Basketball Soul System: I Got Westbrook’s MVP Powers in Another World!

Ryan sat at the edge of Kylie's bed, lyric sheet in hand, like a coach running a tight but patient drill. His finger tapped out the beat as he guided her line by line through Who Let the Dogs Out.

"Again. Keep it lighter—make it sound fun."

"Here, pick up the pace. Don't drag the beat."

His tone was calm, but there was no mistaking the pulse in his voice; it carried the rhythm itself. Kylie followed, hesitant at first, then a little bolder. She stumbled, laughed, tried again. Each repetition knocked off another layer of stiffness. Twenty minutes later, she was singing clean through the verses without missing her cues. Her breathing steadied, her phrasing locked in.

Ryan finally gave a short nod, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "Alright. That's good enough. Let's record."

The room went still. Even the hum of the street outside seemed to recede. Ryan held up his phone, thumb poised on the record button. Kylie inhaled, filling her lungs, then let it out slow before starting the track from the top.

The truth was, Who Let the Dog Out wasn't Kylie's wheelhouse. Its playful, hip-hop party vibe clashed with her crystalline voice, missing the wild edge the track demanded. She powered through, her tone clear but restrained.

K-Vibe leaned back in the room's only chair, his sunglasses tucked into his collar. His expression barely flickered, cool and unreadable. Until the very end.

When Kylie hit the outro rap, the simple lines meant as a throwaway chant—

"Well, if I am a dog, the party is on

I gotta get my groove 'cause my mind done gone—"

—something changed. His eyes sharpened, like a hunter catching movement in the dark. It was subtle, but Ryan caught it instantly.

Kylie wrapped the last line, a little breathless, her hands knotting together at her waist. She glanced toward K-Vibe, waiting, nervous as a student waiting for a grade.

Ryan stopped the recording, played it back once without comment, then tapped send. A second later K-Vibe's phone buzzed with the file.

"There," Ryan said. "That's the demo. What do you think?"

The air tightened. Kylie's pulse thumped in her throat.

K-Vibe let the silence stretch for a couple of beats, then spoke evenly. "Voice has a nice texture. Especially in the rap—those last bars had something."

Kylie's eyes flickered, a quick spark of relief.

But then he added, flat and direct: "Overall, though, this track doesn't fit you. Too simple, too shallow. It doesn't bring out what you can do. Honestly, there's not much to critique here. Unless you've got something else you wanna sing?"

The words landed without sugar, like cold water. Kylie's cheeks burned, but she forced herself to nod. She wasn't about to waste the moment sulking. To stand here in front of K-Vibe, to be heard and judged by him, was already an opportunity most people would kill for.

She steadied herself. "I could try Unstoppable."

K-Vibe's brow arched. "What's that?"

Ryan cut in before Kylie could answer. "The track I sold to Selena. Kylie recorded the demo for me last time."

That got his attention. K-Vibe sat forward, interest flaring. "Now that I wanna hear. Go for it."

Kylie swallowed, her pulse pounding harder. The contrast between the two songs couldn't have been greater. Who Let the Dogs Out was a carefree chant, a crowd pleaser. Unstoppable was fire and steel, all momentum and resolve.

She'd sung it countless times, its notes etched into her blood.

She shut her eyes, grounding herself, then let the first line escape in a hushed, smoky tone:

"All smiles, I know what it takes to fool this town…"

Her voice was lower now, weighted with something raw. Vulnerable. The room shifted. K-Vibe straightened, his gaze narrowing, hands braced on his knees.

Line by line, Kylie rose with the song's tide, her body leaning into the words as if the music pulled her forward. The verse bled into the pre-chorus, and then she tore open the chorus, voice soaring—

"I put my armor on, show you how strong I am—"

The high notes cut through the cramped room like a blade of light, startling in their clarity. The walls seemed too small to contain it. Ryan and Jamal exchanged a glance, their grins saying everything they didn't voice.

Kylie drove it home, pouring herself into the hook, then pulled back for the final lines, softening, letting the fire burn down to embers. She exhaled, chest heaving, eyes opening slowly as if waking from a trance.

Silence.

Then K-Vibe broke it with a sharp, ringing clap. One, then another, until he was applauding with both hands, a grin breaking over his face.

"First off," he said, turning to Ryan, voice booming with conviction, "this track? You're a fucking genius. No exaggeration. The hook, the build, the energy—it's a hit. No question. This thing's got legs."

