The court trembled beneath the dying evening sun,
its heat clinging to the air like tension itself.
Fans leaned forward—eyes wild, voices restless—
some searching for victory, others for someone to blame.
The scoreboard burned in crimson light: 35 – 46, As the Rhinos held control, everyone wondered how long their dominance would last.
Every bounce of the ball echoed like a heartbeat.
The question lingered like smoke over Yaba's court—
Who would rise from the chaos, and who would fall beneath it?
⸻
The second round began.
The referee's whistle pierced the air—sharp, merciless.
The ball soared skyward, spinning in the golden light,
a coin toss between fate and fury.
Ayo and Jason stood poised on one end,
the Rhinos crouched like predators on the other.
Jason caught the rebound first—
a lucky back pass, swift as breath—
and flicked it toward Ayo.
Ayo dribbled forward, his sneakers whispering against the concrete,
eyes darting toward his anchor—Jason, the Dictator himself.
But standing before him was Tayo, the mountain,
his frame blocking out the sun like a living wall.
The crowd held its breath.
Could the King of the Underworld Court outmaneuver the Giant?
Ayo's movements turned to poetry—
a fake forward, a sudden pullback,
each bounce syncing with his heartbeat.
Tayo lunged—too eager, too heavy.
In that moment, it looked as though Ayo
had turned the giant into his own shadow.
Gasps rippled through the stands.
He slid past Tayo with a dancer's grace
and fired the ball across to Jason—
already cutting deep into enemy ground.
Okafor met him there, arms wide, eyes sharp.
It was a duel of wills now—
Dictator versus Hyena.
Jason faked right, pivoted left,
but Okafor's defense was tight,
his grin mocking every move.
And then—
Jason passed it back.
A backspin arc across the court—
swift, clean, almost invisible.
All eyes turned.
Where was Chinedu—the Igbo Devil?
Still in the center, unmoving.
Watching. Waiting.
Like a god bored of mortals.
The crowd whispered.
"Why isn't he moving?"
"What's he planning?"
But Chinedu's arrogance would soon cost him.
Ayo caught the pass and halted mid-dribble.
His chest rose, his breath sharp.
Time slowed.
He looked up at the basket from midcourt—
so far, it almost seemed like madness.
Jason shouted, "Don't do it!"
But the King had already decided.
His voice echoed in his mind:
Now or never.
Believe.
Make the court your palace.
He stepped forward,
and with a single flick of the wrist,
the ball soared—
a comet cutting through the dying sun.
For a moment, the world forgot to breathe.
Even Chinedu's smirk faltered
as his eyes widened,
realizing the mistake too late.
The ball swirled, kissed the rim—
then fell clean through.
Swish.
Silence.
Then—
the stadium erupted.
"THREE POINTS!" the announcer roared.
Fans screamed.
Cash flew into the air.
Even the skeptics rose to their feet,
as if the court itself had just bowed before its King.
Ayo stood still at midcourt,
sweat glistening under the floodlights,
a faint smile curving his lips.
Jason stared in disbelief—then laughed.
The scoreboard flashed: 38 – 46.
And the King of the Underworld Court
had just reminded Lagos why the streets once feared his name.
The echo of the scoreboard still lingered through the air,
its beeping sound swallowed by the roar of the crowd—
a roar so wild, it felt as if a demon had forced it out of their throats.
Jason, who once told Ayo not to take the shot,
could only smirk now.
He muttered under his breath,
"Hmm… looks like I don't have to carry the cross myself after all."
But not everyone shared that satisfaction.
Chinedu stood frozen at center court—
shocked, seething, his pride cracking beneath that last score.
That single shot… it rivaled his own first strike.
He clenched his fists, the veins in his neck pulsing,
and hissed quietly,
"What's so good about that, anyway?"
Then, like a storm about to break,
his composure fell away.
"That's enough fooling around," he muttered darkly.
The buzzer sounded again—
not a beginning, but an omen.
As the players took their positions,
something in the air changed.
A green radiance began to ripple off Chinedu's body,
an aura sharp and feral,
something only the awakened could sense.
This was no human presence.
This was ego in its purest, most violent form.
His movements shifted—no longer graceful,
but raw, animalistic, predatory.
The Devil had decided to play.
⸻
The ball was tossed to Okafor,
who dribbled forward, body low,
trying to slip past Jason's defense.
But Jason was on him like a shadow.
Still, Chinedu—unmoving at center—
lifted his hand ever so slightly,
demanding the pass without a single word.
To the ordinary eye, it looked stupid—
a man calling for a ball he couldn't reach.
But those who were awakened knew better.
They could feel it.
That raging ego energy coursing through him,
crackling like thunder restrained in human flesh.
He grinned—eyes wild, teeth sharp.
"Hahahaha! To think you were good enough to piss me off…
Fine then—this little show should be enough!"
His laughter tore through the court like madness on vacation.
