NOVEL NEXT Chapter 116 :Players of the Week，Who let the dogs out?
The Iron City Roarers were on a roll, basking in the electric hum of their home court at the Iron Vault. This week, they faced a pair of back-to-back games: Friday against the Solvayn Spectres, Saturday against the Demerra Hounds. Neither team posed much threat, and with the home crowd's roar behind them—fans waving scarves and glow sticks like battle flags—the Roarers cruised to two easy wins, stretching their streak to five. The arena pulsed like Iron City's neon-lit streets, each dunk and assist a spark in the city's steel heart.
Ryan was on fire.
He dropped 31 points, 7 assists, and 7 boards on the Spectres, then turned around the next night and absolutely torched the Hounds for 39 points, 11 assists, and 10 rebounds—another triple-double to add to his growing résumé.
The week ahead loomed tougher, a grueling four-game gauntlet with a back-to-back included. On Tuesday, the 17th, they'd fly out to face the Nova City Starships on the road. So, on Sunday, the team boarded a charter jet, bound for Nova City, the hum of anticipation already building.
——
Monday noon found the Roarers gathered in the hotel restaurant, a long table cluttered with clinking silverware and half-empty plates. The vibe was loose, laughter bouncing between bites of steak and eggs. Kamara, slouched over his phone, mid-chew, suddenly snapped his head up, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Yo, Ryan! You're Player of the Week!"
The room exploded—clapping, whistles, glasses raised, and tables thumped in celebration. Malik slammed his fork down, grinning. "That's our guy!" Ryan laughed, caught off guard, and fumbled for his phone, pulling up the ABA's official site.
The announcement was short and clean:
ABA Players of the Week – Week 22
West: Ryan Carter (@Iron City Roarers)
East: John Adebayo-Kambon (@Millvoque Bullets)
Below, two frozen game shots: Ryan mid-air, slamming a dunk, and Kambon powering through a defender. Their stats were listed underneath. Ryan scanned his first:
Ryan Carter – PPG 34.3, APG 10, RPG 8, W-L 3-0
Then Kambon's:
John Adebayo-Kambon – PPG 35.6, APG 11.3, RPG 13.7, W-L 4-0
Ryan's heart skipped. "This dude's a freak," he muttered, half in awe. "Monster triple-double numbers." Still, a grin spread across his face, his pulse racing like he'd just hit a game-winner.
This was his first Player of the Week nod since joining the ABA two months ago. The award wasn't just about stats—team wins were crucial, usually requiring a perfect week. Ryan had dropped big numbers before, but the Roarers hadn't always swept. When they did go undefeated, his stat line wasn't always 30-plus. Meanwhile, the West's big dogs—LaVonte Jackson, Lamar Dixon, Jalen Hardell, Shael Grant-Alexis—churned out consistent numbers, hogging the weekly honors like a fast break no one could stop.
Kamara wasn't done. "Hold up—Rookie Ladder! You just hit number one, man!"
Ryan's eyes lit up. He scrolled down the page, heart pounding. Sure enough, the Rookie Ladder had him leapfrogging Frye, now sitting atop the list for the first time. The screen glowed like Iron City's skyline at dusk, his name a neon sign blazing above the rest.
The table erupted again, teammates slapping his back, shouting over each other.
Malik leaned across the table, his broad frame casting a shadow over Ryan's plate, his grin sharp but warm. "You're gonna pass me up soon, Carter," he said, his voice low, teasing, but laced with something heavier. As a former Defensive Player of the Year, Malik had been a cornerstone of the Roarers' glory days, but he'd only snagged one Player of the Week nod back then. The reason? Marcus, the team's old alpha, whose stat lines were so monstrous they vacuumed up every weekly honor during the Roarers' undefeated stretches. Malik's eyes glinted like the city's steel, pride mixed with the ache of a faded spotlight.
In today's Roarers, only Malik and Ryan had claimed the weekly award. Not even Darius, the team's 20-plus-point machine, had touched it.
At the far end of the table, Darius sat watching Ryan, envy flickering behind the smile he tried to hold.
——
The Nova City hotel room was quiet, the only sound the low hum of the AC and the faint glow of the city's neon skyline bleeding through the curtains. Ryan sprawled on the bed, his phone propped on a pillow as he video-chatted with Chloe Palmer, her face filling the screen with that familiar spark in her blue eyes. They'd been talking for nearly half an hour, trading laughs about the Roarers' five-game streak and her dad's big plans for the team. A notification pinged—K-Vibe calling. Ryan glanced at the screen. "Babe, K-Vibe's on the line."
Ryan frowned. He let it ring out, stayed focused on Chloe, but before she could even finish her sentence, the phone buzzed again. K-Vibe calling.
Ryan sighed. "Babe, hold on. K-Vibe's calling me."
