Chapter 31: It's Raining

"Oliver fires from deep—again! It's up... "

Splash.

"And it's in! That's his fourth three-pointer of the game!"

The crowd erupted like a thunderstorm, their cheers shaking the very foundations of the arena.

"Oliver! Oliver! Oliver!"

The chant spread like wildfire, engulfing the stadium in pure electricity.

This was NCAA basketball at its finest—where the crowd didn't just support a team, they rallied behind greatness.

Before the game, a number of the audience had been in favor of Marquette University.

But now? They were witnessing something special. Oliver's display of three-point dominance had flipped the script.

With only five minutes gone in the first half, Oliver had already showcased an almost supernatural ability to drain shots from beyond the arc.

His performance was so dominant that any lingering doubts from online forums—those who claimed he couldn't perform against powerhouse teams—were instantly shattered.

"Forget the final score for a second. No matter what the results of this game would be," one commentator exclaimed. "If you're an NBA coach and you're watching this, you'd be out of your mind not to take notice!"

Four three-pointers in a row.

One of them from way beyond the arc.

And all of them—nothing but net.

A shooter like this? Even in the NBA, they were a rarity.

"This is shades of Ray Allen at UConn! The confidence, the mechanics, the sheer audacity to pull up from anywhere—Oliver looks like the second coming of Reggie Miller!" another analyst marveled.

"Right now, he's the deadliest shooter on the floor!"

The FOX Sports camera zoomed in on Oliver, capturing the mixture of calm confidence and quiet intensity on his face.

The cameraman, Allen, was grinning in disbelief.

"This kid is unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.

Beside him, analyst Tony chuckled. "If Oliver keeps this up, this is going to be a massacre. Marquette probably has no idea how to handle him right now."

"Hold on! This game isn't over yet!" ESPN reporter Cyril countered, though his expression was noticeably tense.

"Marquette is a strong team. They've faced adversity before and always found a way to win. They won't go down that easily!"

Despite Cyril's confidence, deep down, he knew he had underestimated Oliver.

A 5'9" previously unknown player? A three-point sniper? He had assumed Oliver would struggle against a top-tier defense.

But now?

Now, he was watching in stunned silence as Oliver single-handedly shifted the momentum of the game.

Still, Cyril held firm to his belief—Marquette was battle-tested.

They had overcome strong teams before.

A hot start didn't guarantee victory.

Tony, on the other hand, smirked. "Cyril, you don't understand Oliver. When he catches fire early, he doesn't cool down. I'm calling it now—he's going for 30 points tonight!"

Cyril tensed, obviously unable to accept reality. "No way. Marquette is about to shut him down."

But the scoreboard told a different story.

12-8.

Marquette, trailing by four.

And the difference?

Oliver.

One player.

Four three-pointers.

The Marquette players looked shaken, their expressions dark.

They weren't used to this.

But even as they struggled to process what was happening, their eyes remained determined.

They were a resilient squad.

And Dwyane Wade—Marquette's star—wasn't about to back down.

With explosive speed, Wade drove past Franklin, slicing through the defense and finishing with a smooth layup.

"There he is! That's Wade for you!" the commentator shouted. "Wade responds with a big-time drive to steady the ship for Marquette!"

Wade's ability to create his own shot had always been Marquette's greatest weapon.

His fearless attack on the rim gave his teammates renewed confidence.

Oliver might be incredible.

But Wade was also a great player.

A future NBA star.

On the other end, Oliver glanced at Golin and gave him a small nod.

Golin blinked.

Wait.

Was Oliver seriously about to take another shot?

Five straight possessions?

Golin sucked in a sharp breath.

"Oh, man. Marquette is in trouble," he muttered.

Marquette was strong. Their chemistry was near perfect.

And Wade was almost unstoppable in one-on-one situations.

But none of that mattered if they couldn't stop Oliver.

On the inbound, Franklin passed the ball to Oliver, who calmly brought it up the court.

Marquette wasn't going to let him shoot so easily this time.

Wade and Andrew immediately stepped up, closing the gap.

They had learned their lesson—give Oliver space, and he'd make them pay.

But Oliver wasn't in a hurry.

He slowed his dribble, surveying the defense.

Marquette adjusted, setting up a tight defensive formation.

Norton and Andrew closed in, forming a double-team.

Wade lingered nearby, ready to help.

Their plan was clear—shut down Oliver, even if it meant leaving someone else open.

"Marquette's defense has tightened up! They're not letting Oliver breathe!"

But Oliver didn't flinch.

He kept dribbling, his expression unreadable.

Then—

He faked left.

Norton and Andrew reacted instantly, shifting to cut him off.

But it was a trick.

In the blink of an eye, Oliver changed direction.

A sharp crossover. A quick retreat.

A perfectly executed step-back.

Andrew reached out desperately, but he was already a step too slow.

By the time Norton extended his arm, Oliver was airborne.

His body arched back.

The ball left his fingertips.

And then—

Swish.

The net barely moved.

"FIVE! FIVE THREE-POINTERS!"

The arena exploded. Fans jumped to their feet, screaming in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me?!"

"He's not human!"

"Marquette is in serious trouble now!"

"This isn't just a hot streak—this is legendary!"

Someone from the crowd shouted, "Oliver, I love you!" and the entire section burst into laughter and cheers.

The Marquette bench looked like they had just seen a ghost.

This is the effect of the greatest shooter in NBA history on the people he plays against.

Just like how Curry once grabbed the throats of all OKC fans during that game in 2016.

Similar to the how he stole the souls of the French in the 2024 Olympics.

This is the Sky Fucker at his finest...

The coaching staff had no choice.

Timeout.

As the whistle blew, Marquette's players trudged toward the bench, looking utterly drained.

It wasn't just that Oliver had made five threes.

It was how he did it.

They had thrown everything at him.

And he still found a way.

If, at the start, they had believed they could contain him—those thoughts were long gone now.

"Marquette has no choice but to regroup," one commentator analyzed. "They need to disrupt Oliver's rhythm. Because if they don't, this game could spiral out of control fast."

Marquette's coach clapped his hands, rallying his players.

"Don't lose focus! We've fought back before. We stick to our game plan and make him work for every shot! He can't keep this up all night!"

His words carried truth—relying purely on three-pointers was risky.

Eventually, fatigue would set in. Accuracy would drop...right?

They just need to be patient.

But right now?

Right now, Oliver was untouchable.

And Marquette was running out of answers.