CHAPTER 59: CHAPTER 59 :RISING STARS CHALLENGE TIP-OFF

The next day at the Zentron Celestial Center, Team Nealson began to trickle onto the court. The energy was relaxed, the mood easy—last night’s club outing had done wonders to break the ice. There was laughter during stretches, inside jokes already forming. Whatever tension might’ve existed before had been burned away under neon lights and bass drops.

At exactly 1:00 p.m., a familiar figure strolled into the gym.

O’Shea Nealson, former ABA legend and now the honorary coach for Team Nealson, strolled in wearing a gray tracksuit and a backward cap, casually sipping an energy drink like he owned the place.

He clapped his hands once. "Alright fellas. We’re not here to run suicides. This isn’t boot camp," he grinned. "My job? Keep things organized. I’ll handle the starting five, the positions, and a few simple plays. That’s it."

He read from his clipboard and rattled off the starters:

Ryan Carter, point guard

Amin Thomas, shooting guard

Bo Carrick, small forward

Max McCale, power forward

Zeke Ender, center

On the bench: Darren Koenig and Julien Store.

No surprise to anyone paying attention—it was a lineup built around popularity and stat lines.

Nealson made one strategic omission: Darren Koenig, the Paladins’ lower-profile rookie, was left out of the starting five.

With Bo Carrick—also from the Paladins—already in the lineup, adding another teammate might’ve stirred talk of favoritism or poor balance.

"Look," Nealson said, pacing the baseline, "the Rising Stars Challenge is a show, not a slugfest. It’s about putting on a good time for the fans, so we’re going run-and-gun. Keep it fast, keep it flashy, but don’t get hurt. And for the love of the game, don’t hog the ball. You see an open man, you pass. No stat-padding, no hero ball. Got it?"

The players nodded, a few chuckling. Nealson wasn’t done. "One more thing: game’s to 40 points, first team there wins. If you’re clicking, you could wrap it up in 10 minutes—but don’t. Fans paid good money to see you play, not a sprint. Stretch it to around 20 minutes, keep it entertaining." That got a full laugh from the group, Zeke shaking his head like he could already see the highlight dunks coming.

Practice was light, more vibe than grind. The team ran through basic motion offenses, practicing handoffs and pick-and-rolls, the ball zipping around as they found their rhythm. Ryan, at point, dished a no-look pass to Amin, who drained a corner three, yelling, "Money!"

Max and Bo worked a give-and-go that ended in a thunderous alley-oop, drawing whoops from the sideline staff.

Nealson watched for a bit, arms crossed, then wandered over to chat with the assistants about logistics, leaving the players to their flow.

——

Friday night, 8 p.m., and the Zentron Celestial Center was a cauldron of noise and anticipation. All-Star Weekend had officially kicked off, and the Rising Stars Challenge was about to set the tone. The arena was packed to the rafters, a sea of fans in team jerseys and glow sticks, their cheers bouncing off the rafters as the lights dimmed for the pre-game spectacle. The court, freshly laid with a vibrant All Stars logo—bold blues and silvers swirling across the hardwood—gleamed under the spotlights, transforming the Vega Tigers’ home into a stage for the ABA’s brightest young talents.

Ryan stood just outside the player tunnel, his red Team Nealson jersey, number 10, fitting snug against his frame. The "Rising Star" text across his chest caught the arena’s pulsing lights, and he could feel the energy of the crowd sinking into his bones. His teammates, all six in matching red, milled around him, loosening up with quick stretches or playful jabs.

At the front of the line stood O’Shea Nealson, the team’s honorary coach, arms crossed, head slightly tilted as he soaked in the electric atmosphere.

Across the court, Team Vess in crisp white jerseys did the same.

In the center of the court, a troupe of dancers in shimmering outfits moved with precision, their choreography a blend of hip-hop and high-octane flair. The bass-heavy track blared through the arena’s speakers, their spins and flips drawing roars from the crowd. The energy was electric, a perfect prelude to the night’s showcase.

Then the house lights cut.

A deep voice boomed through the speakers, dripping with the theatrical flair of a WWE announcer:

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... WELCOME... TO THE 2025 ABA RISING STARS CHALLENGE!"

Pyro exploded from the jumbotrons as the crowd roared. The announcer revved up:

"TONIGHT... TWO TEAMS... ONE GOAL... TO PROVE THEY ARE THE FUTURE OF THIS LEAGUE!"

Spotlights swept the arena before locking onto the tunnels.

"INTRODUCING FIRST... TEAM... VEEEEESSSSSS!"

The announcer began by introducing Coach Vess, who gave a relaxed nod and smile—like a man reliving the glory days of coaching in a championship final.

Then came the players. As each name was called, the cameras cut to them in turn. They responded with casual waves, some flashing grins, others offering a quiet nod to the roaring crowd.

