And we are back, baby! This shit genuinely means something to me, man. I've missed posting chapters and reading everyone's comments. the good, the bad, and everything in between.
Thank you all for waiting, and thank you for the endless love and support. It truly means the world to me.
Before you jump into the chapter, there are a few things I want to bring up.
I know I said the plan was to release three chapters every week, and that is still the goal. However, there won't be a fixed upload schedule like every Monday or Friday. About a week ago, I spoke with another author who told me that he uploads a Webnovel chapter on the same day he releases a new chapter on Patreon. I've decided to follow that same system. So whenever I upload a chapter on Patreon, I'll also release a chapter here. I'm currently aiming for four Patreon chapters every week, and I think I've been doing a pretty decent job so far. Patreon is finally thirty chapters ahead again.
Basically, there won't be specific upload days. Chapters will be posted here whenever I upload on Patreon.
Now for the second point. I hate bringing my personal life into this, but I started my second round of chemotherapy around the same time I began writing chapters again.
Because of that, the next fifteen to twenty chapters, I honestly don't remember the exact number, might not be masterpieces or especially long. I was still trying to find my rhythm and ease myself back into writing, so please be patient with them.
The newer chapters are much stronger, though, and I'm dropping a 10,000-word chapter today, so there is plenty to look forward to.
As for the third point, some chapters may be shorter than usual. Whenever that happens, I'll combine multiple chapters into one Webnovel release, similar to what I did with the Euro final in England's Greatest
I think that covers everything.
Enjoy the chapter, and I love you guys.
...
March 23, 2007 | Georgia Dome | Halftime
CBS HALFTIME REPORT
The studio lights glared down on the makeshift sideline set as halftime buzz echoed in the background. Fans stood for bathroom breaks, concession lines flooded, but cameras stayed locked on the row of courtside seats now stealing attention from the scoreboard.
"Welcome back to the Sweet Sixteen," the sideline host smiled into the camera. "Texas leads Pittsburgh 42-34, and we've got some very special guests joining us for a quick halftime reaction."
The camera panned to Joe Johnson, Josh Smith, Marvin Williams, and a relaxed Ludacris, still in his seat with a drink in hand.
"Joe," the reporter started, leaning in slightly, "your thoughts on the first half? Ethan and Kevin have combined for 29 already."
Joe didn't show much emotion besides answering the reporter.
"They're hoopin'. Ethan and KD are tough covers. But I've always backed underdogs."
The reporter nodded. "And do you think Pitt has an answer?"
Joe nodded.
"Pitt's got some dogs on defense, they just need to make a few adjustments, tighten up the perimeter, and stop letting number 11 get where he wants."
That was all he gave the mic.
But behind his eyes, irritation simmered.
He was trying to be professional at best. But he hated the Ethan kid. Like he hasn't been playing in the league for six years now. And all of a sudden this kid showed up. And people started like he was already better than him before even entering the league.
When comparisons came up for Ethan, his name didn't even get brought up as if it was already decided that the kid would be better than him.
The next T-Mac, Kobe, AI, Jordan. His name somehow all but forgotten.
.
Josh Smith leaned toward the mic with a lazy grin.
"Man, Pitt came to play, I'll give 'em that. But Texas… they've got two pros out there. It's like watching a scrimmage between varsity and JV sometimes."
The host laughed. "You've played against a lot of talent, Josh. Where do you rank KD and Ethan right now?"
Josh scratched his chin. "KD's different. That length, that release point? You can't block it even if you jump outta your shoes. But Ethan…" He tilted his head, thinking. "He's just too good at what he does. I don't think he's even broken a sweat and he's already got 14."
Marvin Williams leaned in next. "I don't even think it's about scoring. It's just the way he plays and how operates, calling everything out and leding the defense and offense. It's really like watching a pro play.."
"Alright, real quick, predictions for the second half. Josh?" The reporter asked.
