room, handing out the stat sheets to every reporter in sight.

The media grabs them, eyes lighting up like they’ve just been handed a winning lottery ticket.

Ryan’s numbers tell a story of their own, and the room’s already buzzing with anticipation.

The press conference kicks off.

First up: Coach Crawford. Calm and composed as ever, he fields questions about the team’s six-game win streak and their playoff outlook.

Then it’s Sloan’s turn.

Still riding the high of his courtside interview, he steps up nervously, gripping the mic like it might bite. His voice shakes at first, but the sincerity is there. He thanks his teammates, the coaches, and says he’s "just happy to help."

And at the end, right before stepping away from the podium, he drops it again:

"The one who controls the rebound controls the game."

Pens scribble. Cameras flash. The line is already being tweeted out.

It’s official—Sloan has found his motto.

Then it was Ryan’s turn. He slid into the chair, a little stunned to be there. He hadn’t expected to be called up tonight.

First question came fast:

"Ryan, this was your tenth ABA game. How does that feel?"

Ryan blinked. "Wait, ten already?"

A PR assistant stepped forward and slid the printed stat sheet across the table to him.

Ryan glances down, scanning the numbers:

| Game | Opponent | H/A| PTS | REB |AST |

| 1 | Emerald Bay Lumina | A | 35 | 7 | 7 |

| 2 | Noze Boulders | A | 14 | 4 | 3 |

| 3 | Noze Boulders | H | 33 | 34 | 17|

| 4 | San Merico Paladins | A | 9 | 3 | 4 |

| 5 | Millvoque Bullets | A | 19 | 10 | 19 |

| 6 | Yurev Crows | A | 18 | 10 | 5 |

| 7 | Eastmoor Vipers | A | 42 | 10 | 14 |

| 8 | Demerra Hounds | A | 17 | 2 | 11 |

| 9 | Solvayn Spectres | A | 23 | 4 | 7 |

| 10 | Nova City Starships | H | 19 | 3 | 5 |

Averages:

22.9 points, 8.7 rebounds, 9.2 assists.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, smiled. "Damn. That’s actually... better than I thought."

Laughter around the room.

He leaned in. "I’ve just been taking it game by game, you know? Trying not to get too high or too low. But yeah—ten games. That flew by."

A veteran local reporter leaned in, waving the freshly printed stat sheet in one hand.

"Ryan—ten games in, you’re averaging 22.9 points, 8.7 boards, 9.2 assists. That’s a near triple-double. You’re officially in the Rookie of the Year conversation. You feel confident about bringing that one home?"

Ryan flashes a grin, leaning into the mic with a spark of swagger. "You know, I think back to my first presser with you guys. I said I’d be pulling down double-doubles and snagging Rookie of the Year. Y’all thought I was joking." He pauses, letting the room hang on his words, then chuckles. "Guess I wasn’t."

Laughter rippled through the room as notebooks flipped open and camera shutters clicked.

They had their headline: I’m not joking—I’m winning Rookie of the Year.

The questions kept coming, but Ryan handled each one with ease—sharp, composed, and quick on his feet.

——

The next day—Friday—there was no intense practice for the Roarers. Another home game was looming Saturday against the Zerith City Domes.

Right now, the bottom of the Western standings looked like this:

8. Zerith City Domes — 14-34 (Last 10: 2-8)

9. Iron City Roarers — 14-34 (Last 10: 7-3)

10. Noze Boulders — 12-36 (Last 10: 2-8)

A win would temporarily bump the Roarers into eighth place—just inside the postseason threshold.

The day began with a film session at the Roarers Training Center, while the visiting Domes ran through a court walkthrough at Iron Vault Arena.

Around midday, the Roarers hit the floor for a tactical run-through, dialing in sets and rotations for the matchup ahead.

Once practice wrapped, Ryan returned to the Roarers Training Center.

Someone was already waiting at the entrance.

Damon Ruiz—Lead Footwear Performance Engineer at Vantix.

He’s here for one reason: Ryan’s custom player-exclusive kicks. He’s already cleared it with GM Kevin Buth to use the Roarers’ state-of-the-art 3D modeling and foot-pressure analysis gear.

A team staffer led them down the corridor toward the Performance lab.

While the technician began calibrations, Ruiz pulled out his tablet.

He tapped the screen, revealing a render of a Bright Crimson high-performance sneaker.

"Just a tweak on the Apex base model," Ruiz says, zooming in on the render. "We’ll pull your 3D foot scan, mold it to your exact specs, and craft a prototype for you to test. You feel anything off, we tweak it again. Sound good?"

Ryan nods, eyes locked on the vibrant crimson design, already picturing himself slicing through defenses in them.

The staff signals they’re ready. Ryan steps onto the pressure plate, barefoot, as the 3D scanner hums to life, casting a grid of light over his feet.

The machine maps every curve and contour, while sensors beneath measure his weight distribution, capturing data down to the millimeter.

Ryan shifts slightly, following the technician’s cues to flex and pivot, mimicking his on-court movements.

A monitor nearby spits out a real-time model of his foot, glowing in neon green. The process is quick but meticulous—ten minutes of scans and tests, ensuring the shoe will hug his arches and support his explosive cuts.

Ruiz tapped a few keys on his tablet, transferring the scan data. "All set," he said, satisfied. "That signature shoe deal of yours? I don’t see any issues. Honestly, I can’t wait for the day we start designing it together."

Ryan nodded, mind already racing.

The ten-game evaluation period was nearly over—seven games down, three to go.

There were five performance clauses in his contract, and he’d already checked off three.

Only two of the remaining three clauses needed to hit—and the signature shoe deal would be locked in.

20 minutes per game.

20 points per game.

Three games with 30-plus points.

Minutes? All but guaranteed. As long as he stayed healthy, that box was checked.

Scoring? Through seven games, he’d racked up 147 points. He needed 53 more over the next three to average 20.

That’s a tall order, but not impossible. Time to turn up the heat.

"No doubt," Ryan says, a glint in his eye. "I’m bringing it these next three games. Bet on it."