Basketball Soul System: I Got Westbrook's MVP Powers in Another World! Chapter 49 :Same Arena. Same Spot. Same Choice

NoxTel Center, the ho of the Yurev Crows, buzzed with its usual late-night electricity. Tip-off was sharp at 9:30 p.m., but by 9:34, Ryan was already peeling off his warmup and checking in.

Yes, Lin got yanked after just four minutes.

Not because he was bricking shots—he hadn’t even taken one. A shooting guard, zero attempts in four minutes.

Then, with the shot clock winding down to two, he caught a wide-open pass from Darius in the corner... and imdiately kicked it out to Gibson.

Gibson, clearly not expecting the pass, bobbled it straight out of bounds. Turnover. Gibson’s, technically. But everyone saw what happened.

Coach Crawford didn’t yell. He just shook his head, made the sub, and Ryan stepped in.

No system reward for Ryan tonight, but with 79% Westbrook sync—not elite, but solid backup numbers.

Scoreboard: Crows 8, Roarers 5.

The Crows couldn’t hit from deep—every attempt clanged. Their 8 points ca off direct drives by twin forwards Banchieri and Wacker.

Roarers? A single three from Darius and a second-chance floater by Malik after grabbing an offensive rebound.

With the Crows’ shooters ice-cold, Ryan cheated off his man to help Kamara wall off Banchieri, while Malik anchored the paint.

The rim was locked down.

End of First: Crows 21, Roarers 20.

Low score, bruising defense.

The second quarter didn’t offer much relief. Ryan soaked up more of Lin’s minutes, but the ga stayed locked in a defensive fistfight.

The Crows’ forwards kept crashing the paint, only to et a wall and kick it back out. Their periter shooters? Still ice-cold. Brick after brick.

The Roarers grabbed the rebounds, pushed in transition, only to be sward again and again by the Crows’ long-ard defenders. Strips. Deflections. Broken rhythm.

Halfti score: 40-40.

Ryan? A quiet 2-for-4, six points with free throws.

Not spectacular. Not bad.

In the broadcast booth:

Jim "The Voice" Callahan (Play-by-Play):

"First ti calling a Roarers ga since Ryan’s debut. Been a while—wonder if he’s got another surprise in him tonight?"

Duke "Ice" Patterson (Color): "Doubt it."

Callahan: "Oh?"

Patterson: "Nah, just math. You watch every ga like I do, you know the pattern. He blows up one night, disappears the next. He just dropped a triple-double. Don’t hold your breath."

Callahan (grinning): "Damn, you’re right. Well... let’s see if the trend holds."

Third quarter tipped off. Not much changed.

End of Third: Crows 60, Roarers 61.

Ryan chipped in another bucket—just two shots all quarter. Total: 8 points.

Lin finally shot after a Crawford earful.

But couldn’t cash in—three shots, three bricks. Still scoreless.

Fourth quarter started with Lin on ice—Crawford had benched him. But foul trouble hit fast.

Then Banchieri and Wacker turned up the pressure—relentless high pick-and-rolls, targeting Darius and barreling to the rim.

Darius fought to hold the line, picking up three fouls in just three minutes. That made five.

Crawford called tiout, pulling Darius to protect him and sending in Stanley, already carrying three fouls.

Stanley didn’t last long. He fouled out with 7:02 still on the clock.

Roarers down 78-75.

Crows—mostly off free throws.

With options thinning, Crawford sighed and sent Lin back in.

Ryan. Lin. Kamara. Gibson. Sloan.

Even Malik was on the bench now—four foul.

Just before they checked in, Ryan turned to Lin.

"Hey. Look, man. Be confident. That stuff? It was years ago. Nobody in this arena rembers."

But Lin rembered.

The once-electrifying Rookie of the Year who lit up the league with 58% from deep on nearly 8 attempts per ga—his collapse started here.

He crumbled after missing that Eastern Conference Finals dagger that led to the Crows’ elimination.

The fan backlash. The dia pressure. It all took a toll.

His ga collapsed. He was traded the next year.

For a while, every return was t with boos.

But eight years had passed. Most Crows fans had moved on.

No boos tonight—just silence.

But the shadow hadn’t lifted. Not for Lin.

Not yet.

Lin didn’t respond, just nodded grimly.

Ryan brought the ball up. The Crows weren’t exactly a defensive clinic; they relied on sheer size and length to disrupt plays. In terms of pure defensive skill, Holloway of the Bullets was in a different class.

Ryan slashed into the lane and finished through contact. Two points.

Next possession, Banchieri went downhill hard. The whistles had been tight all night—ho court refs. The Roarers knew better than to contest too aggressively. Banchieri answered with a clean finish.

