NBA: GIANT KILLING

To the average onlooker, athleticism is a game changer—one that makes victory in a one-on-one basketball match nearly impossible.

The gathered crowd watched with anticipation, eager for entertainment.

Jenna stood at the side, her expression calm and unwavering.

She had absolute faith in Oliver's basketball skills.

She firmly believes that even ten Hanks wouldn't be a match for Oliver and for her, it wasn't an exaggeration.

On the court, Oliver had dominated players far better than Hank—he had even beaten Bosh. A player deemed one of the best in the tournament.

A simple one-on-one with Hank was nothing but a warm-up.

When Hank tossed the ball toward Oliver, a smirk of condescension played on his lips, his eyes filled with barely-hidden glee.

Oliver caught the ball with a steady grip, standing motionless.

"Ha! Come at me! Kid, don't tell me you're scared? Basketball isn't for the cowardly—go home and drink some more milk."

Hank taunted him without restraint, not even bothering to get into a defensive stance.

Yet, in the next moment, his shit-ass grin vanished.

Oliver moved.

His body tilted left, feinting as though he was about to drive in that direction.

Hank, following defensive instinct, shifted left to block the path.

But in an instant, Oliver crossed over, shifting right like a bolt of lightning.

Hank's expression changed drastically. His hand shot out to recover, but his massive frame was sluggish—his reaction clumsy and ill-coordinated.

His foot slipped.

With a heavy crash, he hit the ground.

By the time he realized what had happened, Oliver had already blown past him, gliding toward the hoop with effortless grace.

With a delicate touch, the ball rolled off his fingertips and into the basket.

Thud!

The towering, six-foot-six Hank lay sprawled on the ground, utterly astounded. The crowd, which had been enjoying the spectacle moments ago, stood frozen in stunned silence.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, as though breaking out of a trance, the murmurs began.

"My God, did I see that right?"

"He just crossed that guy over!"

"That footwork, that speed—he reminds me of Iverson!"

Oliver had long grown accustomed to reactions like these.

People who didn't know him always underestimated his athleticism.

And time and time again, he let his game do the talking.

Against players like Hank, who were all talk, he didn't even need to exert too much effort—just his basketball instincts and unfair physicality honed through training were enough to dismantle his opponent.

From the sidelines, Jenna's voice rang out, brimming with excitement.

"Oliver, you're the best! Teach that guy a lesson!"

The crowd finally erupted, showering Oliver with cheers and applause.

To them, a five-foot-nine player facing off against someone over six-foot-six was an impossible mismatch.

Yet, Oliver had turned the game on its head, turning what should have been a disadvantage into a spectacle.

Hank climbed back to his feet, his face burning red with a mixture of shame and indignation.

"That was just a fluke! You just got lucky! Again!"

Spreading his arms wide, he finally got into a proper defensive stance, determination flashing in his eyes.

Oliver casually tossed him the ball, his voice calm and indifferent.

"Your turn to attack."

Hank caught the ball, his heart surging with excitement.

Oliver was fast—his dribble moves were deadly. That's what had caught him off guard.

But now, with the ball in his own hands?

Speed didn't matter anymore.

Hank dribbled cautiously, his movements careful and deliberate.

This time, he wasn't going to underestimate Oliver. He wasn't going to make a fool of himself in front of all these people again.

Oliver, standing in front of him, remained motionless—not even lifting a hand to defend.

" Ha! Did that lucky shot get in your head?"

With a burst of speed, Hank charged toward the hoop, his powerful strides eating up the distance.

Leaping into the air, he prepared to slam the ball down with a ferocious dunk, determined to make a statement.

But just as he rose, a shadow flickered before his eyes.

In the next instant, a sight burned itself into his memory forever.

That five-foot-nine player—

Was flying higher than him.

A single hand, like a hammer, came down on the ball.

Smack!

The basketball was swatted away with overwhelming force!

A monstrous block!

Hank was completely stunned.

He hadn't even seen Oliver move.

If he hadn't experienced it firsthand, he never would have believed it—a five-foot-nine player rejecting a towering center so effortlessly.

The crowd fell into stunned silence.

Oliver's speed and deception were shocking, but they could be explained—after all, small guards in the NBA were often quick and crafty.

But this?

A block like that?

A five-foot-nine player sending back a dunk attempt from someone well over six feet?

"Oh my God, I recorded that! If I post this on Facebook, it's going viral!"

"I'm streaming live—some rich guy just sent me a rocket donation!"

"Which team is he on? No way a normal person can do this!"

"Quick! I need his contact info! This guy is going to blow up!"

Within moments, the crowd exploded with excitement.

But before anyone could approach Oliver, he and Jenna had already disappeared into the distance, leaving behind only their stunned whispers.

Hank, meanwhile, stood frozen, as if trapped in a dream.

He had been utterly forgotten.

No longer the star of the show—he had become the punchline of the joke.

"Hey, I remember you saying you'd eat your basketball if you lost."

"Yeah, I heard that too."

"A real man doesn't go back on his word. And hey, I'm still live-streaming. Eating a basketball would make top headlines for sure! You can be famous!"

The surrounding onlookers egged him on mercilessly. Hank, face twisted in agony, hesitated as he lifted the basketball toward his mouth...

And then...

-------------------------

That brief encounter at the park was nothing more than a small episode in Oliver and Jenna's date.

Neither of them let it dampen their mood, strolling through the city until dusk, exhaustion never touching their steps.

As the evening drew to a close, Jenna received a call from her cheerleading squad, requesting her presence for some team matters.

Before parting, she gave Oliver a warm hug and a lingering, honey-sweet kiss, reluctant to leave.

Oliver, however, didn't head home.

Instead, he went straight to the gym for more training.

By chance, he ran into Golin there.

"Hey, Oliver! Can't sit still, huh?" Golin greeted him enthusiastically.

Oliver grinned. "If I go a day without training, my hands start itching. How about a one-on-one?"

Golin instantly raised his hands in surrender. "No way! I'm not playing you one-on-one."

Among his teammates, Golin understood Oliver's abilities best—he had suffered through enough losses to know better.

Not once had he ever beaten Oliver in a duel.

Oliver chuckled. "Alright then, let's practice threes instead."

With an excited smile, Golin walked towards the ball.

"Now that, I can do!"

…

Two hours later, Oliver wrapped up his training for the day.

The next morning, the head coach of Aina University gathered the team for intense pre-game preparations.

They had barely scraped by against Georgia Tech, and Coach Boeheim knew exactly why—

Oliver had carried the team.

If they wanted to go further, they would have to work even harder.