Basketball Soul System: I Got Westbrook’s MVP Powers in Another World!

Ryan wrapped up the night with 40 points, 12 assists, and 4 rebounds—double-double that screamed efficiency, even if Lamar Dixon's 43 points stole the spotlight in a losing effort for the Lumina. Dixon's numbers were fireworks, but in defeat, they were just smoke.

As the final buzzer echoed through Iron Vault Arena, Ryan glanced up at the VIP seats. Steven Palmer and Victor Crane had already slipped out, their shadows vanishing into the crowd, but Chloe Palmer lingered, her blue eyes locked on him, a soft smile playing on her lips. She gave him a thumbs-up, her gesture cutting through the post-game haze like a beacon.

He didn't bother to speak—just curled his fingers into a playful little "yes" fist and gave it a quick pump in her direction, the kind of private signal they both knew well. A grin tugged at his lips for half a second before the sideline reporter slid in with a mic, yanking him back under the glare of the cameras. The interview was short—steady answers, though his breath was still catching from the game's relentless pace.

The interview wrapped, and as Ryan turned, Chloe waved him over from the sidelines. She leaned in, her voice low amid the lingering crowd noise. "Meet up for food after? I've got something to tell you."

He grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "Sounds good—but I've got the post-game presser first."

"No rush," she said with a wink. "I'll wait in the car."

Ryan nodded, heading down the tunnel, the cool air a relief from the arena's heat. But as he stepped into the dim corridor, he froze—Victor Crane, the Roarers' owner, leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Crane pushed off, clapping Ryan on the shoulder with a genuine smile. "Hell of a game, son. You carried us tonight."

Ryan shook his hand, surprised but composed. "The whole team did, Mr. Crane."

They walked shoulder to shoulder toward the locker room, Crane's polished shoes clicking against the concrete. No small talk—just the quiet echo of footsteps in the tunnel.

Ryan pushed open the locker room door to find the place still buzzing. His on-court interview had been short enough that he hadn't missed the wind-down—teammates were still riding the high, slapping backs, trading laughs. Crane stepped in behind him, and the room went quiet for a beat.

Crane cleared his throat, clapping his hands. "Boys, that was some damn fine basketball out there. You all played like champions."

He paused, scanning the room with a grin. "Tomorrow night, 8 p.m., my place—a party for the players and staff only."

The locker room exploded in surprise. Malik and Gibson exchanged wide-eyed looks—this was uncharted territory. Crane had never thrown a bash like this. Back in the Marcus era, sure, but not since. Whispers rippled: What's the catch?

Crane raised a hand. "Bring your families, your partners. Let's celebrate."

With three days till the next home game, the news landed like a gift. The team buzzed again, chatter filling the air as Crane slipped out.

——

The post-game press conference wrapped up under the harsh lights of the media room, reporters firing questions about Ryan's cold-fueled performance and that game-sealing bucket. He kept his answers crisp, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

By the time he stepped out, the arena was emptying, the echoes of the crowd fading into the night. Chloe waited in her cherry-red K3, the engine idling like a purr. Ryan slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool against his skin.

She leaned over, kissing his cheek. "You were incredible out there."

He grinned, coughing lightly. "Thanks. What's this thing you wanted to tell me?"

Chloe started the car, pulling out into Iron City's neon-lit streets. They stopped at a low-key diner, the kind with vinyl booths and greasy spoons. Over burgers and fries, she finally spilled: "My dad bought the Roarers. It's in the legal weeds now, league approval pending."

Ryan froze, his burger halfway to his mouth. "Steven bought the team?"

She nodded, her eyes sparkling. "Yeah. He's been eyeing it for years. The deal's almost done—just paperwork and league sign-off."

The rumors about the team's sale had been around forever.

Ryan remembered Kamara once joking—half teasing, half dead serious—that if Palmer ever bought the team and Ryan managed to land Chloe, he could hang up his sneakers for good and have her talk her dad into making him GM.

He'd laughed it off back then. But the first half had come true—Palmer now owned the team. And the second? Somehow, that had happened too.

As for quitting basketball? That had never crossed his mind. He still had titles to win, records to break, and a career to carve out.

