Basketball Soul System: I Got Westbrook's MVP Powers in Another World!
Chapter 86 :Appreciate You Showing Up For My Poster

Chapter 86: Chapter 86 :Appreciate You Showing Up For My Poster

With 1:56 left, Roarers and Tigers knotted at 105, Crawford’s brow furrowed.

The Tigers’ twin towers were fouled out, but the Roarers were worse off—Malik and Sloan sidelined, no center left.

Omar? Not an option this late in a close game.

Crawford didn’t hesitate. "Gibson, you’re at the five. Lin, you’re in."

Ryan blinked. Another three-guard lineup? A five-out? Bold.

Before Crawford could lay out a play, the timeout ended. But they didn’t need chalkboard plays now—those drills in practice had a purpose.

Iron Vault crowd stood, roaring, the arena electric.

Players hit the floor.

Roarers’ ball, frontcourt baseline after Halvorsen’s foul.

Ryan stood ready to trigger the play. The Tigers’ backup center, arms wide, was hounding the inbounds.

Darius broke free, cutting hard to the rim.

Ryan saw the pass—but so did the defender, who turned to chase Darius, putting his back right in front of Ryan.

Bad mistake.

Seriously?

Ryan smirked, lobbing the ball off the center’s back. It bounced back, he snagged it, streaked past the baseline, and slammed an easy dunk.

107-105.

The crowd howled, laughing; the announcer cracked, "That’s a rookie mistake, turning your back on Ryan!"

The Tigers’ coach scowled, face like stone.

Shael crossed halfcourt, Kamara on him like glue. Ryan held back—no double-team. Shael looked gassed, his burst fading, and a trap risked leaving the corner open.

No way they’re getting a three here.

Shael zipped a pass to Frye at the top.

Frye caught and fired, but Ryan, reading it, pounced, swatting the shot mid-air.

He scooped the loose ball, racing upcourt, Russo hot on his heels, Darius sprinting alongside.

Two-on-one. Russo, a defensive stud, was stuck guessing—would Ryan shoot or pass? At the rim, Ryan faked a dish to Darius, then soared for a layup.

No fancy alley-oops in clutch time—just the bucket.

109-105.

Tigers’ turn. The Roarers’ five locked in, swarming.

Shael drove, drawing a foul on Gibson.

At the line, he took two deep breaths, chest heaving from Kamara’s relentless pressure. Exhausted, he bricked the first but sank the second.

109-106.

Roarers back on offense.

Ryan ran point at the top, calling Gibson for a screen.

He blew to the rim, sucking in the defense, then kicked to Lin wide open in the corner. Lin, cool under pressure, let it fly—a gorgeous arc.

Swish.

112-106.

The crowd roared, sensing victory with 59 seconds left.

Tigers’ coach burned their last timeout.

Out of it, the Roarers clamped down, stifling the Tigers’ sets.

With three seconds on the shot clock, Russo caught a pass in the corner, jacking a contested three over Lin.

It rattled, then dropped.

112-109.

Gibson inbounded quickly to Ryan, who ignited a blazing fast break.

The Tigers’ defense was still scrambling, out of sync.

Ryan spotted the opening and attacked the paint at full speed.

Frye stepped in, trying to draw a charge—

but Ryan exploded off the floor and rose over him.

A vicious one-handed poster slam!

He hammered it down through contact, shaking the rim as the crowd erupted.

114–109.

29 seconds left.

Turning, Ryan grinned at Frye. "Appreciate you showing up for my poster."

Frye winced. Not amused.

No timeouts left for the Tigers.

Crawford stayed put—why give them a breather?

The Roarers’ fans grinned, tasting the win. Down five with 29 seconds, the Tigers needed a three.

The Roarers choked the perimeter, denying looks.

But somehow, they still got a clean look.

It was Frye.

After a few sharp passes, he caught it at the top, drove hard at Ryan.

Ryan stayed with him, but didn’t press too hard—he was willing to give up the two.

But Frye stopped on a dime, stepped back beyond the arc.

Ryan lunged—too late.

Swish.

114-112,

12 seconds left.

Frye smirked. "Thanks right back at ya."

Ryan, jaw tight no time for banter.

The Tigers pressed full court.

Lin inbounded. Ryan struggled but secured it—only to be shoved immediately.

Foul. The Tigers’ second in the final two minutes. Automatic free throws.

Ryan stepped to the line.

The arena held its breath, fans knowing two makes would ice it.

Ryan, 12 of 15 from the stripe, exhaled, eyes locked on the rim. First shot?

Swish.

115-112.

Relief hit—he’d secured at least overtime if the Tigers hit a three.

Second shot, laser-focused.

Swish.

116-112.

The crowd erupted.

Crawford pulled Ryan and Kamara aside. "Trap Shael. Watch his 3-and-1."

They nodded, sprinting to defend. Tigers’ final possession.

Shael crossed halfcourt; Ryan and Kamara pounced, doubling him. He dished to Russo and cut.

With five seconds left, Shael caught a return at the top.

Ryan sagged off, wary of a 3-and-1. Take the shot, not the foul.

Shael hesitated. He wanted that four-point play, but Ryan wasn’t biting.

Two dribbles. No time.

Shael launched from deep—

Splash.

Buzzer.

Roarers 116, Tigers 115. Game over.

Ryan high-fived teammates, then traded hugs and daps with the Tigers.

Frye grinned. "Next time, we’ll run it back on our home floor."

Ryan: "Cool. I’ll dunk on you again."

Frye: "And I’ll step back for three in your face."

They both laughed.

——

The Roarers pulled off a stunner at home, toppling the mighty Vega Tigers in what many are already calling one of the biggest upsets of the season.

Coming into the game, the Tigers sat atop the Western Conference at 42–9. The Roarers? Just 16–35. A staggering 26-win gap. And yet, none of it mattered tonight.

Ryan was a flamethrower, torching the net for 34 points—10 of 14 from the field, 14 of 17 from the stripe—adding 7 assists and 4 boards.

Frye, his rival for Rookie of the Year, managed 23 points, 2 assists, and 5 rebounds, outshined in their head-to-head clash.

Ryan’s clutch heroics earned him the spotlight—on-court interview, postgame presser, the works.

By the time he pulled into his driveway in his matte-gray K3, the clock had ticked past midnight.

The win buzz still lingered, but so did a quiet hollowness. In his old apartment, Unit 702, Kylie would’ve left a note on the counter—words of encouragement, maybe some food waiting. Here, in his new place, there was nothing but silence.

Ryan lay in bed, phone in hand, checking the schedule.

It was a four-game week—three down, one to go.

The final one? A Sunday home matchup against the Brontic Bay Krakens, currently eighth in the East.

Next week? Three more matchups. First up: a brutal Wednesday road game against the Orvara Eclipse, the East’s third seed.

The celebration was over. The climb wasn’t.