NBA: Second Shot

After settling into his room, Lucas called up the system's dashboard again. The translucent display shimmered into view, and the familiar voice greeted him.

"[You have earned one lottery ticket. Would you like to redeem it now?]"

Lucas leaned back against his pillow, staring at the colorful wheel that appeared in front of him. The segments were labeled with potential rewards—Shooting Badges, Playmaking Badges, Physical Boosts, and Miscellaneous Rewards. The thought of adding something tangible to his skills made his heart race.

"Let's see what I get," he muttered, tapping the screen. The wheel spun rapidly, the segments blurring together in a kaleidoscope of colors.

It slowed down, clicking softly as it passed each segment. Lucas leaned forward, holding his breath, until it stopped on a glowing silver card labeled Shooting Badge: Bronze Catch & Shoot.

The card floated in front of him, shimmering with light before the system's voice returned.

"[You have unlocked the Bronze Catch & Shoot badge. This badge increases your shooting accuracy when taking shots immediately after receiving a pass. It is now active.]"

Lucas sat up straighter, feeling a warm sensation wash over him. It wasn't overwhelming, but he felt sharper, like a tiny piece of his game had clicked into place. A notification appeared on the dashboard, confirming the badge's activation.

Badges:

Bronze Catch & Shoot

He grinned, his mind racing with the possibilities. This wasn't just a random boost—it was a game-changer. Back in his high school days, he had been a decent spot-up shooter, but this badge would give him an edge, even during his early years. He could picture it now: finding his spot on the court, catching a quick pass, and draining the shot before defenders had time to react.

Lucas clenched his fist, excitement bubbling in his chest. It was a small start, but it was a start nonetheless.

The boost was nice, but his mind was already racing with bigger thoughts. He closed the system and leaned back against his pillow, staring at the ceiling.

Being 12 again came with more than a second shot at basketball. It also meant living in 2018, and Lucas knew exactly what was coming in the next few years. His future self had lived through the chaos of the pandemic, the rise of new technologies, and the explosion of companies that had once been obscure. If he could play this right, he could do more than make a name for himself in basketball—he could set himself and his family up for life.

But how could he explain it? He was just a kid. What 12-year-old suddenly knew about investments?

His thoughts began to swirl. First, there was Tesla. He remembered his older self kicking himself for not buying shares back when they were affordable. By 2020, the electric vehicle market had exploded, and Tesla was at the forefront. He could argue that electric cars were the future—everyone knew gas was becoming unsustainable, right?

Then there was Zoom. Lucas smirked at the thought of explaining a video conferencing app to his parents. How could he tell them that in just two years, the entire world would rely on it for school, work, and socializing? It sounded absurd now, but he could frame it as a bet on the tech industry's future.

Healthcare was another clear winner. His mom always said healthcare stocks were safe because people always needed doctors and medicine. But Lucas knew something more—during the pandemic, companies like Pfizer and Moderna had become household names. If he could get his parents to invest in healthcare shares, they could ride the wave of innovation that was coming.

The challenge, of course, was convincing them. His dad might listen—Steven was practical and trusted Lucas's instincts more than his mom did when it came to serious topics. Maria, on the other hand, might dismiss it as a childish phase.

Lucas sighed, sitting up. Maybe he was thinking too far ahead. Before he could invest in companies, he needed to invest in himself. His basketball journey wasn't going to be easy, and he couldn't rely solely on the system to do the work for him.

His room was small, but he started to mentally map it out. If he cleared some space by moving his desk and a shelf, he could set up a small workout area. He would need:

Resistance bands for strength training.A pull-up bar that could fit in the doorway.A foam roller to recover after hard practices.Dumbbells—light ones to start, but he'd need heavier ones as he grew stronger.

Lucas had no money of his own, which meant convincing his parents—again. That would be a harder sell than investing in stocks. Training equipment wasn't cheap, and his parents didn't have much disposable income.

An idea hit him, and he grinned. His birthday was coming up in a few months. Instead of asking for video games or clothes, he could ask for workout gear. If he framed it as a way to get better at basketball—something they already supported—they might actually go for it.

Lucas pulled out his notebook, flipping past doodles of basketball plays to an empty page. He started jotting down his ideas:

Invest in Tesla (pitch to Dad as a future-focused company).

Convince them about Zoom (argue it's for school use, even if it's not right now).

Look into healthcare stocks (Pfizer, Moderna, or Johnson & Johnson).

Birthday wishlist: Resistance bands, pull-up bar, foam roller, dumbbells.

He stared at the list for a while, his pen tapping against the paper. It was ambitious, but so was everything about this second chance at life. If he played his cards right, he could not only rebuild his basketball career but set a foundation that would support him—and his family—no matter what happened in the future.

For now, though, Lucas folded the notebook and placed it in his drawer. There was no rush. He needed to focus on what he could control—his game, his body, and his mind.

As he lay back on the bed, the faint ache of his earlier workout still lingering in his muscles, Lucas felt something he hadn't in years: excitement for the future. For once, he wasn't overwhelmed by regret or doubt. Instead, he was filled with determination.