"Texas pulls away late. Too much firepower."
"Marvin?"
"Pitt keeps it close, but I think KD hits a dagger."
"Luda?"
"Texas by double digits. Ethan goes for 30."
They all turned to Joe.
"Depends. If Pitt makes him feel it, they've got a shot. If not…"
He trailed off.
The host smiled, keeping the broadcast tight.
"There you have it, halftime reactions from some of the NBA's best. When we come back, we'll check in with Tracy Wolfson for an update from the Texas locker room. Don't go anywhere."
Cut to commercial.
.
Texas Locker Room
The door clicked shut behind them.
Ethan sat with a towel over his head, chest rising and falling. KD leaned back on the wall, legs stretched out, sipping from a water bottle. DJ Augustin massaged his calf with a lacrosse ball while Damion James flipped his jersey over his shoulder.
No one yelled. No one panicked, why would they after all everything was going right for them.
Coach Barnes walked to the front without raising his voice.
"We're in control," he said, voice low but firm. "But they're gonna come out swinging. So keep running. Keep pressing. Don't give 'em time to breathe."
He turned to the whiteboard, drew up the same flare action they'd been using for Ethan in the first half, then switched it mid-diagram into a fake flare into a backdoor cut.
"They're overplaying the screen now. Hit 'em with the slip. Trust the read. DJ, watch for the help on the weak side. You've got space."
Heads nodded. No interruptions. Everyone was locked in.
Ethan lifted the towel from his head. "They're icing sideline screens now," he added. "They're gonna trap the first dribble soon. That corner's gonna be open."
A couple low chuckles, but everyone nodded paying attention.
.
Compared to the Texas locker room, the scene in Pittsburgh was much different.
Aaron Gray ripped his jersey off and flung it onto the bench. Another forward punched the locker wall. Sweat hit the tile floor in thick drops as guys paced like caged animals.
"What the fuck are we doing?" someone shouted.
"Can we stop that number eleven already?" another spat.
Coach Dixon stormed in, clipboard already in hand, his face tight with frustration.
"Sit down," he barked. "Right now."
A few players stayed on their feet.
"I said sit. Now."
They obeyed.
"Eight-point game. That's nothing. But you wouldn't know it by the way you're panicking."
He slammed the clipboard against the bench.
"They're not smarter than us. They're not tougher than us. But they're outworking us. And if you keep letting that Cross kid get into his rhythm, you might as well start packing your shit now."
He turned and scribbled across the whiteboard, hard and fast.
"From now on, full denial on eleven. No more help defense bullshit. You face guard him. You body him. I don't care if you foul, make him feel it."
He underlined FEEL IT three times.
Then pointed at Gray.
"You're letting Durant finesse you like he's floating on a damn cloud. Put a forearm in his back. Make him jump through your chest."
Dixon stared them all down.
"We want this? Then fucking act like it."
.
Second Half
The whistle blew.
The ball was tossed.
Damion James leapt again at the center circle and slapped it back with authority.
Texas ball.
But this time, everything felt different.
"Second half underway," Brennan called. "Let's see how Pitt responds. You can already see the tension rising."
Ethan caught the ball near half-court and slowed down, scanning. But the moment he crossed the logo, Pitt sent two defenders screaming at him like heat-seeking missiles.
Ethan backed out, shifted once, and slipped the ball to Augustin. Then cut off a backdoor flar but no shot this time. Pitt stayed glued.
They were face-guarding him now. The game had shifted.
On the sideline, Joe Johnson clapped loudly from his seat, leaning forward.
"There you go! Body him!" Joe shouted. "Don't let him breathe!"
Josh raised an eyebrow. Marvin nudged him, but Joe kept watching, dead serious.
Back on the floor, Ethan was driving again, but this time the help came quicker. He hit a hesitation, split through, but before he could rise, an arm caught his side.
Whistle.
Offensive foul.
The Pitt bench exploded. Aaron Gray pumped his fist.
