NOVEL NEXT Chapter 118 :Point for Point, Dime for Dime
Hardell's first bucket didn't rattle Ryan—it sharpened him. Just like he'd told K-Vibe, this was what he wanted: Hardell at his best, not coasting, not cold, but locked in. Ryan lived for this. At ninety percent of peak Westbrook synchronization, there wasn't a matchup in the league he feared. He'd proven that against Lumina, trading blow for blow with Lamar until he dragged the Roarers across the finish line. Tonight would be no different.
The Roarers inbounded, Ryan crossing the arc with the ball, Amin instantly in his grill, arms wide, eyes locked. Ryan signaled for a 1-5 pick-and-roll, calling Malik up for a screen.
Malik's massive frame set a wall, and Ryan exploded off it, one quick step sending him barreling toward the paint. As two Starships forwards closed in, Ryan slipped through their gap like a ghost, his speed untouchable.
At the free-throw line, he launched, ball cradled in both hands. Facing Grant Candela, the Starships' 6'11" tower, Ryan unleashed a ferocious two-handed slam, the rim rattling as the ball slammed home.
Bang.
Starships 3, Roarers 2.
Next possession, Hardell danced back to the three-point line, his left hand dribbling with lethal intent. Ryan squared up, legs splayed.
Hardell's eyes flicked, then he swung right with a wide crossover, testing Ryan's stance.
Ryan slid with him, chest squared, cutting it off.
Hardell yanked the ball back with a right-hand crossover, slowing his rhythm, teasing the left. Ryan shifted left to match, refusing to let Hardell glide free.
Then came the real move—a sudden cut back right, sharper, quicker. Ryan bit, a fraction late, and Hardell slipped by.
That's why he was an MVP, an All-Star. His rhythm was a storm: slow, fast, gone.
Past Ryan, Hardell didn't charge the rim—instead, he floated a soft teardrop.
Swish.
The ball kissed the net, a dagger.
Starships 6, Roarers 2.
Like his step-back three, the floater was one of Hardell's signature weapons.
Hardell's floaters were deadly—112 of 189 this season, a 59.2% clip.
The Roarers weren't rattled. Next trip, Ryan called Malik up again for the screen. Amin fought to slip over it, but Malik rolled hard, forcing the defense to react. Ryan hit him perfectly in stride, threading the pass through traffic.
The Starships had scouted it, though. Their power forward jumped the roll, hands high, walling Malik off. Malik faked a floater, sold it just enough, then zipped the ball backdoor.
Ryan had cut without hesitation. He caught it in stride, Amin chasing hard, and launched himself again. This time it was a one-handed tomahawk, the ball exploding through the rim as the arena gasped.
Up in the booth, the lead announcer's voice boomed: "Ryan with a monster dunk, racking up four points!"
His partner chimed in: "We're barely ninety seconds into the game. Hardell's hit two threes, Ryan's answered with two dunks—it's 6–4, and this is shaping up to be a shootout."
The duel was officially on.
The Starships reset.
Hardell, fresh off a silky floater, had the ball again, his eyes gleaming with intent.
He waving up Grant Candela, their 6'11" center, for a pick-and-roll. Candela lumbered forward, planting his massive frame like a brick wall. Ryan Carter, guarding Hardell, fought to stay with him, but Candela's screen was a fortress—solid, unyielding. The moment Candela pinned Ryan, Hardell exploded, slicing inside the three-point line with a predator's grace. Malik, the Roarers' defensive anchor, switched onto Hardell, his long arms ready to smother. But Hardell, with a magician's touch, lofted the ball high toward the rim, a perfect arc. Candela, rolling hard to the basket, launched skyward, snatching the pass mid-air and slamming it home with a thunderous alley-oop. The dunk rattled the rim, a Nova City lightning bolt that sent the crowd into a frenzy. Starships 8, Roarers 4.
Candela wasn't a star center—but Hardell's brilliance made him look like one. Beyond his scoring, Hardell's playmaking was elite, a maestro orchestrating the floor. His pick-and-rolls, pinpoint passes, and cunning reads turned average bigs into stat-sheet stuffers. Every center who ran with Hardell—Candela included—saw their numbers and market value soar. Hardell was a "pie machine," baking easy buckets for big men; all they had to do was feast.
The Roarers' next possession was a mirror of the Starships' last. Ryan Carter, ball in hand, crossed the arc, his eyes sharp with intent. He signaled Malik for a 1-5 pick-and-roll, the big man lumbering up to set a screen as solid as a brick wall.
