THE GOD OF NBA

Brooks stood on the court, heart still pounding from the impossible shot he had just made. The rain had stopped, leaving the asphalt slick beneath his sneakers.

The glowing screen of the Court System hovered faintly before his eyes, its light dimming but ever-present.

He exhaled sharply and dribbled the ball absentmindedly. His mind drifted to his father—the man who had first put a ball in his hands.\

When Brooks was little, his father would take him to the old street courts in the South Side. They weren't fancy like the indoor gyms he trained at now.

Cracks split the concrete, and the rims were rusted and crooked. But to his father, those courts were everything.

"You see," his father had said one day, spinning the ball on his fingertip, "It doesn't matter where you play. If you got the heart, the court will always recognize it."

His father had been a legend on those streets. Fast, fearless, with handles that could break any defender down. They called him "Ghost" because no one could touch him when he moved.

But for all his skill, the NBA had remained a dream just out of reach.

Brooks never understood why until years later. One night, after a rough practice, he found his father sitting alone in their cramped apartment, staring at an old photo.

It was a snapshot from his playing days, him mid-air, finishing a layup with ease.

"Why didn't you make it?" Brooks had asked, the question hanging heavy in the air.

His father sighed, fingers curling around the edges of the photo. "Talent and work? They aren't always enough, kid," he said softly. "I had the skills. But life—life has other plans sometimes."

A knee injury during a scouting game had ended everything. Without the right connections or money for proper rehab, his career slipped away. No second chances. No comeback story.

"I wanted to be unstoppable," his father had said that night. "But wanting ain't the same as being. Remember that."

Those words echoed now as Brooks stared at his hands. Energy still hummed beneath his skin, the system lingering like a ghost of possibility. Maybe this was his second chance.

The one his father never got.

The next morning, Brooks woke up with a fire in his chest. He had been cut from the Bulls' youth academy, but something inside him refused to quit.

If the system was real, then he wasn't done yet.

He pulled on his sneakers and headed straight to the local gym. The place was already buzzing with players grinding to get better.

Brooks tightened his laces and stepped onto the court. As soon as his fingers touched the ball, the Court System flickered to life.

"Active Mode: Training. Objectives: Refine Ball Handling (50 dribbles), Improve Shooting Accuracy (10/10 shots)."

The familiar glow outlined the court, tracking every movement. Brooks took a breath and dribbled. Lines of light traced the ball's path, sharpening his reflexes and guiding his hands. Each bounce felt smoother, faster.

When he took his first shot, the system kicked in. It corrected his angle by a fraction, adjusting his release point. The ball sailed through the hoop.

"Perfect Shot. +10 XP."

He grinned. This power was real. And he was going to use it.

By the afternoon, the gym was crowded. Among the players was Darius, the best point guard at Brooks' high school.

Fast, cocky, and ruthless on the court. When he spotted Brooks, he smirked.

"Thought you were done after getting cut," Darius called out. "You here to watch real hoopers play?"

Brooks bounced the ball against the floor, feeling the system pulse through his fingers. "Let's run it," he said.

A crowd gathered as they squared up for a one-on-one. Darius wasted no time, driving hard to the basket. But as he moved, the Court System mapped every step, every angle.

Brooks reacted without thinking. His feet slid effortlessly into position. When Darius pulled a crossover, Brooks saw the trajectory before it happened.

With a swift move, he cut Darius off and stole the ball.

Gasps echoed through the gym.

"Lucky break," Darius growled, eyes narrowing.

But it wasn't luck. Brooks' instincts, honed by years of hard work and now amplified by the system, made him faster and sharper.

When he drove to the hoop, the ball felt like an extension of his body.

He pulled off a Phantom Crossover—his first unlocked skill. His form blurred for an instant, and Darius stumbled, ankles giving out beneath him.

"Ankle Breaker Bonus. +50 XP."

Brooks finished with a clean jumper. Nothing but net.

The gym erupted in cheers.

From that moment on, everything changed. Brooks wasn't just playing basketball anymore. He was evolving. Days turned to weeks as he pushed his limits.

The system rewarded him with new skills: "Lightning Step," which boosted his speed in short bursts, and "Zone Vision," allowing him to track every player on the court.

But the more he grew, the stranger things became.

One night, while practicing late, a shimmering portal opened at half-court. Brooks froze as a figure stepped through. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with eyes that glowed like molten gold.

"So, you're the new player," the stranger said, spinning a luminous basketball on his finger. "If you want to survive the Courts of Olympus, you better be ready."

Brooks clenched his fists. "I'm not backing down."

The figure grinned. "Good. Because the real game? It's only just begun."

The portal flared again, and the air buzzed with magic.

Brooks stepped forward, ready to face whatever lay ahead. He wasn't just chasing a dream anymore. He was chasing destiny.

And this time, he wouldn't stop until he reached the top.