Roar!
The packed bleachers erupted into a deafening roar as hostile varsity athletes, rowdy campus boosters, and corrupt board officials filled every single available seat in the lower tier. The sheer volume of the shouting vibrated against the metal structures of the stadium, creating a heavy, oppressive wall of noise that blanketed the entire facility.
"Look at those two absolute monsters!" someone yelled at the top of their lungs from the front row, pointing a finger down at the paint. "Miller’s former equipment boy is getting sent straight to the local hospital before the first five minutes are over!"
"He actually brought two D1 professional academy heavyweights just to clear a local campus court?" another spectator shouted from the middle section, laughing mockingly as he leaned over the railing. "This isn’t even a competitive scrimmage anymore—it’s a public execution!"
Step. Step.
Garrison Vance stepped heavily onto the polished lacquer floor, his arrogant, confident sneer back in full force now that he had backing. Flanking him on either side like concrete pillars were the two massive, six-foot-nine professional academy heavyweights, their broad frames radiating a pure, muscle-bound physical threat as they stared down Jaxon’s three-person squad with bloodshot, unblinking eyes.
"Enjoy your brief two seconds of facility ownership, Jaxon!" Garrison sneered, stopping at the three-point line and aggressively cracking his thick knuckles with a malicious, vindictive grin. "Because after tonight, your stadium deed, your cash accounts, and those sluts running the floor on your team belong right back under the exclusive contract layout of the Vance Sports Group!"
Jaxon stood casually right at the top of the key, holding the heavy leather basketball effortlessly in a single hand, his large fingers gripping the rubber seams securely. His physical face remained settled into a completely cool, indifferent mask, his charcoal-grey eyes entirely unbothered by the booming voice of the crowd or the physical size of his opponents.
Jonathan’s professional enforcers.
Jaxon internally scoffed, a wave of dry, calculated amusement settling deep into his chest as he systematically analyzed their rigid, wide defensive postures from the perimeter. In his original laptop drafts and manuscript notes for The Golden Court, he had specifically written these exact brainless academy heavyweights to serve as minor physical obstacles who relied strictly on raw mass and dirty, uncalled baseline fouls rather than actual basketball intelligence or floor awareness.
How completely pathetic, Jaxon thought, his newly upgraded frame remaining completely relaxed as he radiated a silent, heavy alpha authority. You honestly think six feet and nine inches of brute muscle fiber can override my synchronized system statistics? I wrote your entire tactical playbook, brainless garbage. To me, you’re just oversized walking target practice. The source of this chapter is NovelPing.
Bzzzzt.
[Match Parameters Initialized!]
[Scrimmage Scoreboard: 2 - 0 (Advantage: Jaxon’s Squad — First to 11 Wins)]
[Target Defender 1: Height 6’9" / Weight 250 lbs / Style: Illegal Elbow Clears] [Target Defender 2: Height 6’9" / Weight 260 lbs / Style: Dirty Baseline Boxouts]
[Current System Wallet Balance: $26,595,000.00]
"Jax, watch their elbows closely!" Coach Vivienne Cross shouted frantically from the home sideline, her voice trembling slightly as she dropped her clipboard against her thigh, her mature face tight with panic for her team.
"They’re not even trying to play the ball on the perimeter—they’re aiming straight for your throat!"
Over on the right wing baseline, Roxie Sterling took her official starting position, the tight, high-compression fabric of her premium athletic gear flawlessly defining every distinct contour of her extreme hourglass silhouette.
"Don’t let them touch you for a single second, Jax!" Roxie called out clearly, her short platinum-silver undercut catching the bright overhead lights while her exotic violet eyes flashed fiercely with a possessive heat. "I’ve got your back completely on the wing baseline if you need the outlet pass!"
On the opposite wing, Kira Thorne stood locked in a deeply focused, balanced defensive stance, her long, statuesque legs gripping the hardwood floorboards with absolute stability.
Her heavy, high-volume chest heaved rapidly beneath her white compression top as she stared down the two mercenaries, her logical point-guard mind identifying their angles. The source of this chapter is g.com.
"Keep your eyes on Garrison’s positioning," Kira warned sharply, her dark amber eyes narrowed into an icy, calculating glare. "He’s already calling for illegal blindside screens from the weak side baseline to clip your left side."
"Let them run whatever cheap set they want," Jaxon replied smoothly, his deep, low voice easily cutting through the massive arena noise with an absolute, unyielding calm that steadied his teammates. "Neither of them is touching the basketball tonight. Focus on your lanes."
"Big talk for a low-profile equipment manager!"
Garrison spat, stepping back into a low, defensive stance with a vicious, mocking grin.
"Let’s see if you can still speak after this very first possession!"
Clack.
The standard check-ball sequence completed as Garrison flipped the ball back to Jaxon at the perimeter line.
"Kill him!" Garrison roared out to his heavyweights, his voice cracking with a sudden, unhinged rage. "Crush this equipment boy into the hardwood on the very first play!"
Whoosh!
Before the basketball could even fully settle into Jaxon’s iron grip, both six-foot-nine professional heavyweights lunged forward with an explosive velocity. They vaulted off the wood floorboards simultaneously, their massive, heavy forearms and raised elbows locked high in a synchronized, bone-crushing strike designed to smash straight into Jaxon’s face before the possession clock could even tick, intending to end the entire scrimmage in a single fraction of a second.