NOVEL WEB Chapter 108 :Acquisition of the Roarers Officially Begins
At 1 p.m., the Roarers shifted their training from the Roarers Training Center to Iron Vault Arena for a tactical session. Just an hour earlier, the Emerald Bay Lumina had wrapped up their own familiarization drills here.
Ryan was laser-focused on his positioning, sweat dripping, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor—completely unaware that the recent entertainment headlines about him and Chloe were quietly stirring up a storm, accelerating the fate of the Roarers' ownership.
Meanwhile, at Iron City's most exclusive private club—The Obsidian Room .
Steven Palmer, Iron City's richest man, sat across from Victor Crane, the Roarers' owner, sharing an opulent lunch of lobster and Bordeaux. But the atmosphere was thick and tense, more like a locker room before a big game than a leisurely meal.
Palmer set his glass down, his gaze slicing through Crane like a blade. "Crane, how long are you gonna drag this out? A few years back, I offered to buy the Roarers. You refused—fine, I gave up. Then earlier this year, you come to me saying you want to sell. We almost had a deal, and now you're stalling again. So tell me straight: are you selling or not?"
Crane forced a wry smile, his eyes darting. When Palmer first bid, Marcus was still alive, the Roarers a gold mine pumping cash—sell? No way.
Marcus's death changed everything, losses stacking up like bad bets. Crane figured his deep pockets could hold out, but last year's AI startup—a relentless money suck—drained him dry, forcing his hand.
He'd reached out to Palmer, deal nearly done, but Ryan Carter's meteoric rise, packing stands and spiking jersey sales, stirred memories of the Roarers' glory days, tempting him to cling on.
He didn't want to let go entirely, his heart still chained to the team's legacy. "How about 49% equity?" he tested, voice thin.
Palmer's face darkened, a flash of disdain in his eyes. "No deal. I want full control."
Crane's smile turned bitter. "Alright… how about 51% then?"
Palmer slammed his fist on the table, voice crackling with fury. "Stop jerking me around, Crane! Full acquisition, 100%, like we agreed. I'm done playing!" He leaned in, his tone dropping to a chilling growl: "You read Atlantis Today today? Ryan and Chloe, splashed across the headlines. I'll snap up some tanking team tomorrow. When Ryan's contract expires next year, Chloe just needs to say the word, and I'll snatch him up. Roarers? Back to empty seats, a forgotten franchise."
Crane's face paled, his fingers tightening around his napkin like a lifeline. He'd seen the article, knew Palmer's threat was no bluff. Ryan was the Roarers' spark; lose him, and the team's revival would collapse like a missed buzzer-beater.
His fingers tapped the table, each beat a pulse of desperation, his mind racing through shrinking options. After two minutes of silence, he spoke, voice low. "Keep 10% for me. Let me stay as operations consultant—I know the Roarers better than anyone."
Palmer's brow creased, his stare sharp as a hawk's, weighing Crane like a chess move. After a beat, he nodded. "Fine. But the price drops back to $2 billion—not $2.25 billion."
Crane sighed, pain twisting inside him but no other choice. The price matched their original agreement, but at least he kept a 10% stake, with dividends and a cut if Palmer sells when the team's value grows. "Deal. It's settled." he said, voice strained.
Palmer nodded, a victor's smirk curling his lips. He pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant. "Start the due diligence and legal review immediately."
Crane dialed his secretary, his tone flat, masking a flicker of defeat: "Pull the latest financials and contracts for Palmer's team."
Palmer was steady. "League approvals take four to six weeks at best. Clearing funds and closing the deal—no more than two months."
Crane nodded silently, a trace of wistfulness in his eyes. In two months, the Roarers would no longer be his.
——
8:30 PM – Roarers Locker Room
The players were busy getting ready.
Ryan, finally over his cold, was back in the starting lineup tonight.
The door swung open, and Ryan's head snapped up.
Victor Crane?
The rest of the room was just as surprised — the team owner rarely stepped foot in the locker room.
Crane smiled. "It's been a long time since I dropped by to check on you guys."
He walked along the row of starters, giving each a pat on the shoulder. "Go get 'em tonight."
When he stopped in front of Ryan, he extended a hand.
"My bad, kid. You've been with us almost two months, and I haven't shaken your hand. Welcome to the Roarers."
