Chapter 8: Crushing the Rim, Breaking Towns
Adrian Cross's thunderous dunk hadn't even settled the arena, and the crowd chatter was still buzzing, but the Blue Team was already launching a fast counterattack.
Mudiay dribbled up the court, signaling Karl-Anthony Towns for a pick-and-roll. As one of the top lottery picks in the draft, Mudiay had a lot of confidence in his skills. Adrian's previous performance had annoyed him, and he wanted to respond with a flawless offensive play.
Towns suppressed the shock in his chest and stepped up to screen for Mudiay.
Mudiay used the screen, exploded into the paint, drew help defense from Connaughton, and flicked his wrist, lobbing the ball toward the rim.
This was a well-practiced alley-oop with Towns, rehearsed countless times in tryouts.
"Now!" Towns thought.
He rolled toward the basket, body stretched in the air, ready to dunk with power and regain the respect lost from Adrian's block.
But just then, a shadow shot out from the side—
Boom!!
Adrian had anticipated the pass. He abandoned his matchup with Cauley-Stein and surged toward the basket like a hurricane. His jump surpassed even his tip-off earlier. Arms spread wide, he soared, and as Towns reached for the ball, Adrian pressed both hands down, gripping it firmly.
Slap!
The ball was gone from Towns' hands. Mid-air, he lost balance and fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
"WHAT! THE!—"
Gasping on the sidelines, a general manager shouted, "Adrian Cross actually caught Karl-Anthony Towns' dunk!"
The arena erupted. Coaches, scouts, and managers who had been whispering couldn't stay seated.
"His defense… reminds me of Dikembe Mutombo at his peak!"
Hinkie slammed the table, grinning. "We haven't seen a force like this in the paint for years!"
Bulls head coach Hoiberg muttered, eyes wide, "An offensive rebound put-back AND a dunk block in the first possession… his timing and court awareness are insane!"
Spurs assistant Budenholzer wrote rapidly, murmuring, "Explosiveness, strength, defensive awareness—all elite. With skill polish, this kid's ceiling is limitless."
Lakers GM Kupchak narrowed his eyes. Watching Adrian since yesterday, curiosity had turned into serious interest. He leaned toward head coach Byron Scott:
"Byron… I'm actually worried about our No. 2 pick now."
On the court, Adrian calmly passed the ball to Russell, then returned to half-court. He glanced back at Towns sitting on the floor, expression cool, like this was routine.
Towns' face burned with frustration. Adrian's defensive prowess had stripped him of confidence in just two possessions. For the first time, he felt unease—this wasn't just a strong center. This was something else entirely.
The Red Team attacked again, and Adrian took his position under the basket.
Towns tried a smarter approach, using his weight to push Adrian away. Neck veins bulging, he pushed with all his strength. But Adrian stood like an iron tower, unmoved.
"Your lower body is too weak," Adrian said casually.
Towns' blood boiled. Weak? Who's weak? Kentucky hadn't produced a center like him who started with less than half an hour of prep! Yet reality hit—he couldn't push Adrian out of position, couldn't even reach the paint's edge. Adrian controlled the space flawlessly.
Adrian signaled Russell to shoot a three-pointer. The ball arced high, clanked off the rim, and bounced.
"Another rebound!"
Adrian anticipated it perfectly, turned, used his back to push off Towns, and leaped up—snatching the offensive rebound mid-air.
Before landing, he twisted, spinning mid-air, and delivered a two-handed put-back dunk.
Clang!
Score: 4–0.
Towns was pushed back, eyes wide with disbelief. Strength, leaping ability, and post-up dominance—Adrian controlled every aspect. The helplessness sent a wave of shock through him: contempt, doubt, unease, fear.
Booker stopped the bleeding with a mid-range shot. Red Team attacked again. Towns growled low, unleashing his defensive instincts.
Powell, the Red Team perimeter player, pulled up for a three that bounced off. Adrian, again anticipating the rebound, leaped and caught it.
Towns lunged, committing a foul, trying to stop Adrian's put-back. Adrian had 110 kilograms of Towns on his back. Any ordinary center would be crushed.
But Adrian barely sank, then thrust upward like a rocket, slamming Powell's missed rebound through the hoop with a player on his back!
Boom!!
Beepbeepbeep— the whistle blew. Foul on Towns, basket counted, and an extra free throw.
Score: 6–0.
The arena exploded. Coaches and managers were on their feet.
"Unreal!" someone shouted. "He just dunked with Towns on his back!"
"This is stronger than Shaq with AI on his back!" another added. "A human tank!"
"Priority pick! We must get him, even at the cost of a first-rounder," one GM said. "His paint dominance is next-level."
Adrian landed steadily, as if Towns were a feather. Towns slid off, mind blank, staring at his hands and Adrian's back. Could this be a young Shaq-level force?
Then, Larry Nance Jr. sprinted over, grinning like a kid.
"Man!! You're insane! You can dunk with someone on your back and get the 2+1! How? Teach me!"
Adrian held up three fingers, serious.
"Three steps."
Larry perked up.
"One, jump."
"Two, catch the ball."
"Three, dunk."
Larry blinked.
"The instructions are normal…"
"But the person isn't normal!!!