Chloe's lips curved, her voice teasing. "Go take it. We've been at this long enough."
"Alright. Catch you later." Ryan ended the call, her smile lingering in his mind as he swiped to answer K-Vibe.
"Yo, Ryan!" K-Vibe's voice came crackling, full of energy. "I'm downstairs. Second floor café, right off the lobby, on your right as you come in. Get down here, bro, let's grab a drink."
K-Vibe was a Nova City native, which explained his tight bond with Jalen Hardell. And with his connections, figuring out which hotel the Roarers were staying at tonight was no challenge at all.
Ryan chuckled, shook his head, and grabbed his jacket. Five minutes later he pushed through the café doors.
K-Vibe was easy to spot—sitting alone in a corner booth, hoodie pulled over his head, shades still on despite the dim light. As soon as he saw Ryan, he jumped up and wrapped him in a hug.
"Brother! Man, thank you! Seriously—thank you. Do you have any idea what you did for me? Remember the Name is still killing the charts! Two weeks, number one everywhere."
Ryan smiled modestly as they sat. "I saw. Congrats, man. You made it yours."
K-Vibe slapped the table. "Nah, nah, don't downplay it. That hook you gave me? Straight gasoline. Changed my life."
Ryan ordered a ginger ale. K-Vibe leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to spill a secret.
"Before we get into it, gotta pass along a message from my boy Jalen Hardell. He swore off the club tonight—said if he's gonna get revenge tomorrow, he needs all the focus. He's locked in, no distractions."
Ryan smirked. "Good. I want the best version of him. Last time we played, he wasn't himself. I'd rather beat him at full power."
K-Vibe nodded, satisfied. Then his expression shifted, more curious now.
"Alright, now let's talk about our business. You wrote a track for Selena, didn't you?"
Ryan froze for half a second. That was supposed to be under wraps. Hardly anyone knew. "Yeah," he admitted slowly. "A pop song. Something inspirational."
K-Vibe raised his brows. "How's it stack up against Remember the Name?"
Ryan thought for a beat. "Honestly? Might be even bigger. Pop travels wider—easier to sing along to. Could catch faster." He didn't add the rest of his thoughts—that Selena was still a third-tier artist, no Sia. Whether the song hit that level depended on forces beyond him.
But K-Vibe's eyes widened. He didn't doubt it for a second. "Man… I figured Remember the Name was a lightning strike, one-time thing. But you're telling me you've got more like that? You sitting on a goldmine?"
Ryan gave a wry smile. "Not exactly. I gotta be real with you—rap songs aren't my strong suit. I don't… think in bars and flows the way you do. That track was kind of a miracle."
For the first time, K-Vibe's face fell. He drummed his fingers, disappointment flickering across his features. Rap was his bread and butter, his image, his identity. He'd dabbled in other genres but never strayed far. Pop didn't fit his lane.
Still, he wasn't the type to quit easy. "Come on, man. Think again. There's gotta be something in your head that works for me."
Ryan hesitated. He sifted through his mental archive, songs from another world that only he remembered. Most rap? Gone. He could never reconstruct it bar for bar. But pop hooks, party anthems—those lived in him like muscle memory.
He lifted his eyes and, by chance, caught the café TV. A late-night movie flickered on the screen—some rom-com, the lead actor walking a dog through the park.
A spark went off in Ryan's brain.
"I think I've got something."
K-Vibe perked up. "Yeah? Pop?"
Ryan shook his head. "Not pop. More like… a party track. High energy. Mix of reggae, dance-pop, funk. And the vocals are half-chanted, half-sung. It's not about depth—it's about being addictive. First line hits and it's stuck in your head for weeks."
K-Vibe leaned forward, skeptical but intrigued. "That good, huh?"
Ryan grinned. "Not good. Unstoppable. Everyone sings it. Kids, grandparents, doesn't matter."
"Alright then," K-Vibe challenged. "Hit me with it."
Ryan glanced around. The café was nearly empty—just one barista yawning behind the counter. He cleared his throat, leaned in, and let it fly:
"Who let the dogs out?
Who, who, who, who, who?"
K-Vibe's eyes widened. He threw his hands up. "Wait—what the hell is that?!"
Ryan stopped mid-chant, half-laughing. "You don't like it?"
"Like it? Man, that's insane! It's ridiculous. It's… it's so catchy it's stupid. Do it again."
Ryan laughed harder, then launched back in, repeating the hook three times before moving into the verse.
"Well, the party was nice, the party was pumpin',
Yippie yi yo…"
K-Vibe was all in, practically vibrating. "I'm buying it," he said, already pulling out his phone. "I'm hitting up your agent Eric tonight. This is a hit." The shop's jazz faded, replaced by the imagined roar of a crowd, Iron City's neon pulse alive in the song's beat.
Ryan laughed, another track sold, his mind already racing to the court tomorrow.