Ryan gripped his hand, flashing a quick grin, unsure what to say. His pulse ticked up, sensing the weight of Crane's visit. "Show me something tonight," Crane added, then turned to exchange a few words with Coach Crawford before slipping out.
Kamara raised an eyebrow. "The boss showing up in the locker room? That's rare."
Malik, taping his ankle, nodded. "Back when Marcus was still here, Crane came down before every home game. After the buzzer, he'd be waiting in the tunnel — high-fives if we won, a pat on the back if we lost."
Darius grinned. "Maybe he's feeling the fire again. Roarers are starting to look like their old selves."
9:00 PM – Iron Vault Arena.
The place was packed.
The roar from the crowd was deafening as both teams emerged from the tunnel.
Ryan jogged out, warming up with layups, his eyes scanning the VIP seats. Chloe Palmer, radiant in his No. 0 jersey, flashed a fist-pump from the front row, her blonde hair catching the lights.
The jumbotron caught her, and the crowd roared louder.
On the call, Jack "Mad Dog" Murphy grinned into his mic. "Folks, you catch today's news? Ryan and Chloe are officially an item. And here she is, cheering him on in person."
His partner, Sammy "Quicklip" Lee, chimed in. "Iron City's golden couple, right there."
Next to Chloe sat Steven Palmer — and beside him, Victor Crane.
Ryan gave a nod to Derrick Langley, the Lumina's center and his Rising Stars Challenge foe.
On Lumina's bench, Jordy Polk sat in a warm-up jacket, eyes locked on Ryan.
He hadn't played in weeks. No warmups tonight.
No surprise why — the last time Polk had been on the floor, Ryan had torched him in garbage time. That game had buried Polk deep in the rotation, Polk's career was on ice—likely cut next season—and Ryan was the spark that lit the fuse.
Ryan could feel Polk's stare. He glanced over, meeting his eyes.
He remembered him — remembered that Polk had been the first defender he'd faced in his debut game. The first guy he'd exchanged words with on the court.
What was it he'd said back then?
Oh, right. "You ever seen a triple-double MVP?"
Ryan gave him a nod. Polk returned it, stone-faced.
The Roarers' starting five tonight: Ryan, Darius, Malik, Kamara, and Gibson.
This was their fourth and final clash with the Emerald Bay Lumina, and the previous three were brutal losses. The last one, at Lumina's home court, was a 41-point blowout by the third quarter—a humiliation that still stung. Tonight, the Roarers were done with shame, each player coiled like a spring, ready to reclaim their pride.
Ryan's eyes locked on Lamar.
Another showdown with an All-Star caliber player — but with his game synced to nearly ninety percent of prime Westbrook, he wasn't the least bit rattled.
His blood thrummed, fueled by Chloe's VIP fist-pump and the crowd's "Ry-an!" chant.
The tip-off came at 9:30 sharp. The ref tossed the ball skyward, and Malik and Lumina's center, Derrick Langley, launched into the air.
Derrick won the jump, swatting it back.
Lamar caught it, brought it over half court. Ryan met him head-on.
A behind-the-back dribble. A spin move… and nothing — Ryan stayed in front. Lamar's not exactly lightning-quick, and against a good defender, blowing by is a chore.
Still, he worked his way to the elbow, then spun into a Dirk-style one-legged fadeaway.
Swish.
The ball kissed the net clean.
Roarers' ball. Ryan took point, his sneakers squeaking, the crowd's roar a drumbeat in his chest. He tested the waters with a midrange jumper, just to feel the release.
Clang.
The rim spat it out.
Derrick snatched the board, his grin taunting as he fired it back to Lamar.
Next possession, Lamar bullied Ryan into the paint, his shoulders a battering ram. He faked a pass to the wing, and Ryan flinched—just a hair. Lamar pounced, lobbing a soft touch off the glass.
Swish.
That was Lamar: not a speed demon, his game a chessboard of feints and fakes. You could match his pace, but his body, his pores, oozed deception. Blink, and you're done. His shooting? Lethal.
Less than a minute in, the Roarers trailed 0-4, the scoreboard a cold reminder of the hill they had to climb. Ryan reset, eyes narrowing. This wasn't garbage time. This was war.