Basketball Soul System: I Got Westbrook's MVP Powers in Another World! Chapter 26 :Hopping Vampire Jump Shot

Ryan brought the ball up affter the tiout. No screen. No hesitation. He stepped inside the arc and pulled up for a mid-range jumper—pure Westbrook style.

Not a great look. Defender right there, hand in his face. But hell, every player chucks up a heat-check shot now and then.

Clang.

Off the iron.

Yeah... figures.

Ryan grimaced. No magic tonight. Not like last ga, when he couldn’t miss if he tried.

No matter—Malik, still on fire, snatched the board and hamred ho a putback dunk.

32-15.

From there, the pace shifted. Malik showed a hint of fatigue, and the Boulders started clawing back. A little back and forth, montum tugging in both directions.

Ryan drove on one possession, got to the rim, but missed the layup.

In the back of his mind, he thought of those tough shooting nights Westbrook sotis had—1-for-9, 0-for-11. Nights when the rhythm just wouldn’t co.

He hesitated.

Didn’t shoot again.

The buzzer sounded. End of the first quarter.

38–22.

Ryan: 0-for-2, 1 rebound, 1 assist.

On the Roarers’ bench, head coach Crawford made his first move. He glanced at Lin, who had just logged a full quarter and was clearly gassed. A quick nod brought Darius off the bench to replace him.

Malik’s gaze flicked to the Boulders’ bench—just in ti to see Axton ripping off his ice pack and standing up.

"Coach," he cut in before Crawford could speak, "Give two or three more minutes. Let keep him quiet a little longer."

Crawford rubbed the edge of his clipboard, thinking for a second. Then he gave a short nod.

The buzzer blared. Second quarter.

Roarers’ new lineup: Ryan, Darius, Malik, Stanley, and Sloan.

It was Ryan’s first ti sharing the floor with Darius. With Lin out, Ryan slid into the two-guard spot. A bit out of position, but it would have to do.

Boulders’ ball.

And Axton? Rested. Ready. Dangerous.

He exploded out of the gate like a predator finally uncaged. Malik tried to body him up, but Axton spun off the contact like it was nothing and laid it in clean. 38–24.

Roarers tried to answer.

Darius brought the ball up and initiated the usual 15 pick-and-roll with Malik, passing it to Malik as he spun around and prepared to roll down. But the Boulders were ready. They iced the screen, switched aggressively, then rotated with textbook precision. Malik’s roll was smothered.

Malik kicked it back out. Darius swung it to Stanley in the left corner—

Clang.

The sound of a missed three echoed through the arena. Axton had already boxed out Malik and pulled down the board like he owned it.

Outlet pass. Fast break.

The Boulders’ guard took off downcourt, the crowd rising with him. But then—a shadow from the weak side.

Ryan.

He ca flying in from the wing, chasing full speed. He leapt for the chase-down block—

Smack!

A clean slap on the forearm. Whistle. And the ball, of course, dropped softly through the net.

And-one.

The crowd erupted.

The free throw was pure.

38-27.

Ryan glanced up at the scoreboard, breath heavy, sweat trailing down his jawline.

This is bad...

Next Roarers’ possession.

Malik caught it high at the elbow, squared up, then backed down Axton—just like he did in the first quarter. But this ti, nothing. Axton didn’t budge. Not an inch. It was like trying to push a wall.

With the clock winding down, Malik had no choice. He flung the ball to the right corner.

Ryan.

All eyes on him.

Ryan, still scoreless, stared at the defender sagging off him—close enough to contest, but clearly daring him to shoot. He hesitated, then launched a flat-footed jumper—

Air ball.

The ball sailed under the backboard as muffled laughter rippled through the arena.

On the Roarers’ bench, the assistants leaned in.

"Ryan’s useless off-ball. Just parked in the corner. No movent. No screens."

"If he was knocking them down, maybe, but tonight... yeesh."

"It’s not just him. This lineup has zero spacing. Look at the floor."

Crawford didn’t answer, but the scowl on his face said enough.

He knew the math. Stanley and Sloan were both shooting sub-30% from deep. The Boulders had caught on. They were leaving the corners wide open and stacking the paint. Malik was surrounded every ti he touched the ball.

And then, the crowd roared.

Boulders hit a spot-up three on the other end. Simple swing pass. No contest.

38–30.

"Ti out?" one of the assistants asked.

Crawford’s eyes stayed locked on the scoreboard.

"Let’s see one more possession," he said.

Crawford had barely finished speaking when the floor served up a near carbon copy of the last possession.

Ryan found himself wide open in the right corner again, the pass from Malik almost identical, the defense just as disrespectful.

Sa hesitation. Sa stiff jumper.

This ti, at least, it grazed the rim.

Malik battled through traffic to grab the rebound, but in the scramble, the ball slipped from his hands and rolled out of bounds.

Crawford didn’t hesitate this ti. Tiout.

Score: 38–30.

10:38 left in the second quarter.

At the broadcast table, the comntators adjusted their headsets as the cara cut to them courtside.

Play-by-play announcer Richard Mason noted sharply:

"Ryan’s 0-for-4 with nothing on the board. A far cry from that 35-point explosion in his last outing."

Color analyst David Wilson stayed composed.

"To be fair, Richard, we’re still early in the second. A lot of shooters need ti to find their rhythm."

Mason couldn’t help interjecting:

"But did you see that lift on his jumper? That rigid, chanical hop—straight out of an Eastern hopping vampire flick. Are we calling this the ’Hopping Vampire Jump Shot’ now?"

Wilson diplomatically deflected:

"Now that’s an... interesting observation. Though I’d caution against labeling a player’s form prematurely."

The ga can be brutally honest.

When your shots are falling, even the ugliest form gets praised as "gritty" or "unorthodox." But miss a few, and every chanical flaw gets magnified—broken down in slow motion, mocked on highlight reels. Ryan’s jumper was the sa Westbrook-style pull-up that analysts had dubbed "brutal artistry" just last ga. Now? It was being eviscerated as the "Hopping Vampire Jump Shot."

The cruelest part? Ryan had no idea this nickna would follow him for the rest of his damn career.

The buzzer sounded.

Mason chid in, upbeat: "All right, folks, let’s see if Ryan can—"

"Wait, is he... not coming in?" Wilson cut him off.

He wasn’t. Crawford had benched him hard, yanking Lin—who’d barely rested two minutes—back into the ga instead. With the Boulders chipping away at the lead, the Roarers were rolling out their starting five again. No room for error. No rcy for cold shooters.

******

(Note:In Chinese internet slang, so people jokingly refer to Russell Westbrook’s jump shot as "Jiangshi(hopping zombie/hopping vampire) Jump Shot". This nickna cos from how his shooting form looks—especially when he jumps straight up stiffly with both legs together and releases the ball with an awkward motion. It reminds people of the "Jiangshi", the hopping vampires in Chinese folklore who move stiffly with their arms out.

It’s ant to be humorous, not necessarily insulting—just a creative way fans describe his unique shooting chanics.

In fact, Westbrook is very popular and well-liked in China.)