"No wonder," Ryan said with a grin. "Crane just told the entire Roarers roster—and even the front office—to be at his place tomorrow night at eight. So it's a farewell party after all."

Chloe shook her head with a small smile. "Not exactly farewell. He's keeping ten percent and sticking around as an operations advisor."

Ryan raised a brow. "Still… it's not his team anymore." He paused, then: "You coming with me?"

Her laugh was light, like Iron City's rare summer breeze. "Of course. He invited Dad and me already."

Ryan grinned. "So… farewell party and meet-the-new-owner mixer?"

They both laughed. But as the laughter faded, Chloe's expression shifted—playful lines smoothing into something more deliberate.

"There's something else," she said, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. "I need to tell you the whole story."

Her tone made Ryan tense, a knot tightening in his chest. "What up?"

She took a breath, as if weighing each word. "My dad and Crane have been negotiating for a long time. Then you… well, you came out of nowhere this season, and Crane started getting cold feet."

Ryan frowned. "And?"

"My dad… he… created this illusion—made Crane believe you and I were already together. It was part of a plan he'd set in motion long ago. That way, if Crane refused to sell, he'd go after another team… and I'd be the one to reach out, to lure you away. That's when Crane finally gave in."

Ryan blinked, then let out a low chuckle, the tension melting. "That's it? Thought you were dropping some espionage-level shit." His laugh was rough, like gravel on the blacktop, but it carried relief. "Your dad's a shark, huh?"

Chloe's smile returned, softer now. "I just didn't want you hearing some twisted version later and thinking I was in on it."

He reached for her hand, his calloused fingers wrapping around hers. "I trust you, Chloe. No rumors are gonna change that."

The air between them lightened, like the final seconds of a blowout win. Ryan shifted gears, his tone playful. "So, what's next? Big front-office shakeup? You taking a VP role or something?"

Chloe shook her head, her laugh easy. "I don't know about staff changes. And me? I'll wait and see. Zero9's got all my focus right now. No extra bandwidth to play executive."

They finished their meal, the diner's neon glow fading as they stepped into Iron City's night, the city's pulse a steady beat under their feet.

——

The next night, Iron City wore its finest coat—streets glistening from an afternoon rain, neon signs breathing color into the wet pavement. Ryan guided his black K3 coupe down a tree-lined boulevard, the kind of neighborhood where hedges were taller than most people and the air seemed quieter, heavier, expensive.

He'd never been to Palmer's estate before. He'd heard about it—everybody in the city had—but the real thing made the rumors look modest.

Turning into the private drive, motion-sensor lights winked on one by one, casting a slow, theatrical glow on the pavement. At the end of the approach, a wrought-iron gate loomed, intricate as jewelry. A discreet camera swiveled toward the car, scanning. The gates opened without a sound.

Beyond lay an expanse of manicured lawn broken by a marble fountain, water catching the low light in silver arcs. In its center, a sculpture—abstract but elegant—rose from the spray.

The main house itself stood in classic neoclassical symmetry, three stories of pale stone glowing warm under soft exterior lighting. Arched windows framed with limestone columns revealed slices of opulence inside—chandeliers, art, the glint of crystal. At the base of a broad marble staircase sat a small, curated lineup of cars—vintage European models, one-off exotics. Nothing as obvious as a showroom; these were chosen, almost curated.

Ryan parked where a valet motioned, but his attention shifted to the movement at the top of the stairs.

Chloe.

She descended like she'd been born to marble and moonlight. Her deep blue silk gown moved with a kind of liquid patience, catching the light each time she turned. Her hair was swept into a low chignon, a few deliberate strands falling loose, framing her face. Diamond drops swayed at her ears—small, but sharp enough to catch the eye. Each step of her heels on the stone came crisp and confident.

For a moment, Ryan simply watched from behind the glass. She reached the car, opened the door, and slid in beside him.

"You look…" His voice came lower than he expected, as if the words had weight. "…incredible tonight."

Her lips curved in a knowing smile, eyes glinting in the dashboard light.

It wasn't planned, wasn't calculated—he just leaned in and kissed her. Quick, but real, the kind of moment that didn't need more than a heartbeat to set itself in memory.

She didn't pull away, only gave a gentle nudge to his shoulder. "Drive. We've got a party to catch."

They left the estate and merged back into the glow of the city.