NOVEL NEXT Chapter 120 :Was That Really A Pass?
On the Roarers' bench, Coach Crawford's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "Double Hardell!" he barked, eyes blazing. The Starships' lineup leaned heavily on Hardell's playmaking, with Amin as their only other real threat—but Amin's offense paled next to Hardell's.
Shut down the maestro, and their attack would stall.
The timeout ended, and the game roared back to life. Hardell dribbled past halfcourt, his left hand snapping the ball with lethal intent. Kamara, abandoning Amin, surged forward, joining Ryan to trap Hardell in a double-team.
Hardell, eyes sharp, read the clamp coming and flicked a quick pass to Amin before the vise could close.
Amin caught it, unguarded.
Like Stanley, Amin was a defensive bulldog, but his rookie-year three-point shooting was abysmal—14%, worse than Stanley's. Fans called him a young Stanley, but Amin had grit.
He had spent long nights in empty gyms, the sound of his jumper echoing against concrete walls. And somewhere in the grind, the shot had begun to fall. Not great, not deadly—but respectable. 28% this season. A leap. Proof of work.
Stanley never made that leap. Amin had.
The trap came with its tax: someone would always be left open.
Amin rose without hesitation. The ball spun clean, kissed the rim, and dropped.
Swish.
As he jogged back on defense, Amin turned and flashed a grin at Ryan, his message sharp as glass: "Mine went in. What about yours?"
Ryan didn't bite. He scooped the ball, passed it to Darius to initiate the next play. Better that than let Amin sag off him again, daring another three. Better that than wrestle with the question hanging over his own shot.
Darius dribbled to the top of the key, Hardell shadowing him, while Amin hounded Ryan Carter off the ball. Ryan sprang into motion, darting to Darius's side, Amin trailing tight. Darius slipped a quick handoff to Ryan, then planted his frame, sealing Amin in a screen. Ryan exploded toward the paint, legs churning. Two Starships defenders anchored the rim, but Ryan hit the brakes at the free-throw line, rising straight up—his signature hopping vampire jumper, a nod to his peak Westbrook sync.
Swish.
The ball kissed the net clean, narrowing the gap to 79-66.
Thirteen down. No celebration. Ryan's face stayed stone cold as he jogged back on defense. The three-ball wasn't falling, but his midrange—pure Westbrook prime—still had bite.
The Starships countered. Ryan and Kamara pounced, doubling Hardell just past halfcourt. Hardell, eyes sharp, zipped a pass to Amin, dodging the trap. Amin, facing Darius's outstretched arms, rose and fired from deep.
Swish.
Another three, his second straight, ballooning the lead to 82–66.
Sixteen up now.
The booth erupted: "Amin's on fire, two straight triples!" The co-commentator leaned in: "Will the Roarers keep doubling Hardell with Amin heating up like this?"
On the Roarers' bench, the assistant coach echoed the question, urgency in his voice. "Amin's torching us from three—still double Hardell?"
Crawford's jaw set. "We keep it. Even if Amin's hot, it's still just him. Hardell heats up, he drags the whole team with him."
A pause. Then sharper: "And Amin? He's not beating us by himself."
His words carried Iron City's grit, a bet on strategy over panic.
Back on the floor, Darius took the ball to the arc, Hardell on him. Ryan sprinted over, and the Starships braced for another handoff. Instead, Ryan set a bone-crushing screen, pinning Hardell. The Starships' zone clogged the paint, daring an outside shot. Darius sidestepped left, eyes locked on the rim, and let a three fly.
Swish.
The net snapped back, a clean answer to Amin's fire, pulling the Roarers to 82-69.
After that, Amin, who'd been torching the Roarers with back-to-back threes, finally misfired, his shot clanging off the rim.
But Jalen Hardell, the Starships' maestro, was unstoppable. Despite the Roarers' double-teams, he kept the offense humming, slipping passes through traps, cutting through off-ball screens, and finding open looks. His hands stayed scorching—three of four shots splashed through, piling onto his 38-point night.
The Roarers, fueled by Iron City grit, hung tough, Ryan and Darius trading buckets to keep the gap from ballooning.
With four minutes left in the third, the Starships' coach called timeout, pulling Hardell for a breather after his 38-point clinic. He tweaked the playbook, shifting gears for the final push.
Coach Crawford, eyes like flint, matched the move, yanking Ryan, Malik, and Gibson.
The real battle was coming in the fourth, his five starters were set to run the whole frame.
