Basketball Soul System: I Got Westbrook's MVP Powers in Another World!-Chapter 83 :[100-REBOUND MILESTONE BONUS: NIGHT OF THE FREE THROWS]

Chapter 83: Chapter 83 :[100-REBOUND MILESTONE BONUS: NIGHT OF THE FREE THROWS] fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Iron Vault Arena.

The players jogged out for warmups. The court gleamed under the lights.

Across the half court, Colter Frye made his way over.

Frye dapped Ryan up, then grinned. "We’re gonna smoke you tonight."

Ryan flashed a grin. "You still owe me that poster, man. Remember when I said I was gonna dunk all over you?"

Frye froze for a split second, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected Ryan to bring up that moment. "Yeah? Bring it, then," he shot back, smirking as he jogged off.

By 9:30 p.m., the game was underway. The center circle buzzed as Malik—seven feet tall—outjumped the 7’1" Halvorsen, cleanly tipping the ball back to Ryan.

Ryan took it across the timeline and slowed at the top of the arc. Russo crouched low in front of him, arms out, locked in.

Ryan’s eyes flicked to the paint. Both of the Tigers’ seven-footers, Hartzell and Halvorsen, were anchored deep, their feet planted on the edges of the restricted area, one on each side, sealing off the lane like twin sentinels. Driving to the hoop for a bucket? Good luck.

Even a high pick-and-roll wouldn’t fix it—sure, you might drag one of the bigs out, but the other? Still parked under the rim like a statue, ready to swat anything.

No room for a roll, no space for a backdoor cut. The Tigers’ defense wasn’t just big—it was disciplined.

He remembered what Crawford drilled into them at film yesterday:

"Shoot them out of it."

That was the only way. Hit your threes. Stretch their defense. Force those towers to step out. Only then could the paint open up.

Simple math:

No threes, no lane.

Ryan didn’t force a drive.

Instead, he zipped a hand-off to Darius and set a screen on Russo.

Darius slid right, didn’t hesitate, and let it fly from deep.

Swish.

The Roarers’ first shot was a three, and the scoreboard flashed 3-0. Iron Vault Arena erupted.

The Tigers brought it down.

Shael crossed half court and passed to Halvorsen at the top of the arc. At 7’1", Halvorsen had solid vision and passing touch—his decision-making from the top was a key part of the Tigers’ offense.

Facing Gibson’s defense, he stayed calm, scanning the floor.

In the paint, Hartzell and Malik were locked in a wrestling match. Halvorsen faked a lob to Hartzell, freezing the Roarers’ defense.

Frye slipped free, cutting to the rim, and Halvorsen dropped a perfect pass.

Frye rose and threw down a two-handed slam, landing with a roar. He shot Ryan a glance—half taunt, half challenge.

Back on offense, Ryan took the ball again. He called for Malik to set a high screen, pulling Hartzell out of the paint.

Ryan used the pick, darted inside, but Frye slid over fast, and Halvorsen was still lurking in the lane.

The paint was a traffic jam.

Ryan backed Frye down, spun, and rose for a midrange fadeaway. Frye’s body contact was heavy. Ryan had no space.

Clang.

The shot rimmed out.

Halvorsen snagged the board, and the Tigers flew downcourt.

Shael drove hard but pulled up for a sudden mid-range jumper.

Clang.

Bricked.

Ryan grabbed the rebound, a grin spreading across his face.

One more board to go.

He kicked it out to Darius, who took charge this time.

After a few crisp passes, Kamara found himself wide open in the corner.

He drained a three.

Roarers up 6-2.

Solid start. If their outside shots kept falling, they had a real shot to take this game.

The Tigers came back with Shael at the helm, setting up at a 45-degree angle.

He ran a high double screen, slicing to the free-throw line.

Malik stepped up to meet him in the paint. Shael sold a gorgeous mid-range fake, getting Malik to bite and lunge with both arms up.

The second Malik landed, Shael leaned in, lofting a forward-leaning jumper.

The ball sailed way off, airballing out of bounds—but the whistle blew.

Foul. Free throws.

Malik muttered, "Fuck," under his breath. Ryan’s lip twitched. Shael’s move was buttery smooth, timed to perfection.

The guy was a foul-drawing machine.

Shael stepped to the line and sank both shots.

Next possession, Darius’s three clanked off the rim.

Shael took the ball again, this time with Ryan guarding him.

Shael exploded past the three-point line. Ryan held his ground, sliding laterally, keeping his body disciplined to avoid contact. But Shael was a magician. Mid-drive, he suddenly stumbled, collapsing toward Ryan, his off-hand tangling with Ryan’s arm.

With a dramatic yell, Shael chucked the ball toward the hoop as he fell.

