Blacklist 89 – Skull Diggers 64.
Nash had already piled up 41 points, jersey dripping, but his body never broke.
Every recovery passive in his system carried him, lungs fresh, legs firing like it was the first quarter. The more the clock ticked, the more unstoppable he looked. This was his night, his court, his crown.
The Diggers burned substitutions, throwing anyone they had left at him. Nothing worked.
Nash shredded every new defender, one by one, crossing over, spinning, pulling off impossible disorder shots that should never have gone in.
Each one did, and the crowd's roars grew deafening.
On the bench, Jinzo sat hunched backwards, hands closed, eyes empty. The throne he dreamed of wasn't his anymore; it was Nash's.
Daliah leaned toward Victoria.
"Too much weight on him. The team's balance is breaking. Maybe you should—"
Victoria's glasses slid down just enough for her sharp eyes to cut her words off.