The final minutes of the third quarter slowed into a grind, both coaches rolling with their benches. The tempo dipped, possessions dragged, and when the horn sounded, the scoreboard read: Starships 90, Roarers 77.
During the break, Coach Crawford leaned back, weighing his options. His decision came sharp and firm: "We keep trapping Hardell."
Ryan and Kamara answered in unison. "Got it."
On offense, Crawford said little—no need. The Roarers hadn't struggled to score. The game, he knew, would hinge on the other end.
The fourth quarter opened with weight. Crawford sent his starters back on the floor, five across, no reservations. The Starships, meanwhile, stayed patient. Hardell remained on the bench, his tank nearly emptied after carrying them through three blazing quarters. With a thirteen-point cushion, Coach Marksen gambled he could steal Hardell a few more minutes of rest before unleashing him for the final stretch.
The fourth quarter opened with a jolt. The Roarers' starters hit the floor together and came out swinging, slicing into the deficit with ferocity. Ryan and Darius worked in tandem, knifing into the teeth of the Starships' defense, collapsing the paint and kicking out to open shooters.
Kamara splashed a corner three. Gibson, taking his first long-range look of the night, buried it too. Darius bricked a midrange, but Malik battled Candela for the offensive board and rose up, hammering down a violent putback dunk.
Ninety seconds in, it was a 6–0 run. The score tightened to 90–83—just seven points separating the two sides.
The Starships' coach, visibly rattled, didn't call timeout but seized a dead-ball moment to send Jalen Hardell back in.
The Celestial Arena erupted as Hardell peeled off his warmup and checked in.
Bothering teams had their starters on the court now. The decisive stretch had arrived.
Hardell crossed halfcourt, Ryan and Kamara swarming him again. But this time, the Starships had come prepared—the adjustment was drawn up during the quarter break. Two teammates darted over, setting a double screen. Hardell curled off it, drifting to the right corner. A slick between-the-legs dribble, then—off one foot—he faded back and launched a step-back three.
Splash.
The net snapped, and the arena lost it, chants of "MVP! MVP!" shaking the rafters.
The booth went wild. "My God!" the lead announcer shouted. "If memory serves, Hardell's never pulled off that one-legged step-back three before!"
His partner jumped in: "You're not wrong—that's brand new. He's added another weapon to the arsenal."
Hardell wasn't just a foul-drawing savant—he was an innovator, forever crafting new weapons to torment defenses.
First came his signature mega step-back. Then the double step-back.
Defenders across the league scrambled to solve the riddle of his genius.
And now, this—another layer to an endless puzzle.
The roar of the crowd from Hardell's one-legged dagger was still echoing when the Roarers pushed the ball back in. Ryan brought it across halfcourt, Amin sagging several feet off, daring him to shoot the three.
But Ryan didn't bite. Pride mattered, sure—but winning mattered more. This was the fourth quarter. He wasn't going to play hero ball for the sake of face.
He dropped his shoulders, attacked off the dribble. Amin had anticipated it, crouching deeper, giving himself the cushion to cut off the drive. Ryan crossed hard to his left, Amin sliding with him, quick as shadow.
No opening. So Ryan dumped it to Darius, who was streaking in from the wing. Darius caught, bent his knees, selling the pull-up. The weak-side help lunged at him immediately. Perfect. It was all a fake. Darius whipped the ball to the right corner, where Kamara stood alone, wide open.
Kamara didn't hesitate—he rose and fired.
The entire arena tracked the flight of the ball. High arc, but short. From the foul line, Ryan's stomach sank. That's not reaching the rim.
He didn't think, he just moved. Exploded into the lane, soaring as the ball hung helplessly in the air. He caught it mid-flight and flushed it home in one violent motion.
Bang.
Silence. For a heartbeat, the Celestial Arena froze. Then the Roarers' bench erupted, players spilling forward, arms flailing, howling as if the game had just been stolen.
On the broadcast, the booth was in disbelief.
"An alley-oop! But… wait—was Kamara actually shooting that?"
His partner stammered. "Uh… I honestly don't know."
Back on the floor, Kamara and Ryan crashed into each other in a chest bump. Ryan leaned in, smirking.
"Good thing I was there—otherwise your airball would've been ugly."
Kamara only grinned, eyes mischievous. "Airball? That was a pass, man. I threw it for you the whole way."
Ryan laughed, but as he jogged back on defense, his brow furrowed.
Was that really a pass?
Either way, the scoreboard didn't care. Two more points for Iron City. And the fight was far from over.