With both teams ice-cold from the periter, the ga turned into a paint war. Bodies packed the lane, rotations collapsed inward. It got ssy.

Three minutes flew by.

Score: 86–81. Roarers down five.

During that stretch, Ryan had twice collapsed the defense and kicked it out to Lin—both tis wide open in the corner. Both tis: clank. Lin was now 0-for-5, still scoreless.

He looked shaken. Walking past Ryan, he muttered, "You might wanna stop—"

"No," Ryan cut him off. "I’ll keep feeding you. Until it drops."

2:58 left. Another perfect pass from Ryan. Lin hesitated—just a fraction—then let it fly.

Clang.

But Kamara soared in for the putback slam. 88-85, Crows.

From there, it beca a chess match of tiouts and adjustnts.

Final minute. 92–93. The Roarers finally took the lead.

Roarers’ closing lineup: Ryan, Lin, Kamara, Gibson, Malik.

Darius? Gone.

He’d checked in just after the last tiout, picked up his sixth foul less than a minute later. A phantom call, honestly—Crawford even challenged, but the refs upheld it. Crawford lost it on the sideline, flinging his clipboard and barking at the officials.

Roarers’ Possession.

A few crisp passes, then Ryan drove hard to the basket—only to be swallowed up by a double-team from the twin forwards.

A brutal turnover.

Disastrous.

The Crows pounced.

The Roarers scrambled to get back.

Banchieri attacked downhill, went straight at Malik—and finished through contact.

Whistle.

And-one.

Malik threw his arms up, shouting that he never touched him.

He turned to the bench, begging for a challenge.

Crawford looked up at the jumbotron—replay was rolling.

Slow motion showed Malik had stayed clean—no contact on the arm.

But it didn’t matter.

They’d already burned their one and only challenge earlier—and lost it.

No recourse.

The call stood.

Banchieri stepped to the line. The NoxTel crowd rose behind him like a wave.

Nothing but net.

95–93, Crows.

38 seconds left.

Ryan took the inbound from Lin, locking eyes with him. "Listen. If you’re open, I’m feeding you again. So get your fucking head right and knock it down."

Ryan brought it up, ran a high pick with Malik. The Crows’ defense was smothering—no lanes, no breathing room. The Roarers kept cutting, but the Crows stuck like glue.

Shot clock ticking down: 4... 3...

Then—finally—Lin popped open inside the arc.

Ryan fired the pass.

Lin caught it.

Sa arena. Sa spot. Eight years apart.

Back then, wearing a Crows jersey, down one, he’d needed just two to win—but he’d stepped back for three.

He missed.

The Crows lost.

And everything unraveled.

Now? Down two.

A simple two would tie it... force OT.

But the whole team was in foul trouble, the ho whistle... Overti would be a death sentence.

A heartbeat of hesitation.

Sa choice.

Then—step-back.

The release.

Ti froze.

Everyone in the building held their breath as the ball traced a perfect arc—

Swish.

95-96. Roarers lead.

Silence.

No celebration.

No fist pump.

Lin just turned and sprinted back on D.

Still 15 seconds left.

The Crows inbounded fast, racing into their final set.

The Roarers locked in—no gaps, no air.

Banchieri couldn’t shake free.

With the clock bleeding out, he forced up a contested floater at the buzzer—

Clang.

The horn sounded.

And the Roarers walked away with a one-point escape.

Final: 96–95.

The Roarers mobbed Lin at center court.

A chaotic celebration erupted as his teammates sward him—fists in the air, jerseys tugged, adrenaline roaring. He’d hit the shot. That was all that mattered.

When it ca ti for the postga on-court interview, there was no question who’d get the mic—the guy who hit the ga-winner always gets the spotlight, even if he’d gone 1-for-7 on the night.

Not like there were any real standout stat lines—Malik led the team with just 22 points.

Ryan, anwhile, had 18 points, 10 boards, and 5 assists—solid numbers, sure, but nothing that jumped off the page.

Still, the mont he saw the sideline reporter step onto the court, he slipped away toward the tunnel.

The interview didn’t last long. Lin wasn’t one to talk big anyway—especially not on a 1-for-7 night. He kept it humble. Thanked the coach. Thanked the team. But most of all, he thanked Ryan—for trusting him with the ball when it mattered most.

Then ca the postga presser—and only Lin was called up.

Partly because of the ga-winner—and his tangled history with the Crows.

Partly because Ryan had just done dia the night before.

And partly because, well... 18 and 10 doesn’t scream headlines.

When Ryan found out he wouldn’t be doing the postga, he didn’t say a word. Just cracked open a bottle of Zero9 from his bag, downed the whole thing in one go, and tossed it into the locker room trash can.