He wasn't flattering. He was a professional, a man who'd heard countless demos, who knew in seconds whether a song had it. His tone carried none of the detached politeness he'd shown earlier. This was real.

Then he pivoted toward Kylie, his grin softening into something more measured. "As for you… you surprised me. You don't have training, that's obvious—your breathing's shaky in spots, and you lose clarity when you push too hard. Your low register's thin, your highs sometimes scrape the edge of strain. All that shows."

Kylie's breath caught, but she held still, bracing herself.

"But—" His voice dropped, deliberate. "What you do have is presence. When you lean in, people feel it. That chorus? It landed. Not perfect, but honest. That's rarer than clean technique. You sing like you believe it."

The critique was sharp, but not cruel. It cut with precision, like a scalpel, leaving no illusion but also pointing to the vein of truth.

Kylie's cheeks flushed again, though this time it wasn't embarrassment—it was something closer to pride.

K-Vibe sat back, eyes still lit. "You put time into the basics—breathing, control, articulation—you could really do something. Not saying you'll headline arenas, but you've got more in you than you think."

Ryan leaned back, satisfied. This was exactly what he'd hoped for: the demo recorded, the song tested, and Kylie standing in the fire of a real critique. Whether she took it further or not was on her.

K-Vibe paused, brow furrowing. "But… what's this 'Porsche' in the lyrics? That a car I don't know about?" Kylie had sung the original demo, where Ryan had tossed in "Porsche" as a placeholder. Ryan chuckled. "Just a fill-in. Final version's got 'Sypher' instead."

K-Vibe nodded, grinning, the moment lightening. Kylie stood, still catching her breath, her eyes bright with the thrill of it all.

Ryan leaned back against the wall, his voice turning thoughtful. "So… what about Kylie? She wants to go after music after she graduates. Think she's got a shot?"

K-Vibe rubbed his chin, considering. "With the right training? Yeah. She's raw, but that's not a bad thing. Give her guidance, she could get there."

Ryan's eyes narrowed slightly, a calculating glint behind them. "And what kind of help can you give her? Worst case, I sell you a few more songs down the road."

At that, something flickered in K-Vibe's gaze—excitement, hunger. He couldn't help it. Ryan's "Remember the Name" had already blown up, cementing its place in playlists everywhere. And "Unstoppable," the track Kylie had just sung, had all the makings of another hit. As for "Who Let the Dogs Out"… maybe it wasn't Ryan's sharpest pen, but damn if it wasn't catchy. If Ryan had more of that caliber in him—and clearly he did—K-Vibe's own career could rise even higher.

He leaned forward, conviction in his voice. "No problem. I'll take her under my wing, like a little sister. I'll get her proper coaching, and when she's ready, I'll put her in front of my label."

The words landed like a spark to dry tinder. Kylie's breath caught, her pulse thundering. For a moment she didn't dare believe what she'd heard, but Jamal did. He grabbed her in a bear hug, bouncing her around the room, laughing like a kid. "You hear that? You made it! You're really gonna make it!"

Kylie's eyes stung, a dizzy mix of joy and disbelief washing over her. This wasn't just encouragement. This was K-Vibe promising her a doorway into the industry. In their world, that wasn't hope—it was practically a guarantee.

She swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady. "Thank you, K-Vibe. Really. Thank you." Then she turned to Ryan, her smile soft but brimming. "And thank you, Ryan. For… all of this."

Because deep down, she knew: none of this would have been possible without him.

Ever since she and Jamal had crossed paths with Ryan, life had tilted on its axis. Jamal was no longer scraping by on day-to-day labor. Now he was working as an assistant to Eddie, a respected agent in ABA. The paycheck wasn't much, but the exposure was priceless—stepping into rooms, brushing shoulders with people he never would have dreamed of meeting before. Every night Jamal came home with stories that made their small apartment feel bigger than the city itself.

And Kylie—well, she was standing on the edge of something she'd dreamed about since she was a kid. Singing not just for herself, not just in her bedroom, but for real. For stages, for audiences, for a career.

All of it traced back to one person. Ryan. He'd seen something in them, nudged open doors they hadn't even known existed. Now, with K-Vibe's promise hanging in the air, Kylie felt it settle inside her like truth. The future was no longer some vague, unreachable horizon. It was right there, in reach.

For the first time, it didn't feel like wishful thinking. It felt inevitable.