Chapter 35: Built Different

The second half of the NCAA semifinal was underway, and Marquette was surging. University of Aina still held a 58-55 lead, but with Dwyane Wade catching fire, the momentum was shifting fast.

The atmosphere in the arena was electric. The energy from the crowd had reached a fever pitch, the stakes growing higher with every passing second. Both teams knew that a spot in the finals was just twenty minutes away, but for one of them, this would be the end of the road. The tension was palpable, and in the commentary booth, Mike Johnson and Kevin Grant were locked in, voices charged with excitement.

"Welcome back, folks! If you're just tuning in, you're missing an absolute thriller! University of Aina holds a slim three-point lead, but Marquette has been on fire since the start of the second half," Mike Johnson announced, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.

"And let's talk about Dwyane Wade," Kevin Grant added. "He has single-handedly cut Aina's lead down with some vicious drives to the basket. Poor Franklin has been put on skates more than once. You have to feel for the kid. He's trying, but Wade is just on another level."

As if hearing the commentary himself, Franklin's expression darkened. His body language showed frustration. The two times he had been crossed up by Wade still haunted him, the embarrassment lingering in his mind. He had worked tirelessly to improve his defense all season, but in this moment, none of it seemed to matter. Wade was simply too good.

And then, Oliver walked over to him. The shorter guard placed a reassuring hand on Franklin's shoulder and leaned in.

"Don't worry about it," Oliver said. "You've got me."

There was something about the way Oliver said it—calm, steady, full of conviction. Franklin nodded, exhaling sharply, the weight of his mistakes feeling just a little lighter.

A substitution was made. Oliver was now guarding Wade.

"Oh, look at this!" Mike Johnson said, nearly rising from his seat. "Oliver is stepping up to guard Wade himself!"

"This is a bold move," Kevin Grant replied. "Wade has a size advantage, an athleticism advantage, and he's already feeling it on offense. But if anyone can slow him down, it's Oliver. We've seen him rise to the occasion before, but this… this is a whole different challenge."

Wade brought the ball up the court, his gaze locked onto Oliver. There was no cocky smirk this time, no lightheartedness in his demeanor. He was studying Oliver, searching for weaknesses, trying to figure out how to break him down. He dribbled casually, his movements loose, but there was no mistaking the danger.

The moment he reached the three-point line, Wade made his move. A hesitation dribble to the left—explosive, deceptive, the kind that had left defenders behind all season. But Oliver didn't bite. He slid his feet, staying in front of Wade, matching his every movement.

Wade tried again, this time with a hard crossover to the right. It was fast, sharp, perfectly executed—but still, Oliver was there. His positioning was flawless, cutting off every possible driving lane.

"Unbelievable defense!" Mike Johnson shouted. "Wade is throwing everything at Oliver, but he just can't shake him!"

"It's like Oliver knows exactly where Wade wants to go before he even does," Kevin Grant added, shaking his head in amazement.

Wade attempted a third move, this time spinning back to his left, hoping to catch Oliver off balance. But the moment he completed the spin, Oliver was already in position, waiting for him. It was as if Oliver had read every single move before Wade even made them.

Wade hesitated.

For the first time all night, he wasn't sure what to do.

He had faced elite defenders before—long, athletic wings who used their size to contest his shots, big men who swatted away his layups at the rim. But this was different. Oliver wasn't just reacting. He was predicting.

Wade had no choice. With the shot clock running down, he passed the ball to a teammate, hoping for a quick shot. Andrew caught it and launched a deep jumper.

The ball clanged off the rim.

The rebound was secured by Reeves, and the possession belonged to Aina.

"That's a wasted possession for Marquette!" Mike Johnson exclaimed. "Wade had nowhere to go, and that forced a rushed shot from Andrew!"

"Mike, Wade just got locked up," Kevin Grant said, shaking his head. "And I don't say that lightly. Oliver just put the clamps on a future NBA star. That was textbook defense!"

The crowd erupted, sensing a shift in the game. Oliver didn't celebrate. He simply turned and jogged back on offense, his expression calm, almost indifferent. But Wade? Wade clenched his fists.

That possession was supposed to be his moment.

He was supposed to break Oliver down, score, and change the momentum.

Instead, he had been stopped.

And now, Oliver had the ball.

"Alright, let's see what Oliver has in store," Mike Johnson said.

"And look at this," Kevin Grant added. "Wade is guarding Oliver now! He wants revenge!"

Oliver dribbled up the court, Wade mirroring his every step. There was a newfound determination in Wade's stance, his arms outstretched, cutting off every angle. He was locked in.

"This is what makes Wade special," Kevin Grant said. "He's just as good on defense as he is on offense. That wingspan, that lateral quickness—it's tough to score on a guy like him."

But Oliver wasn't worried.

Wade was doing everything right. His defensive stance was near-perfect, his hands active, his footwork disciplined. Any other player might have hesitated, might have second-guessed themselves in this situation.

But Oliver knew something Wade didn't.

He didn't need to see the rim.

Oliver took a hard dribble back, creating just enough space. Wade reacted immediately, closing the gap, a hand right in Oliver's face.

And then—Oliver rose up for a three-pointer.

Without looking.

"Wait—did he just shoot without looking?!" Kevin Grant nearly shouted.

Wade's outstretched arm was directly in front of Oliver's eyes, obscuring his vision completely. But Oliver wasn't watching the basket. He had already turned away.

The ball soared through the air.

The crowd held its breath.

And then—

The net snapped.

Pure.

Perfect.

Another three points.

The arena exploded.

"Oh my goodness!" Mike Johnson's voice cracked with disbelief. "HE SHOT THAT WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING!"

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" Kevin Grant shouted. "WHO DOES THAT?!"

Wade stood frozen.

He turned to Oliver, searching for some kind of explanation, some kind of logic behind what had just happened. But Oliver simply smirked and jogged back on defense, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Mike… what did we just witness?" Kevin Grant asked, his voice still filled with shock.

"I have no idea," Mike Johnson admitted. "But if there was any doubt before, there's none now. Oliver is built different."

And for the first time that night, Wade wasn't just playing against Oliver.

He was acknowledging him.

The 5'9" guard in front of him wasn't just some scrappy underdog.

He was a killer.