CHAPTER 95: CHAPTER 95 :THE SONG BLEW UP AND TOPPED THE CHARTS

The Roarers’ battle with the Orvara Eclipse was over, and Darius was the night’s undeniable star. He soaked up the spotlight with an on-court interview and dominated the post-game presser.

Ryan had balled out—28 points, 12 assists, 5 boards, a slick double-double—but Darius stole the show with a jaw-dropping 46 points, 6 assists, and 2 rebounds.

His fourth quarter was pure magic: 10-of-11 shooting for 25 points, a performance that left the UmbraTech crowd stunned.

Those 46 points and single-quarter 25 were career highs for Darius, etched into his legacy.

Once Darius wrapped up media duties, the Roarers were wheels up—flying back to Iron City. Friday night, they’d be at home, hosting the ninth-seeded Brontic Bay Krakens.

By the time Ryan stepped into his apartment, it was nearly 3 a.m.

He dropped into bed, but sleep didn’t come easy—not after catching a nap on the flight.

Collapsing onto his bed, his mind drifted to Russell Westbrook.

"System," Ryan muttered, voice low, "what’s up with Russ? He sign with anybody yet? What team’s he on?"

The system’s response was instant:

[No team yet. Still unsigned.]

Ryan froze, a pang hitting his chest.

No team? Still?

A wave of quiet sadness crept in.

Russ could still play—no question—but the league no longer had a place for him.

A former MVP. A walking triple-double. One of the NBA’s top 75 players ever.

And now? No jersey. No locker room. No team.

The weight of inevitability pressed down—time, undefeated, had claimed another legend.

One of the league’s 75 greatest was scraping by in the twilight of his career, fighting for a roster spot.

The NBA’s brutal truth stared Ryan down: it waits for no one, not even a former MVP like Russell Westbrook. It was a stark reminder of the league’s cold logic, where time and trends chew up even the fiercest competitors.

If Russ couldn’t find a team, his career might fade out with a quiet, bittersweet whimper—a gut-punch end for a player who’d always roared.

——

Thursday night in Iron City, the sky hung heavy, gray clouds churning like they knew K-Vibe’s new single, "Remember the Name," was about to set the city ablaze.

At midnight, the track dropped across streaming giants—Sonique, Banana Music, and more—while the music video hit EchoTube like a thunderbolt. Within an hour, the internet was a wildfire, raging out of control.

Sonique, a streaming giant not unlike Spotify in Ryan’s original world, saw numbers explode. Streams and downloads skyrocketed within the first hour, shattering platform records.

Fans flooded custom playlists with names like "Street Anthems" and "ABA Heat," clogging Sonique’s homepage. The platform’s algorithm shot the track to the top of its Trending Now section, cementing its dominance.

ToneBoard’s HotTrend chart, a real-time ranking fueled by social buzz and updated hourly, crowned the song number one within 60 minutes, its meteoric rise a testament to its grip on the zeitgeist.

EchoTube, the video hub mirroring YouTube, was pure chaos.

Ryan, still awake, pulled up the MV on his tablet. The opening beat hit, and the screen lit up with fire. Carver Park under floodlights looked more like a battlefield than a basketball court. Sneakers screeched, crowds roared, and the vibe? Pure adrenaline.

"You ready?! Let’s go!" K-Vibe’s voice boomed.

The camera whipped through Ryan’s lightning-fast drives, Cameron and Ankle Reaper’s explosive duel, each frame dripping with grit.

The 808 bass thumped like a heartbeat.

The chorus slashed through like a blade: "This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill..."

EchoTube’s view counter spun like a slot machine, hitting 3 million in the first hour.

The comments section was a frenzy:

"This MV is straight fire!"

"Perfect hoops anthem!"

"Carver Park’s soul lives forever!"

Ryan barely finished watching when his phone lit up—Jamal, hyped out of his mind.

"Yo, you see the MV? They got my buzzer-beating three in there!"

Ryan chuckled. "Yeah, man, I saw. Stealing my spotlight now?"

——

The next day around noon, Ryan was cruising to Iron Vault Arena in his K3, gearing up for the night’s game.

He flicked on the radio, and there it was—"Remember the Name," already in heavy rotation across every platform.

What Ryan didn’t know was the buzz swirling around him.

"This track? Ryan co-wrote it with K-Vibe."

