Chapter 44: Afterwards

The gym erupted into chaos. Players in white and blue stormed the court, their cheers nearly drowning out the sound of the crowd. Oliver found himself lifted off the ground, hoisted into the air by his teammates, their hands gripping his jersey, his arms, his shoulders. Their faces were alight with triumph, the disbelief in their eyes giving way to unbridled joy.

For the first time in school history, Aina University was heading to the NCAA Championship game.

And at the center of it all was a 5'9" point guard who appeared from out of nowhere —Oliver.

"Unbelievable!"

Mike Johnson's voice rang through the broadcast, still thick with the shock of what they had just witnessed. "Aina University is going to the championship, ladies and gentlemen! What a historic moment! And the one who made it all possible? That 5'9" sensation—Oliver! Who would've thought?"

Kevin Grant chuckled, still shaking his head in amazement. "I don't think Marquette University expected this level of magic tonight. They had Dwyane Wade—an absolute superstar in the making—but Oliver? That kid took over this game. His shooting was unreal, his vision was on another level, and let's not even start on that block earlier! I mean, a 5'9" guard swatting a shot like that?"

"Man, I'm telling you," Mike added, "we are witnessing something special here. This guy—he's not just playing well, he's changing the narrative. People say size rules basketball, but Oliver just rewrote the script tonight."

Across the country, NBA scouts had their phones pressed to their ears, voices urgent as they spoke with executives. They couldn't afford to wait. They had just seen something they couldn't ignore.

Oliver wasn't just a good player.

He was a phenomenon.

By the next morning, sports media had erupted with coverage of the game.

ESPN analysts dissected every moment, pouring over Oliver's highlights with awe.

"This guy is a walking miracle. An absolute sniper from three, a floor general with ridiculous vision, and somehow, somehow, he's pulling off game-changing blocks at 5'9"? Does this kid even have a weakness?"

"If Oliver enters the NBA Draft, I'll tell you right now—teams will be fighting for him."

"Marquette University played one hell of a game. Dwyane Wade is a superstar in the making. But tonight? Tonight belonged to Oliver. Plain and simple."

Overnight, his name had become one of the hottest topics in basketball.

And it didn't take long before the media wanted more.

That afternoon, Oliver received a call from ESPN.

"Mr. Oliver, would you be open to an exclusive interview?" The voice on the other end was soft, almost melodic, with a warmth that made her request seem more like an invitation.

Oliver had expected this. With his rising fame, handling media would become part of the job. And if he wanted to make it in the NBA, he needed to embrace that.

"Of course," he replied.

They arranged to meet at a local café later that day.

When Oliver walked in at 3 PM, he immediately spotted her.

She was hard to miss.

Long golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face so striking it could've belonged to a movie star. Her blue eyes gleamed with intelligence and curiosity, and when she saw him, she approached with effortless confidence.

"Hello, Oliver," she greeted, extending her hand. "I'm Annie, ESPN reporter. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Oliver nodded, shaking her hand. "Likewise."

Annie had no trouble recognizing him—the shorter frame, the sharp features of his face, the quiet intensity in his eyes. There was something about him that was different from the other athletes she had interviewed.

And as the interview began, she quickly realized why.

Her questions were precise, diving into his game, his strategy, his mindset. She expected insights about talent, about instincts, about raw ability.

But Oliver's answer caught her off guard.

"There's no secret," he said with a small shrug. "Just practice."

Annie tilted her head. "Practice?"

Oliver smiled slightly. "A hundred pull-ups every day. Ten kilometers of running. A hundred squats. A hundred—"

He continued listing his daily training routine, and Annie's expression shifted from curiosity to disbelief.

By the time he finished, she was speechless.

She had covered some of the best athletes in the world. She knew hard work was a given at this level. But this?

This wasn't just hard work. This was relentless.

Most college players wouldn't be able to sustain that level of training. It was inhuman.

And yet, Oliver had done it.

Every. Single. Day.

For years.

Annie studied him for a moment, her admiration deepening. This wasn't just a player with talent. This was a man who had built himself into greatness, piece by piece, rep by rep.

She smiled, her voice softer now.

"You know, Oliver," she said, "I'd love to see more of your life. Off the court. Just as a friend, of course. If you don't mind."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "That's not part of the interview, is it?"

She laughed lightly. "No. But I think it'd be fascinating."

Oliver considered it for a second before nodding. "Sure. Might be boring, though."

Annie's gaze lingered on him for a moment before she murmured, almost to herself—

"I don't think so."

The next morning, Oliver arrived at the gym before sunrise, as always.

And to his surprise, Annie was already there, waiting.

"I just want to watch," she said with a smile.

Oliver smirked. "Suit yourself."

As he began his drills, Annie sat on the sidelines, quietly observing.

At first, she had expected to stay for an hour at most. But as she watched, she found herself completely drawn in.

Oliver wasn't just training. He was obsessed.

Hundreds of shots, each with meticulous form.

Endless footwork drills, precision down to the millimeter.

Repetitions that would drive most people insane—yet he executed them with the same focus, the same fire, every single time.

He had no room for laziness. No patience for half-measures.

Annie leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.

She had interviewed countless athletes.

But Oliver?

There was something about him.

Something different.

And she couldn't look away.