CHAPTER 67: TEASED, TOYED, AND ROYALLY FUCKED

Nash caught Alicia’s pass on the wing, that damn grin of his was still plastered on, like he was telling Jinzo a joke only he understood, and it wasn’t funny. Not even a little.

Jinzo’s gut somersaulted. That smile? He’d take nails on a chalkboard over it. At least noise you can fight. Silence and that smirk? Nah. That was the worst thing to see.

He shot a look at the scoreboard. Ten minutes. Suddenly, a 20-point lead seemed meaningless, and he couldn’t explain why his instinct was thinking that way.

"Everyone, back up! Hold your marks! Jaz, don’t let him breathe!" Jinzo yelled, voice all raspy and weird. Even he flinched at how it sounded.

Thud.

The ball hit the floor, sharp and loud in the glow of the neons. Everyone twitched.

Nash bounced it again, eyes calm, and a terrible grin on his lips. Then he opened his mouth.

"Alright, let’s teach a lesson to these clowns."

Jinzo’s pulse spiked, full panic mode now.

"NOW, JAZ!" He screamed it.

A gust of wind whooshed between them, and outta nowhere, one of the subs was just there, wide-eyed, standing under the rim with the ball in his hands like it had teleported.

He looked stunned, but his body took over. He tossed it up, swish.

20–2.

Everything was dead quiet. Even the sub looked freaked out, staring at his hands, then over at Nash like,

"What the hell was that?"

The game just stopped. Every head whipped around at Nash. He rolled out his arm, totally chill, like he was just getting loose.

"You wanted to see that monster hype?"

Jinzo nearly forgot how to breathe. His eyes were jittering all over, trying to make sense of Nash, like maybe if he stared hard enough, he’d glitch back to normal.

Nash just stared him down, eyes locked in, no wiggle room, no mercy.

"You know what’s fun... but wanna know what’s even funnier?"

Jinzo’s gut twisted. He felt like he was trapped in some sleep paralysis horror, except he was wide awake. The punchline was coming, and his body already hated it.

Suddenly, the game was back on. Jaz snagged the rebound and fired it to Mac. Mac bolted. Drex cut in, those two moving like they were synced up since birth.

Jinzo, though? His brain was still stuck. Nash didn’t just look bigger; he felt it like a blackout creeping across the court.

"Jinzo!" Drex’s voice cracked through the fog, ball flying right for him.

Nope. Too late.

Just a flash, Nash zipped by, faster than anybody had a right to be, snatched the ball out of the air, and was suddenly behind Jinzo. The A-team’s vibe completely crumbled.

Mac dove, air. Drex tried to catch up. Nash just shredded the defense before they could set it, running through like nobody was even there, too fast to be touched.

Jaz held her ground, arms wide, trying to play the wall. Nash barreled at her, close enough she could probably see his smile still stuck to his face.

One-on-one. Cakewalk for him.

She saw a danger, he saw three choices, all at once, and picked one.

Not the hardest, a quick flick of hands, and the ball was gone, sailing past her outstretched fingertips.

Another sub had it, the look on his face said it all: what the hell just happened? Didn’t matter, his body stepped up, shot went up.

Net. Perfect.

20–5.

The players froze again, stuck between awe and flat-out terror. Staring at Nash, finally getting it. The monster was not a myth. He was right here, playing with his food.

Nash sucked in air, grinning like a maniac, forehead glistening, sweat cutting down his face.

But the weirdest thing? He felt featherlight. No heaviness in his bones, no sluggishness. Like, all his life he’d been dragging around invisible shackles, only to realize, wait, these stupid things aren’t even locked?

Next play, Mac and Drex tried to mug him, one on each side. Nia slid up behind, closing off the escape, and Jaz lurked out front, eyes on him like a hawk. Basically, they boxed him in so tight that most players would’ve folded.

But Nash didn’t see a wall of defenders; he saw daylight. His brain stretched out, caught every twitch: Mac overstepped, Drex bit too hard inside, Jaz jumped the gun, Nia’s balance tipped the wrong way.

The obvious move? Pull up for a jumper. Everybody expected it; hell, Jaz was preloaded, knees coiled, ready to spring. But she flinched, eyes twitching, gave herself away.

Nash caught it, flashed a cocky grin, and slipped the ball low, clean nutmeg between her legs to Alicia. Alicia barely blinked before dropping in the layup. Easy money. 20–7.

But Nash wasn’t cooling off. He sucked in another breath, attacked again; time started moving in slow-mo from his point of view. His first shot looked straight-up broken; he twisted, leaned back, and flung it one-handed like he was swatting a mosquito. Off the glass, straight in. 20–9. He let out a low laugh.