Okafor finally found his chance—
twisting his waist, spinning his back—
he sent a fast, deceptive backhand pass
straight toward the waiting devil.
Ayo moved in to intercept—
but Chinedu had already invoked his Giza.
His gift.
His curse.
The ability to super-stretch,
his limbs bending and lengthening with the flow of his ego energy.
In a blur, his arm lashed forward—
the ball bounced once,
slipping perfectly through the space between Ayo's legs.
Then, like a serpent reclaiming its tail,
Chinedu spun, retrieved the ball,
and continued the dance.
Ayo froze.
He couldn't read it—
couldn't even process what just happened.
The crowd exploded.
Gasps, screams, disbelief.
The King—outplayed.
And the Devil—
advancing.
Jason, realizing the danger, moved in fast.
He took his stance like a knight before a collapsing castle.
But even knights fall before devils.
Chinedu smirked—eyes gleaming—
and slipped into a rhythm
that no human reflex could follow.
His dribbles blurred.
Jason's footing cracked.
And in one final feint—
the Dictator fell into the abyss.
Only Ayo remained.
"Get your head back in the game!" Jason shouted
as he hit the ground.
Ayo snapped out of his daze,
rushing back as the Rhinos closed in,
but by then—it was already over.
Chinedu faked one last dribble,
a motion so smooth it blurred into silence.
Then he leapt—
his body stretching, twisting—
and unleashed a back super dunk
that shook the very bones of the court.
BUZZZZZZZZ!
The buzzer screamed.
The crowd erupted again.
The scoreboard blinked.
+3 points.
The Devil had spoken.
And the game of men—
had just become something far beyond it.
The crowd roared as the Igbo Devil thundered down the court and slammed the ball through the hoop with a bone-rattling dunk.
No one was surprised — it was the Devil, after all. What else could they expect?
The evening buzzed with heat and sweat. The air itself seemed to pulse with pressure — half the fans screaming for the Yankee Brothers to make a comeback, the other half praying the Rhinos would just finish it already.
The buzzer blared: 38–49.
The ball was back in play.
Ayo passed to Jason, both men in motion as the Rhinos snapped into formation.
Across the court, Chinedu — the Igbo Devil — stood like a storm in human form, his confidence radiating like heat from the sun.
"Should I use it now?" Jason muttered under his breath as he dribbled forward. "Or is it still too early?"
Okafor closed in, forcing Jason to pivot. Ayo moved alongside him, searching for an opening, scanning the Devil's stance.
This guy's tougher than I thought, Ayo thought, his eyes narrowing. But I'm not giving up now… Think. Use your head.
Across the court, Chinedu smirked, reading the tension like an open book.
Another one? he thought, eyes glinting. He thinks he can beat me? Heh. Let's see.
But then something caught Ayo's eye — a tiny flaw.
The Devil's left leg. Why did he keep spreading it wider every time he set up a dribble?
Bingo.
Ayo sprinted toward Chinedu's position, shouting, "Jason! Pass it!"
Jason blinked.
What's he planning?
Still, curiosity won. He passed.
Ayo leapt for the ball — but before he could grab it, the Igbo Devil snatched it mid-air.
The crowd exploded in disappointment, especially the Yankee fans.
Chinedu grinned, dribbling past Ayo with effortless precision.
Jason rushed in to block, but Chinedu's fake-out sent him spinning the wrong way. The Rhinos surged behind their star as he pulled back for a mid-range shot.
The tension spiked — every heartbeat echoing through the gym.
But then, from behind, Ayo came charging like a storm.
Just as Chinedu went for his final dribble, the King struck.
Ayo targeted the Devil's weak leg, knocking the ball loose with a clean steal. In one smooth motion, he pushed forward, the Rhinos scrambling to catch up — but it was already too late.
He passed to Jason.
Now all eyes were on the Dictator.
Jason didn't hesitate. With the entire Rhino squad converging on him, he stepped up and unleashed a perfect mid-range shot.
BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
41–49.
The gym erupted.
Fans screamed. Some couldn't believe it.
That wasn't just a basket — that was a counterattack straight from the heavens.
Even the Rhinos' bench stood frozen. The crowd chanted the brothers' names.
This was no longer a game — it was a statement.
Meanwhile, Chinedu stood still. The world around him blurred.
He could feel it — that presence. That oppressive, royal aura emanating from Ayo. Others couldn't see it, but he could.
The King.
How? How did he do it? Has he already figured me out?
No… no, he's just a hyped rookie. An unawakened bastard. No one's better than me. No one!
The whistle blew. The game roared back to life.
Rhinos' advantage — the ball in Chinedu's hands once more.
Across the court, Ayo stood ready, eyes locked, calm and unshaken.
The King faced the Devil again, the air between them crackling with tension.
But this time, the question wasn't who would fall — it was how the King and the Dictator would take control of the court itself.
Well… we'll see.
To be continued…