Malik slipped hard, and Ryan floated the pass just above the defense. Malik caught it midair and hammered home the alley-oop.
The score tightened: Starships 8, Roarers 6.
Up in the booth, the lead announcer's voice boomed: "Ryan with a pinpoint pass to Malik for the alley-oop slam!" His partner, chuckling, leaned in: "Is Ryan throwing shade? Hardell drops a dime, and Ryan answers with one of his own, matching buckets and assists!"
Truth be told, Ryan wasn't Hardell when it came to orchestration. He had power—pure, peak Westbrook explosiveness—but playmaking artistry wasn't his calling card.
Westbrook, a triple-double beast, wasn't a classic floor general; his assists came from bulldozing to the rim, drawing defenders, and kicking out, Ryan's style echoed that.
Hardell's scoring and assists outpaced Ryan as the game unfolded, his vision carving up defenses with ease. Ryan, rarely shooting threes—and not with much accuracy—relied on his drives and physicality to make plays. The hardwood was Iron City raw, a clash of styles where Hardell's finesse met Ryan's relentless grit.
Eight minutes into the first quarter, the scoreboard glowed in neon across the arena: Starships 26, Roarers 22. The game was electric, fast, and already teetering into a duel of stars.
Coach Crawford, pacing like a man with a stopwatch ticking in his chest, finally raised his hand for a timeout. The whistle pierced through the noise, and both teams shuffled toward their benches.
The numbers told the story: Ryan had started hot—five shots, four makes, already stacking 8 points, 3 assists, and a rebound. But Jalen Hardell was a different kind of hot, He had gone 4-for-6 from the field, including 2-of-3 from deep, plus two free throws.
In just eight minutes, Hardell was sitting on 12 points, 4 assists, and a rebound, hitting double figures before most guys had even broken a sweat.
The duel wasn't even subtle—it was painted across the floor in every possession. Ryan's attacks came with violence, all downhill bursts and rim-rattling finishes. Hardell's buckets carried a different weight: crossovers into rhythm jumpers, step-back threes, floaters soft as raindrops.
Crawford used the stoppage to shuffle the deck. He pulled Darius, for Lin, and swapped Sloan in for Malik at the five. Across the floor, the Starships also dipped into their bench, resting Hardell and their starting power forward.
That shift was seismic. The Starships, for all their swagger, were a team that leaned hard on Hardell's orchestration. With him off the floor, their offense dimmed like a stage with the spotlight killed. Possessions slowed, spacing collapsed, and suddenly they looked mortal.
The Roarers smelled blood.
Ryan knew better than to waste the window. Amin still shadowed him, bodying up, hands quick, eyes hunting every angle. Amin was the kind of defender who could lock a man into a personal hell, but Ryan wasn't stupid. This wasn't streetball, where pride demanded isolation every possession. He adjusted. He called for a 1–5 pick-and-roll, letting Sloan rumble into space. He worked dribble hand-offs with Lin, shifting the defense's shape. And in a subtle wrinkle, Crawford even let Lin and Sloan initiate their own possessions, keeping the Starships guessing.
Yes, Sloan had the ball in his hands. Crawford had experimented with him at point guard during garbage time before—nothing spectacular, but enough to show some progress. And this time, it paid off.
He singled out the Starships' smallest defender, a 6'3" backup guard, and with his 6'8" frame, it was a mismatch from the start. Sloan lowered his shoulder, muscled his way inside, and went straight to the rim. The help defense closed in, forcing his first layup to rattle off the iron. But Sloan didn't quit. He sprang up immediately, snatched his own rebound, and hammered down a putback dunk that shook the rim.
Ryan, grinning, met him for a chest bump, the Roarers' bench erupting as the score tightened.
With one minute left in the first, the Roarers clawed back, tying the game at 30-30. Crawford, seizing a dead-ball moment, swapped Stanley for Gibson to give the big man a breather.
Ryan, the ironman, stayed glued to the floor, his pulse synced with the game's rhythm. In the final seconds, he drove hard, blowing past Amin for a layup that kissed the glass, the only score in the closing minute.
The buzzer blared, and the Roarers had flipped the script: 32-30, a two-point lead. Ryan, now in double digits with 10 points, had answered Hardell's fire with his own. The Celestial Arena's roar dimmed, but its neon heart thumped, echoing Iron City's unyielding spirit.