Joe clapped again. "That's what I'm talking about! That's pressure."
Ethan stared toward the baseline, exhaled slowly, then turned up the court. As he passed Joe's row, he didn't stop.
"You need 'em to triple me next?"
Joe smiled responding. "Don't flatter yourself. They just realized you ain't built for contact."
The next two possessions were war.
Pitt pushed the pace. A guard drilled a midrange pull-up. Then they forced a turnover—Ethan tried to spin off the trap and lost the handle.
Joe stood up and yelled, "Let's go! Make him a passer!"
So Ethan did.
Next time down, he caught the trap, slipped it to Augustin. DJ attacked the rotation, swung it left. Three. Splash.
Then again. Trap comes. Ethan split it. Hit KD at the elbow. Catch. Pull-up.
Money.
He didn't need to score. He just needed to move.
Lavin's voice hit the booth. "And that's the maturity. Most stars force it here. Ethan's adjusting. Playing point. Orchestrating instead of hunting."
Brennan added, "That's a sign of a pro. Trusting his teammates even when the defense keys in."
But Pitt was gaining confidence. Every missed jumper, every deflection, every hard box out—they roared like they were closing the gap with muscle and spite.
Ethan came down again, now looking more annoyed. Pitt trapped. He passed.
From the sideline, Joe barked again.
"Yeah, keep passing it! You don't want that smoke!"
Ethan didn't say anything at first. Just glanced over during the whistle, hands on his hips.
"Funny," he said, loud enough for courtside to hear. "Coming from a guy who needed Nash just to sniff the second round."
The whole section stiffened. Even Ludacris sat forward.
Joe's smile vanished off his face.
"Watch your mouth, kid. You better show some damn respect."
Ethan's reply was simple.
"Who do you think you are? You aren't MJ, fucking bum."
Back and forth. Old guard. New threat. One still fighting on the floor. The other watching from the front row, whether he liked it or not.
But the score remained intense.
Texas 54. Pitt 50.
Pitt trimmed the lead to two.
The energy in the air was electric.
Pitt fans were up on their feet, pounding fists against the metal bleachers in rhythm, rattling the lower bowl like a war drum.
"DEFENSE! DEFENSE!"
"DEFENSE! DEFENSE!"
Their voices rose in a wall of sound every time Ethan touched the ball — boos raining, fingers pointing, students leaning over the railing like they could reach him.
Behind the other basket, Texas fans answered back, rowdy and relentless.
" YOUR SHIT!"
Ethan's and KD's name got chanted in bursts. One Longhorn section started rhythmically stomping their feet, building, building, like thunder before lightning.
Every whistle, every contact, every bump now sparked something.
One foul on Pitt? Texas fans exploded, throwing horns in the air.
And then Kevin Durant decided it was time while Ethan was being guarded and bombed like a Palestinian kid trying to buy bread.
He floated to the wing, caught a pass from Augustin off a broken play, and with one twitch of his shoulder sent his defender stumbling.
One dribble.
Pull-up.
Hand in his face.
Didn't matter.
"KD! For three!" Brennan shouted. "That's a pro move from a college freshman!"
The net snapped. KD held the follow-through, eyes locked on the Pitt bench as he backpedaled.
"Y'all better send two," he muttered, loud enough for them to hear.
Next possession, same thing. This time he came off a pin-down, flared out, caught it in rhythm, quick release.
Splash.
He didn't even look at the rim afterward. Just turned toward Joe Johnson.
"Shut your damn mouth," KD called out, voice sharp. "He don't want none. He's not like that. Keep my bro's name outta yor mouth."
Joe stood again, barking something, but his words got swallowed by the roar.
Texas 60. Pitt 52.
And then Ethan turned into a pest.
Pitt's guard brought it up, trying to run a set.
Ethan pressed up, shoulder-to-shoulder. Hands twitching. Feet light.
Cross.