Swish.

The whistle blew. Two points, plus the foul.

Ryan’s face darkened.

Are you kidding me?

Shael’s body control was otherworldly—falling on cue, acting skills on point, and still nailing the shot?

Shael coolly sank the free throw, and just like that, the Tigers took the lead, 6-7.

The next six minutes were a grind.

Roarers 18. Tigers 20.

Shael drew another foul, this time on Darius.

No basket, thankfully—not a 2+1.

But the Roarers were in trouble. They’d already hit five team fouls, maxed out for the quarter.

Three of the five fouls? All drawn by Shael.

Crawford called a timeout.

On the bench, Crawford didn’t sugarcoat it. "First quarter, and we’re already in the penalty? This is gonna be a long night."

Darius gulped some water. "Shael’s acting game is unreal."

Crawford didn’t smile. "This isn’t new. Off-ball contact—dial it back. They’re in the bonus. Don’t hand ’em freebies."

Timeout over, Crawford made a switch. Ryan, Lin, Sloan, Kamara, and Malik checked in.

On the Tigers’ side, Halvorsen and Russo took a breather—a break for the Roarers, since the twin-tower threat was down to one.

The game resumed, and Shael knocked down his pending free throw, cool as ever. Roarers trailed 18-21, down three.

With Russo’s lockdown defense gone and only one tower in the paint, Ryan saw his chance.

He drove hard to the rim.

Hartzell, the lone seven-footer, wasn’t soft—he leaped to meet Ryan’s layup attempt. Ryan switched hands mid-air, pulling off a slick reverse, but the angle was off.

The ball kissed the rim and bounced out. Ryan wasn’t done. He exploded off the floor again, snatching his second rebound of the night and slamming it home with a ferocious putback dunk.

Bang!

As he jogged back on defense, Ryan muttered under his breath, grinning, "System, let’s go. I’ve been keeping count."

A digital chime rang in his head: [CONGRATULATIONS: 100 CAREER REBOUNDS – MILESTONE ACHIEVED]

Ryan’s grin widened. He’d been tracking his boards since hitting the 100-assist milestone. Pregame, he was at 98 rebounds. Now, he’d crossed the century mark.

[100-REBOUND MILESTONE BONUS: NIGHT OF THE FREE THROWS]

[Tonight, the refs will lean your way. You’ll draw fouls and live at the line. Based on October 28, 2016 — OKC vs. Phoenix Suns, Westbrook’s most free throws attempted in a single game that season: 15-of-20 from the line.]

Night of the Free Throws?

Perfect. Just what I needed tonight.

Ryan looked up at Shael, who was dribbling past half court, and smiled.

Shael dished to Frye and darted off-ball, weaving through screens.

Ryan clamped down on Frye, arms wide, ready for a fight.

Off-ball, Sloan chased Shael through a series of curls. There was contact—normal stuff—but then Shael gave Sloan a shove. Sloan bumped him right back, barely more than a nudge.

Then, with a theatrical yell, Shael flopped to the floor like he’d been shot.

Whistle.

Roarers were in the penalty. Didn’t matter if it was a shooting foul or not—Tigers were headed to the line.

Shael strutted to the line, brimming with mischief.

First shot?

Clank.

Second?

Pure.

Roarers 20, Tigers 22.

Seven minutes in, Shael had already drawn seven free throws, sinking six—a terrifying stat line.

At the line, Ryan smirked, locking eyes with Shael.

Wanna play the foul game? Bring it.

Next possession, ball to Ryan.

He waved off the screen. No dancing, no finesse. Just raw aggression.

He drove straight into Frye, went chest to chest, then powered through Hartzell’s rotation.

Up went the shot—

Whack.

Across the arms.

Whistle. Foul.

This wasn’t some flop. Ryan hadn’t even tried to sell it. Just clean contact, old-school basketball.

Back in 2016–17, Westbrook averaged 10.4 free throws per game—not from flopping, but from relentless rim attacks. That was the blueprint.

Get in the paint, absorb the hit, earn your points.

Ryan stepped to the line.

He glanced at Shael.

Grinned.

What, you thought you were the only one getting to the stripe tonight?

Ryan calmly sank both free throws, knotting the game at 22 apiece.

The rest of the first quarter turned into a tug-of-war, with both teams trading buckets and the lead.

Ryan kept pressing the issue, attacking the paint without hesitation.

He barreled through contact, earning three more trips to the line. One was a hard-fought and-one—muscling past Hartzell’s seven-foot frame for a layup, absorbing a smack to the arm, and still dropping the ball through the net.

By the end of the quarter, the Roarers held a slim edge.

Score: Roarers 34, Tigers 33.

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