NBA: GIANT KILLING

The game raged on, unfolding like a Game 7 of an NBA game televised to the whole nation, each possession a clash of willpower, each shot a declaration of dominance. The hardwood trembled beneath the relentless pace, sneakers squealing like the cries of war. Sweat dripped, breaths came in ragged bursts, but no one dared slow down.

As soon as play resumed, Georgia Tech ignited the court with blistering speed.

"Go!"

Jack handled the ball with controlled aggression, his every dribble precise, deliberate. His eyes, sharp as a predator's, searched for an opening, a weakness. Oliver closed in, his stance low, his focus razor-sharp. But Jack barely hesitated. He had already made his decision.

A high lob arced across the court, slicing through the air like an executioner's blade.

Bosh caught it mid-stride. One dribble. Two. Then, without a flicker of doubt, he launched himself into the air—BANG!

A poster dunk.

The rim shook violently as the ball rocketed through the net. The arena erupted into chaos, the Georgia Tech faithful roaring their approval. Their team had made a statement, loud and clear.

Oliver exhaled slowly, his eyes dark, unreadable. He wasn't rattled. If anything, he understood now. Georgia Tech wasn't just playing basketball anymore. They were trying to break him. Trying to drown him in a relentless tide of speed and pressure.

But this, he knew, was a war they couldn't win.

Fatigue? Impossible.

His training had made sure of that.

100 pull-ups.

10 kilometers of running.

100 squats.

100… and on and on.

Day after day. Hour after hour. His body had been forged in an inferno of pain, molded into something beyond exhaustion. He had trained not to withstand pressure, but to thrive in it.

And now, as he stood on the hardwood, heart hammering in his chest, adrenaline flooding his veins, he felt only exhilaration.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips.

The inbound pass came. The moment the ball met his fingertips, Georgia Tech's defense collapsed on him like a vice.

Wilson. Jack.

Two defenders, their bodies tense, eyes locked onto him. Since the start of the fourth quarter, they had shackled themselves to him, their only mission to suffocate his game.

Jack, drenched in sweat, stared at Oliver's every movement. There was something new in his expression.

Fear.

Oliver moved.

A flicker of motion—between the legs, then a sudden spin to the left. Like a panther exploding from the underbrush, he broke free.

Half-court disappeared beneath his feet.

Jack and Wilson lunged, desperate arms stretching toward him—but they were chasing ghosts.

Oliver was already gone.

"Damn it—!"

A blur. Three quick strides into the paint. A soft release, effortless. Two points.

Georgia Tech had tried to break him with tempo. Instead, it was Oliver who had shattered them.

On the sidelines, Georgia Tech's head coach felt unease creep up his spine.

Why… why does he still have so much energy?

The answer came swiftly.

Next possession—Oliver read Jack's pass like scripture, intercepting it mid-air.

A flash of movement. A lightning-fast transition.

A single heartbeat later—another layup.

Score: 96-94.

Aina University had taken the lead for the first time.

The crowd erupted into madness.

"This little point guard is insane!"

"Holy shit, he's still moving at full speed?!"

"OLIVER!"

"OLIVER!"

The chant swelled like an ocean, a tidal wave of sound crashing down upon the court.

Since the start of the fourth quarter, Georgia Tech had tried to wear Oliver down.

Now, who was truly wearing down whom?

To Georgia Tech's players, Oliver felt like an untamed force of nature—never stopping, never faltering, never yielding.

And for Aina University, he was more than just a player.

He was a god.

But Georgia Tech refused to fold. Bosh muscled his way inside, his footwork polished, his touch soft—two more points.

The battle raged on, neither team relenting.

Oliver orchestrated the offense, his passes finding Franklin and Golin in rhythm. Buckets.

Yet the gap refused to widen.

Back and forth. Like desert sands shifting in the wind, the lead changed hands relentlessly.

With one minute left, the scoreboard remained razor-thin.

Who would break first?

Georgia Tech's fans had entered the night expecting domination. Aina was supposed to be nothing more than a footnote in their victory parade.

But now, against all odds, a single figure stood at the heart of everything—small, unassuming, yet commanding the court like a king.

Oliver.

And then—disaster.

Gorin hesitated, nerves betraying his hands.

Swipe!

Bosh, a future NBA all-star, seized the moment.

The ball broke free.

Harris snatched it, racing forward like a bullet.

Oliver lunged—but his height was a curse.

The pass soared beyond his reach.

Bosh caught it. His hands rose. His form, picture-perfect.

A clean release.

Swish.

Three points.

Score: 108-110.

Georgia Tech had retaken the lead.

The clock read 47 seconds.

Aina's coach, Boeheim, wasted no time—timeout.

On the bench, Gorin sat frozen, his hands clenched, shame etching deep lines into his face.

Oliver approached him, voice low, steady.

"Don't worry. We still have a chance."

And when Golin met his eyes, he believed it.

Coach Boeheim hesitated.

Georgia Tech is still the stronger team. 33 seconds left. Down by two. They'll go all out on defense.

This final play would decide everything.

Then, Oliver stepped forward.

His voice was unwavering.

"Coach, trust in me."

Silence.

Then—a nod.

"Oliver, this play is yours."