"Didn’t know he had that kind of talent—dude can ball and make fire music!"

——

9 PM, Iron Vault Arena.

The place was electric. Over 90% capacity, the energy thick enough to touch. Roarers vs. Brontic Bay Krakens. Player introductions wrapped, the lights dimmed—and then came the beat.

The moment Remember the Name hit the speakers, the arena exploded.

By the chorus, the crowd was singing along in unison, turning the court into a full-blown concert.

The game tipped off, and the Roarers came out swinging. No surprise—they rolled to a 124-116 victory on their home floor.

Ryan was a force, dropping a game-high 32 points, 11 assists, and 6 rebounds—another double-double, his name echoing through the rafters as the crowd chanted.

By the time Ryan got home from the postgame press conference, it was just shy of midnight.

He was halfway to collapsing on the couch when his phone lit up. Chloe Palmer’s name flashed on the screen, and his pulse kicked into overdrive. He answered, trying to play it cool.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual. "Didn’t expect a call this late—everything okay?"

Chloe’s voice came through, smooth as honey, with that teasing edge that always threw him off. "First off, congrats on another clutch performance, Mr. Double-Double. You carried the team tonight."

"Appreciate it," Ryan said, easing into a smile.

"Alright," Chloe continued, "real reason I’m calling: I’ve got a friend who wants to meet you. When are you free for dinner?"

Ryan blinked. "A friend?"

"Yup," she replied, a smile in her voice. "Selena Hartley. She’s a singer. Remember the signing ceremony a few weeks ago? She was at the afterparty at Sky Lounge."

Ryan racked his brain, coming up blank. That night was a blur of music, lights, and Chloe’s laugh as they danced, her perfume lingering in his memory. Every step, every spin with her was crystal clear, but the rest? Foggy.

Then it clicked—Jamal had mentioned some singer in the crowd.

"Uh, sorry, drawing a blank," he admitted. "What’s this about?"

Chloe laughed, light and playful. "C’mon, Ryan. Your track ’Remember the Name’ is

dominating the charts, and my girl’s very curious about the man behind it. Thought maybe you two could talk music over dinner."

Ryan hesitated, checking his calendar in his head. "I’ve got a home game Sunday, then we hit the road for two away games next week... How about tomorrow?"

He glanced at the clock—past midnight. "I mean, tonight, technically. Works for you?"

Truth was, Ryan wasn’t just being flexible. The thought of seeing Chloe again, her smile lighting up the room, had his heart doing backflips. Dinner with her friend? Fine. But Chloe was the real draw.

"Cool, tonight it is," Chloe said, her voice crackling with that effortless charm. "I’ll ping you the spot once I lock it down."

"Sounds good," Ryan replied.

"By the way," she added, a smile in her voice, "I didn’t know you wrote music."

Ryan smirked, playing along. "Oh, I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve you haven’t seen yet."

Chloe’s laugh was light, like a spark. "Well, I’m waiting for the full show, then."

They bantered a little more, light teasing back and forth, before finally hanging up.

The silence afterward was deafening, his thoughts a whirlwind.

As soon as the call ended, Ryan sat back, a flicker of something heavier settling in.

He liked Chloe—more than he’d admit—but he’d never made a move.

She was out of his league, not just in vibe but in status, moving in circles he was still clawing his way toward.

He sighed, slumping onto the couch. Keep it chill for now, he told himself.

Wait till I’m balling out, stacking wins, maybe inking a eight-figure deal with the Roarers. Then I’ll make a move.

Shaking off the thought, Ryan grabbed his tablet to look up Selena Hartley.

If he was meeting her tonight, he owed her the courtesy of knowing who she was.

No way he’d sit through dinner clueless about her music.

A quick search on PulseNet pulled up her profile: Selena Hartley, 23, Iron City native, singer. Her photos popped up—sweet smile, bright eyes, the kind of look that could light up a room.

She’d been in the game two years but hadn’t landed a breakout hit.

Third-tier artist, maybe fourth, Ryan mused, scrolling through her bio.

He tapped into a few of her tracks on Sonique. Pop vibes, clean and emotional. Her voice was solid—smooth, with a raw edge that carried real feeling.

The kind of singer who could make you believe every word.

But the songs? Forgettable. Nothing grabbed him, no hook to hum on the way out.

Solid pipes, weak material, he thought, setting the tablet down.

At least he’d have something to talk about tonight.