Basketball Soul System: I Got Westbrook's MVP Powers in Another World! Chapter 40 :Ultimate Sponsor-Drop Rebel.Massive Sneaker Deal

The arena was still electric.

As the final buzzer echoed, the sideline reporter made a beeline for Ryan.

Ryan glanced toward the bench—Kamara was just getting up.

Good. They weren’t interviewing him.

The guy had dropped 37 tonight, ga-high.

Actually, Ryan’s worry was unnecessary. In a league where 30-point gas are nothing special, the postga mic was always going to the guy who just shattered the rebounding record.

Reporter:

"Ryan, unbelievable effort tonight. You pulled down 34 boards — that’s an ABA record. What was your mindset going in?"

Ryan (wiping his brow, catching his breath):

"Honestly? Just tried to stay locked in, crash every glass. Big shoutout to the guys boxing out and giving space. And, uh...

Guess the Zero9 kicked in, electrolytes don’t lie."

The reporter wasn’t expecting Ryan to drop a sponsor plug mid-interview and paused for a mont, caught off guard. anwhile, Ryan glanced toward where Chloe had been sitting — she and her dad were already gone. Makes sense; wealthy folks wouldn’t leave during the crowd surge, trying to avoid the crush.

The reporter shook off the surprise and asked, "Throughout the entire fourth quarter, you seed to be everywhere. Were you chasing the numbers, or just completely in the zone?"

Ryan:

"Little bit of both, maybe. But mostly I was just reacting. Reading the bounce, staying aggressive. And yeah, zero9 helps keep that energy steady. No crash."

The reporter’s smile was a little forced. Damn, couldn’t you just answer normally? Every single response was a plug for Zero9—this interview was going nowhere!

So the reporter quickly wrapped it up: "Appreciate the ti, Ryan. Congrats on the record."

Ryan grinned brightly:

"Appreciate you. Stay hydrated—Zero9, the best choice."

The reporter’s face darkened. He signaled the caraman to cut the shot, then fled like he was escaping a disaster.

Ryan chuckled as he watched the reporter practically flee the court.

All that stat-padding tonight had one purpose - to land this post-ga interview.

He’d promised Chloe Zero9 would blow up tonight, and damn if he wasn’t gonna make it happen.

An ABA live broadcast pulls in millions. And sure, not everyone sticks around for the postga, but tens of thousands still do. That was enough.

And people were watching.

And one particular viewer was indeed tuned in - Jordy Polk, the Lumina bench guard who’d been torched during Ryan’s debut.

Off-night for Polk. Off-mind too, as Ryan’s monstrous triple-double stats glared from his screen. That taunting voice slithered through his skull again: "You ever seen a triple-double MVP?"

Polk still didn’t know what it ant.

Was Ryan saying he’d be the best of all triple-double guys?

He didn’t know.

But he hated how loud that voice was now.

——

The Roares locker room was relaxed, full of quiet grins and leftover laughter. Showers done, jerseys off, the win still fresh in the air.

Crawford poked his head in. "Press conference in ten. Ryan, you’re up."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Just ?" He glanced over at Kamara.

Kamara shrugged. "Thirty-seven ain’t special in this league. And hell no I’m not playing second fiddle to your record night."

The room burst into laughter. Nothing like a blowout win to keep the vibes high.

Ryan stood, opened his locker. There it was—his bottle of Zero9, still nestled beside his backpack. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Post-ga interview? That was just the appetizer. Press conference was the main course.

He’d been planning this since last night—taking a page from the NBA’s ultimate sponsor-drop rebel: DLo, and his Coco5.

He grabbed the bottle, slipped it into his pocket, and headed out.

The press room was packed when he arrived. Caras, lights, the works. Ryan took his seat at the center of the long table.

Then, calmly—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he pulled the Zero9 bottle from his pocket and set it in plain view on the table.

The room blinked. Literally. Flashbulbs stalled mid-flicker.

The league’s PR rep was the first to react, speaking up.

’That drink. Take it down.’"

Ryan tilted his head, innocent. "Why?"

"It’s not one of our sponsors."

He adjusted the bottle slightly. Still front and center. "It’s my partner."

"Remove it. Now."

Ryan remained unmoved. "Y’all gonna have to fine ."

The PR rep rushed forward, reaching for the bottle.

But Ryan leaned into the mic, voice smooth as silk:

"Zero9. From zero to nine—max power."

After that, Ryan and Zero9 really blew up—at least in the basketball world.