Jab.
Stop-and-go.
Nothing.
The Pitt guard barely crossed half court before Ethan stripped the ball loose, dove and snagged it.
"Stripped clean!" Lavin called. "That's just tenacity from the freshman!"
He bounced to his feet and fired the ball ahead. Didn't even wait for the layup to finish before turning back toward the guard he'd picked.
"Oh, almost got by me," Ethan said, pointing at the spot on the floor. "You were right there, I swear."
Next play, Pitt tried again.
Another guard. Same result.
Ethan bumped him at the logo, made him spin awkwardly into help.
Loose ball.
Fast break.
Kevin again.
Dunk.
"AND ONE!"
He yelled right in Joe's direction.
"Tell your boy guard up!"
Now both Ethan and KD were clapping and talking.
KD pointed at the floor. "This is my house."
Ethan waved at the Pitt bench. "You want next? Get in line."
The cameras swung to the sideline, right as Joe stood again, hands out, yelling.
"You letting these kids talk to you like that?" he barked toward Pitt's huddle.
Josh leaned over, hand to his mouth.
"Joe," he said under his breath. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Joe turned, fuming.
"They just kids, man," Josh said. "You really jawing at college players on national TV?"
Joe paused.
That stuck.
Because he was.
Live game. Primetime. And he was barking at teenagers. Letting his name get dragged into a game that had nothing to do with him.
The broadcasters didn't miss it either.
"Things are getting heated here," Brennan said from the booth. "Some words to seemed to be exchanged from KD, Cross and Joe."
"Yeah, I wonder what that's about," Lavin added. "They seem to have been at it since the start of the second third half."
.
4th Quarter
Texas 67. Pitt 60.
The game had become a street fight in a sold-out dome.
Bodies flying. Mouths running. Everyone sweating emotion now. Coaches barking, benches jumping, fans losing their voices. KD had cooled off. Pitt had punched back. But then…
Then Ethan decided enough was enough.
He walked the ball up with a snarl on his face and dead silence in his eyes. Pitt's guard was already crouched, yelling, clapping, calling for help.
Didn't matter.
Ethan snapped left, then right, then back again with a shoulder shimmy that sent the defender skidding like a folding chair on ice.
He rose. Midrange. Tough angle. Double-contested.
Splash.
Bench stood.
KD raised a fist before getting back to defense.
Ethan backpedaled, eyes locked on the defender. "You want the ball? Go get it. I'll leave it in the net for you next time."
Pitt came back down — forced shot. Miss.
Texas rebound.
Ethan again. This time off the catch. One dribble. Two defenders. He spun between them and somehow floated it off the glass from the low block.
"That's an NBA move!" Brennan shouted.
"A wizard in sneakers!" Lavin added.
Texas 71. Pitt 60.
Even the Texas fans were like: whoa.
From her seat, Emily shouted. "Ethan!"
He looked over.
"Stop starting fights with everyone and play the game!"
Even the ref cracked a smile.
KD laughed out loud. "Yo, your mom said chill, bro."
Ethan shrugged. "I'm calm now."
Then he hit another jumper.
.
Pitt tried everything. Full court press. Trap blitzes. Quick threes.
But Ethan had entered the no-talking zone. Now it was head down, eyes forward, kill mode.
He dribbled around two, then three defenders, pulled up from 25 feet…
Bang.
Next play, Pitt tried to take a charge. Ethan euro-stepped past it, flicked the ball off the glass, drew the foul.
"He's unconscious!" Brennan bellowed.
He hit the free throw.
Texas 78. Pitt 65.
One minute left.
The game was over.
FINAL BUZZER: TEXAS 82 — PITTSBURGH 67
The horn blew and the Texas bench swarmed Ethan. KD dapped him up, DJ slapped his chest, and Damion just screamed into the air.
Brennan's voice wrapped it clean. "They came for a fight. They left with a show. Texas moves on."