After the last starter was introduced, the lights dimmed again.

"AND NOW... THEIR OPPONENTS... TEAM... NEEEEAL-SON!"

As each name echoed through the arena, the camera panned to the players in turn.

When it landed on Ryan—number 10 in bold red—he raised his hand and gave an awkward, overly enthusiastic peace sign, the kind that screamed "I don’t know what to do with my hands, but I’m trying."

The players spilled onto the court for warmups, the atmosphere more like a reunion than a competition.

Amin bumped fists with Team Vess’s starting point guard, Trey Yates. "How was Neon Pulse last night?"

Yates grinned, dribbling between his legs.

"Absolute madness."

"Same with us," Amin laughed.

Nearby, Max McCale was exchanging words with Dario Banchieri, Team Vess’s forward and last year’s Rising Stars Challenge MVP who had now earned an All-Star reserve spot this season - the rising star at the peak of his popularity.

"Don’t go stealing MVP honors from rookies today," Max said pointedly.

Banchieri smiled while stretching. "I’ll take it easy," he said, then added with competitive edge: "But I’m not throwing the game."

Ryan checked his system interface:

[WESTBROOK SYNC RATE: 83.1%]

Progress has slowed to a crawl since hitting 80%, barely gaining 0.1-0.2% daily.

"First Rising Stars Challenge—any rewards?" Ryan muttered under his breath.

The system took five full seconds to respond:

[ASKING FOR REWARDS IN AN EXHIBITION GAME? THE SYSTEM FEELS SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT FOR YOU.]

Ryan’s face darkened. No need to be a dick about it, he thought, resisting the urge to flip off empty air.

9:00 p.m. sharp. The ball went up.

Center court. Tip-off.

Derrick Langley for Team Vess. Zeke Ender for Team Nealson. Two towers colliding in midair.

Langley won the tip, his right hand flicking the ball back cleanly to point guard Trey Yates, who caught it in stride and jogged the ball up the court.

Team Nealson dropped back into position—but nobody stepped up. Yates crossed halfcourt at a casual pace, stopping right at the Rising Stars logo. He just stood there, staring at the rim.

Ryan squinted. Wait... no way. He’s not seriously—

Yates rose up and let it fly.

The crowd gasped.

The ball sailed through the air in a slow, perfect arc.

Swish.

Logo three. Nothing but net.

Team Vess opens the game with a 3–0 lead.

The arena erupted, fans leaping to their feet as if it were a game-winner.

Ryan blinked. This guy...

Yeah, it tracked. Trey Yates was known for that kind of nonsense—pulling up from ridiculous range, sometimes even nailing buzzer-beaters from 35 feet. A rookie known for regularly hitting deep threes.

Still. Bold move, opening the game like that.

Ryan took the inbound pass, spinning it in his hands as he crossed halfcourt.

Alright then, he thought. Let’s play.

Ryan brought the ball up past the three-point arc, eyes locked on his defender, Banchieri. Back when the Roarers faced the Crows, Banchieri had been a thorn in Ryan’s side, hounding him with relentless defense. But this was the Rising Stars Challenge—a showcase.

Ryan hit him with a quick hesitation dribble, then a sharp crossover. Banchieri moved his feet, but barely—more of a token gesture than a real contest. No hard contact, no resistance. Ryan blew by him like it was open gym.

Help defense rotated in late and soft. Ryan didn’t even need to adjust. He launched off both feet and cocked the ball back—then thundered it home with a two-handed slam.

3–2.

Ryan grinned to himself as he jogged back. Playground defense? My kinda game.

A logo three followed by a highlight dunk to open the night? The crowd lost it. Flashbulbs, screams, chants—the place felt alive.Team Vess took possession, and Jaxon Yates, their wiry point guard, danced across halfcourt with the ball. Ryan slid into position to guard him, knees bent, ready to move.

Yates locked eyes with him, flashing a smirk as he went to work, chaining together a dizzying series of between-the-legs dribbles in place, the ball snapping between his legs like a yo-yo.

Ryan fought an eye-roll. If you’re gonna go, then go. What’s all this extra nonsense?

Yates was putting on a clinic, but all that flash was eating clock.

Finally, Yates made his move—a quick inside-out and drive. Ryan, like Banchieri earlier, offered no real resistance. He slid with the motion, gave him the lane. No one was here to play lockdown.

But Yates wasn’t looking to finish. At the elbow, without even glancing, he flicked a no-look dime over his shoulder.

It hit Frye in stride.

Frye rose up like a missile, met Zeke Ender at the rim—and baptized him.

A one-handed poster slam.

Poor Zeke, all 7’4" of him, never even left the ground—didn’t bother jumping. He stood frozen beneath the hoop, a background prop in Frye’s highlight.