No one cared about the usual postga chatter about his rebounding record anymore. Instead, they clipped the part where he dropped that slick sponsor line, and the video went viral everywhere.

Back ho, Chloe lounged in bed, scrolling through the avalanche of reposts. A giggle escaped her. This man... She couldn’t decide if he was fearless or just clinically incapable of sha. Either way, that half a million endorsent deal just paid for itself ten tis over.

She tapped her phone. "Handle the league. If they actually fine Ryan, just cover it for him."

——

By the ti Ryan walked into the private parking area of Iron Vault Arena, it was already 12:45 a.m.

Eddie’s car was idling near the back exit, and Jamal was stretched out in the rear seat like he owned the place. They were heading out for a post-ga dinner—Jamal wouldn’t pass up free food, not tonight.

Kylie had begged to tag along, but Jamal had put his foot down. School in the morning. He’d made Eddie take her ho first.

Ryan slid into the passenger seat and shut the door with a sigh.

"Ho gas are the best. No postga flights, just good food and your own bed."

Eddie said, "I’m treating you to sothing good," as he eased the car out smoothly.

The Golden Wok glowed like a beacon at 1 AM, one of the few spots in Iron City that served real food past midnight.

Inside, the place was dim but still half-full—night owls, industry guys, maybe a couple off-duty cops.

A TV above the bar played highlights of Ryan’s 34-rebound night on mute. Ryan pulled up his hoodie and slipped into the farthest corner booth—low profile, unnoticed.

A waitress in a denim apron set the nus down, barely glancing at Ryan as she turned away.

Eddie didn’t even open his. He rattled off the order like he’d done it a dozen tis before.

Within minutes, the dishes started landing on the table, one after another.

Eddie picked up a piece of braised beef with his chopsticks, took a bite, and muttered through a full mouth, "They lost their damn minds."

Ryan snagged a piece of sweet and sour pork—but it slipped from his chopsticks and dropped back into the dish.

"Who?" he muttered, not even looking up.

"Arvos. Stryda. Vantix. All three blew up my phone the second the final buzzer sounded."

Ryan shrugged, licking sweet-and-sour sauce from his fingers. Not surprising after a 34-rebound night.

"So we done waiting? No more ’waiting for to drop a few more big gas’ crap?"

Eddie’s laugh was all teeth. "Wait? Kid, your value peaks tonight. You even know what’s coming up on your schedule?"

Ryan nodded. "Saturday, we’re in Paladins’ house."

"They’re on a 14-ga tear. You guys are losing that one."

Ryan smirked. "Maybe we snap their streak."

"Nobody’s betting on you. Not even your own fans. Anyway—after that?"

Ryan mouth was full. "Coach hasn’t said. I haven’t checked."

Eddie shot him a look. "You’re gonna kill , man. Listen—All-Star Weekend’s mid-next month. Between now and then? Hellish stretch. East Coast road trip, five straight away gas. One week has three gas, including a back-to-back."

Ryan leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "So..."

Eddie didn’t miss a beat.

"dia’s calling it one-and-five, best case."

Ryan wiped his hands on a napkin. "Alright. Let’s talk shoe deals."

Eddie didn’t bother easing into it.

"Arvos. Three years, four and a half mil."Ryan whistled. "Straight up doubled their offer?"

Eddie scoffed. " Still the lowest bidder. You drop those numbers, break those records—even their ’elite’ rookies haven’t pulled that off. Sure, it was garbage ti, but it proved one thing: you’re way past bench level. You’re a starter."

He took a sip of tea. "Problem is, they already signed Colter Frye this year."

Ryan blinked. The ABA had 240 players—no way he knew them all.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "You seriously don’t know him? Five-star recruit. National college hype. This year’s Rookie of the Year frontrunner. Arvos dumped a five-year, forty-mil deal on him. All their marketing muscle’s behind him now."

Ryan muttered, "Shit."

Eddie ignored him. "Stryda’s offer: four years, sixteen mil."

Ryan nearly choked. Four mil per year. Eddie had promised him two mil in Year 1, but this? Double that in under a month. He gulped his tea, forcing calm. "And Vantix?"

Eddie smirked. "No number yet."

Ryan frowned. "Huh?"

"But they’re panicking." Eddie’s grin turned razor-sharp. "Their Director of Basketball Ops just called—begged not to sign anything. Flying in first thing tomorrow. Price? "

He picked up the teapot, poured hot tea into his cup, then smiled. "That’s for to na."