Next up: a falling-away, off-balance fade, legs splaying out like Bambi on ice. Net. 20–11.

The subs started laughing. Just what the hell did Victoria bring to their team?

Another time, Nash spun into the paint, Drex and Jaz collapsing on him like a bear trap, but Nash slipped it behind his back mid-spin, somehow delivered it to Alicia again. She looked surprised but finished strong. 20–13.

He just kept going. Blew past the baseline, got pinned in the corner, no room, no angle, but then, boom, he spotted the tiniest gap and snapped an underhand pass crosscourt. Hit his teammate on the money. Bucket. 20–15.

Everything he did looked wrong, wild, like he was making it up as he went. But it all worked. Over and over. Every "bad" shot dropped. Every busted form turned magic.

They weren’t running plays anymore. This was something else. Streetball on another level. Instincts dialed up to eleven.

Nash started cackling, body bending and twisting, hurling up shots that belonged in a circus. Each move was a new experiment. Breakball? Pfft. He was just figuring himself out, and the whole time, his grin just kept getting bigger.

Victoria just stood there, enjoying the show, her arms folded tight.

Next to her, the other woman leaned in, eyeing Nash as he weaved past defenders like they were traffic cones.

"Formidable catch," she murmured. "That boy... He’ll change the whole dynamic of this team"

Victoria shifted, all ice and steel.

"Change this team? He’ll make the officials readjust the rules."

The woman gave her a look, eyebrow up.

"And what about Jinzo?"

Victoria glanced over, just a flick of her eyes, catching Jinzo on the sidelines, barely holding his ego together.

"I care about one thing: winning. Always have, always will. You bring me wins, you get your reward, doesn’t matter if it’s cash, glory, men, women, whatever. Nash? He’s a win. That’s why he’s here. He gets what he wants. I get what I want."

She nudged her glasses up.

"If Jinzo wants to make it in this setup, he better get with the program. Otherwise? Well, let’s just say the jungle has a way of dealing with strays."

tput

Jinzo looked wrecked, sweat clinging to his face and neck, chest pumping like he’d just run a marathon... well, maybe he had, in spirit.

The scoreboard showed 20–19. Barely any time left.

Face to him, Nash bounced the ball so slow it almost felt disrespectful. Each bounce, louder and louder, like a clock ticking down to doom.

He could already see how it would end: a three pointer in the last second.

"You... you toyed with me," Jinzo snapped, voice all shaky and raw, more pissed than anything. "Why? What’s your deal? Are you just here to make me look stupid?"

Nash cocked his head, gave him a strange look, somewhere between curiosity and comprehension.

He let the silence drag out, then his mouth twisted up, just a bit.

"Misunderstanding."

"Huh?" Jinzo blinked.

Nash leaned forward, his shadow swallowing Jinzo whole.

"I gave you a head start because I knew I’d come back anyway. I only wanted to keep it entertaining, just for my entertainment."

His tone was casual, cruel in its indifference.

Jinzo’s mouth wobbled. He looked like he wanted to say something, but mostly just stood there, shaking.

"Y... you..."

"But here’s the thing," Nash cut him off, grin sharpening. "I don’t even calculate you. You could have been just another NPC. But you’re the one who made it personal. And because of that—"

Nash snapped the ball low, then exploded into a lightning‑fast crossover.

His body feinted left, his hand whipped right, and Jinzo’s feet tangled beneath him. The sharp cut sent Jinzo stumbling backward before collapsing on his ass.

The court went dead silent, then a couple gasps.

"—I gotta make an example out of you," Nash finished, sauntering toward the hoop.

Mac and Drex looked like they might step in, but they just glanced at each other, already beaten.

They didn’t even bother lifting their hands. Total surrender. Jaz was next, stuck halfway between moving and freezing, arms half-up, but she looked like she’d cry if someone sneezed.

Jinzo just stayed down, totally wrecked. Nia dragged herself across the floor, not even looking at the play.

From the sidelines, Amara’s voice sliced through the hush.

"That’s it, babe! Kill them! This is your house!" Nash’s backup mob hollered too, egging him on, volume cranking with every second. "Finish it, Nash! Go!"

Nash’s grin just got bigger. He threw his hand up, then, just like that, whipped the ball across the court.

It landed right in the hands of Victoria’s assistant, who stared at it, baffled.

Nash spun around and headed for the bench, smirk melting into a stone-cold stare.

"And... We’re done," he said.