Ryan hadn't even made it back to the bench when Malik, eyes locked on the scoreboard, leaned toward Coach Crawford, a spark in his voice.
"Coach, let us run it back. One more shot."
Crawford shook his head. "Too big a gap. Not enough time."
Just then, a group of rookies returned from the floor, sweat-soaked and breathless.
"You guys did well," Crawford said.
That alone made their faces light up. Praise from him was rare, and they knew it.
"Keep playing like that. If we knock down our corner threes, we'll punish their 2-3 zone."
He glanced toward Ryan.
"Run more pick-and-roll. Target the mismatch."
The horn blared. Game back on.
This time, Lumina came at Ryan like a pack of wolves—forearms, hips, relentless pressure. But Ryan didn't buckle. In five brutal minutes, he attacked the rim like a man possessed.
One foul drawn.
Whish. Whish.
Two for two.
Even under that suffocating defense, he went 2-for-3 from the field, including a cold-blooded three.
By relentlessly attacking the rim and drawing defensive attention, he kicked the ball out and notched five assists—three to the corners, where Deshawn hit two threes and Brent buried another; the other two came off smart feeds inside to Omar for easy buckets.
A blistering 20–4 run.
Lumina called timeout. 116-103. 2:05 left.
On the Roarers' bench, Darius was electric. "Thirteen points?! Let's GO! Put us in, Coach!"
Crawford's gaze flicked across the court. Lumina's coach was already staring back. So were Lamar and their four starters—coiled, ready to pounce, eyes blazing with excitement and hunger, barely holding themselves back.
A silent standoff.
Finally, Crawford broke the stare, then turned to his players.
"No. The moment I send you in, they'll throw their starters right back at you. And the way you're playing tonight, I don't see you clawing back thirteen on them. One embarrassment's enough. No need for a second."
Darius's face flushed crimson, fists tightening at his sides as he swallowed whatever comeback was on his tongue.
Ryan and the four rookies stumbled back to the bench, chest heaving, sweat dripping off their chins and spattering the hardwood.
Crawford clapped his hands, rapid-fire.
"Good job! We got a pulse now—still a mountain to climb, but keep grinding!"
"Next defensive set, trap early! Force the ball out, hunt for the turnover, run the break!"
Crawford gave the clipboard a sharp tap with his pen. "Survive this possession, then we adjust. Hydrate. Now."
The rookies dipped their heads, towels yanked over their faces, water bottles draining in gulps.
75 seconds later, the horn sounded. Game back on.
Lumina's sideline inbound looked odd—no pass. Instead, the ball was gently set on the floor and allowed to roll.
Their point guard crouched low, shadowing it, step for step as it crawled forward.
Clock-chewing tactic. Let it roll, save every second.
It had just trickled across midcourt when Ryan exploded forward.
The guard snatched up the ball, startled. Ryan reached for it, forced him to pivot—and that's when Brent came flying in to trap.
Now it was two-on-one.
The guard twisted, scanning, trying to pass out. Arms flew, bodies clashed, the ref's eyes locked on the tangle, watching for a foul.
Then—smack. Ryan slapped the ball free. Clean. No whistle.
Brent pounced on the loose ball and fired it ahead. Ryan was already gone.
Nobody back.
Two strides, launch, bam—a vicious tomahawk slam that rattled the rim.
The whistle blows. Crawford's already stomping the sideline, hands clapping like gunshots.
"TIME OUT!"
116-105. 1:50 left.
The huddle erupts. Crawford's voice slices through:
"What the hell was that?! Letting him walk the dog for eight seconds?!" A fist smacks the clipboard. "Full. Court. Press. Next possession. You chase every shadow. Ball gets passed? FOUL. Immediately."
The rookies nodded, catching their breath as the arena erupted. The home DJ's voice boomed—"MAKE SOME NOISE!"—and the crowd answered, a tidal wave of sound crashing over the court.
At the broadcast table, two commentators leaned into their headsets, voices crackling live to millions watching on TV and streaming platforms.
Jim "The Voice" Callahan (Play-by-Play): "HOLY SMOKES, folks! Ryan Carter—this rookie—has 28 points already! Two minutes left… can he hit 30 for the quarter?!"
Duke "Ice" Patterson (Color Commentary):
"Unbelievable, Jim. The kid's been on fire. And get this—he's already shattered almost every record for a rookie debut. Scoring, shooting percentage, plus-minus—this is historic."
Callahan: "Speaking of 30-piece quarters…
Duke, how many guys have even done that in league history?"
Patterson:
"Not many. It's rarified air. Let me think… Marcus Bryan, Marlon Andino, LaVonte Jackson, Kay Thomasen, John Adebayo-Kambon. That's five."
Callahan:
"And Ryan's knocking on that door—in his first game, no less."
Patterson:
"Whatever happens next, Jim, we're witnessing the birth of a new star tonight. That much is certain."
Callahan: "Alright, folks—buckle up. Game's back on. Let's see if Ryan Carter becomes the sixth man on that exclusive list."