NBA: GIANT KILLING

I got bored so here's another chapter! If you have some stones, I can take it if you want 🥰.

___________________________

Jack drove to the basket, the ball cradled in his hands as he prepared to lay it up. But before he could even think about releasing it, a shadow loomed beside him.

Slap!

A sharp, clean sound echoed through the arena.

The ball didn't just get blocked—it was snatched mid-air.

By Oliver.

The stadium froze for a split second. Then—

"OH MY GOD!"

"NO WAY! DID YOU SEE THAT?!"

A 5'9" guard had just soared into the sky like a human spring and erased a shot from a player six inches taller.

David's cameraman nearly dropped his equipment. Even David himself, the skeptic who had doubted Oliver from the start, sat there slack-jawed.

He turned to Tony, disbelief written all over his face.

"This kid… he's really that good?"

Tony gloated, arms crossed.

"I told you, didn't I?"

Meanwhile, on the court—

"Get back on defense! Get back!"

The Georgia Tech coach was screaming, trying to snap his players out of their daze.

Jack was still in shock. That was his shot. His high arcing shot. That wasn't something a kid shorter than 6ft. could block. Yet Oliver had reached it like it was nothing.

And now, Oliver was already sprinting toward the other end of the court.

Lightning-quick.

"He's fast—way too fast!"

The professional scouts watching from the stands immediately picked up on something else. It wasn't just speed. It was the fact that he was dribbling at full sprint without losing control.

That level of ball-handling? It was special.

Aina University players didn't even bother running.

They knew better.

When Oliver stole the ball and started a fast break, it meant one thing—something ridiculous was about to happen.

All they had to do was stand back and enjoy the show.

Oliver cut inside the three-point line.

One step before the free-throw line, he launched himself.

And then—

A windmill.

The ball spun in a full arc as Oliver whipped it around in mid-air, then brought it crashing down through the rim with his right hand.

BOOM!

Effortless. Smooth. Violent.

The Georgia Tech crowd, so loud just moments ago, fell into stunned silence.

Oliver didn't celebrate. Didn't scream.

Instead, he simply pressed a finger to his lips.

As Kobe will do in the 2008 Beijing Olympics.

Shhh.

A direct response to Georgia Tech's taunts before the game.

Jack clenched his fists.

"You cocky little punk! We're sending you home crying!"

But Bosh? He didn't say a word.

His face had turned serious.

Anyone who knew him understood—when Chris Bosh got serious, things were about to change.

The game resumed, and Georgia Tech wasted no time striking back.

Jack lobbed the ball high into the post.

Bosh used his size to shove Reeves out of the way, caught the pass, and threw down a dunk with authority.

On the next possession, Bosh grabbed an offensive rebound and powered through contact for another basket.

Then—

Jack and Bosh ran a pick-and-roll.

Jack kicked it out to Wilson, who faked a shot, then tossed it high above the rim.

Bosh soared through the air.

Alley-oop. Slam.

Aina College's players could only watch.

Their lead was gone.

Bosh was imposing his will, and there was no stopping him.

And the problem?

Oliver was just one man.

He could break ankles, drain threes, and he could even block shots, but he couldn't be everywhere at once.

He wasn't a seven-footer who could patrol the paint.

He couldn't guard Jack and Bosh at the same time.

And while he could slow down one player, Georgia Tech had weapons everywhere.

Bosh inside.

Jack orchestrating.

Wilson spotting up for threes.

If Oliver left his man to help, Georgia Tech would just swing the ball to the open shooter.

If he stayed home, Bosh would feast inside.

And as the minutes ticked by, it became painfully clear—

This wasn't a battle.

It was a war.

From the sidelines, Coach Boeheim rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"Damn it… we can't stop him inside."

There was no solution.

Their defense simply couldn't handle Bosh's size and athleticism.

Double-teams weren't enough.

Triple-teaming would leave a gaping hole in their defense.

They needed a miracle.

And their only hope?

Oliver.

Trading Blows

Oliver dribbled near midcourt, surveying the defense.

Jack was in front of him, locked in.

Wilson had started the game as Oliver's primary defender, but he couldn't keep up. Georgia Tech had adjusted—now, Jack was guarding him.

Jack had already seen enough to recognize Oliver's strengths.

Fast. Crafty. Lethal first step. Excellent passer.

In short—Oliver was an elite point guard.

But Jack had six inches on him. That had to mean something, right?

Oliver suddenly exploded forward.

Jack reacted instantly, stepping up to cut him off.

But it was a trap.

Oliver planted his foot, slammed on the brakes, and stepped back behind the arc.

He pulled up.

"That's a bad shot."

Jack turned away, already assuming the miss.

Swish!

The net barely moved.

Oliver smirked.

"If you did your homework, you'd know—my three-pointer is not something you can leave open."

Jack felt his stomach churn.

He was getting torched by a guy half a foot shorter.

And worse?

Oliver was having fun with it.

______________________________

Georgia Tech went back to their bread and butter—Bosh in the post.

Back to their half of the court, Jack spun and prepared to pass the ball to Bosh.

But before he could—

Swipe!

A hand shot in from behind.

The ball was gone.

Oliver stole it.

Jack's eyes widened.

He hadn't even seen Oliver coming.

Oliver took off running, leaving defenders in the dust.

And this time—he wasn't stopping at the three-point line.

No.

He was going all the way.

And standing under the rim, waiting for him?

Chris Bosh.

Bosh's lips curled into a grin.

"Finally."

He had been waiting for this.

Oliver had embarrassed his team all game long, but Bosh couldn't step up before—he had to protect the paint.

Now, though?

Now, Oliver was coming straight at him.

Bosh adjusted his stance, eyes locked on Oliver.

"You think you can dunk on me?"

Oliver didn't hesitate.

He took off.

Straight into Bosh.

His right hand cocked back, ball gripped tightly.

Bosh leaped to meet him, arm extended for the block.

But—

He wasn't high enough.

Oliver just kept rising.

Bosh's fingertips grazed Oliver's wrist, but that was all.

Too late.

Too slow.

Too low.

The whistle blew.

Foul.

But Oliver wasn't finished.

He tightened his core.

Hung in the air for just a second longer.

And then—

BOOM!

The rim bent under the impact.

The crowd erupted.

The entire arena shook.

Chris Bosh had just been posterized.