Basketball Soul System: I Got Westbrook's MVP Powers in Another World!-Chapter 84 :A Game Full of Fouls

Start of the second quarter. Both the Roarers and Tigers made rotations, giving their starters a breather.

The Iron Vault Arena hummed, but the scoring dried up fast.

Benches emptied, and the pace turned sluggish—missed shots, clunky possessions.

Then Stanley checked in for the Roarers, locking horns with Russo, his old rival from countless media comparisons.

The crowd’s roar spiked, sensing their bad blood.

It was a gritty duel: Stanley swiped a steal, Russo forced a turnover. They traded blows, each refusing to yield.

Six minutes in, the scoreboard was knotted at 47–47, and both starting lineups stormed back onto the court.

But then, the Roarers hit a wall. Their outside shots clanked, and the Tigers’ twin towers—Hartzell and Halvorsen—clogged the paint like a steel trap.

Ryan kept attacking, fearless, barreling to the rim. Twice he got hacked, drawing fouls with pure aggression, no theatrics. He sank three of four free throws, but his drives were either disrupted or swatted.

The Tigers’ interior presence was suffocating—every miss felt like a wasted bullet.

The Tigers, meanwhile, caught fire. Shael, ice-cold from the field—2-for-6—still piled up points, going 10-for-11 at the line. His foul-drawing was surgical, earning him double digits. With Frye and others chipping in, the Tigers unleashed a 20-10 run, pulling ahead 67-57 at halftime.

In the locker room, Crawford didn’t mince words. "We wanna win? We gotta dismantle their twin towers."

Ryan frowned. "How?"

Crawford pointed to the stat sheet. "Hartzell’s got three fouls. Push him into a fourth. Get him off the court."

Malik gave a wry smile. "I’m sitting on three, too. I push and I’m gone."

Crawford shrugged. "Figure it out."

He doubled down on the plan. "Ryan, Darius—pound the paint. Kamara, Gibson, you see an opening? Attack. Force Hartzell out."

The team huddled closer, heads nodded, their intensity palpable, knowing the second half was make-or-break.

Halftime ended, and the teams charged back out.

Roarers’ ball. Ryan crossed halfcourt, Russo glued to him like a shadow.

Darius sprinted over, and Ryan zipped a hand-off, then threw a hard screen to stonewall Russo. Darius took the ball, accelerating past the three-point line.

Frye slid over to help, but Kamara set a double screen, pinning Frye in place.

Darius charged the paint, clutching the ball like a battering ram, and plowed into Hartzell.

The whistle blew.

Darius’s lips curled—until the ref signaled an offensive foul.

His grin froze.

As they jogged back, Ryan muttered, "C’mon, man, channel some of Shael’s acting chops."

Darius chuckled. "Ain’t got that kinda talent."

Tigers’ ball. Halvorsen caught a pass at the 45-degree angle, Gibson hounding him tight.

Suddenly, Halvorsen waved Shael over for a pick-and-roll—a seven-footer calling for a guard’s screen?

Ryan, who was guarding Shael, blinked. He’s calling me out? Big on small?

Shael set the pick, forcing Ryan to switch onto Halvorsen. The 7’1" giant dribbled twice, and Ryan almost laughed.

You think you’re crossing me up?

Halvorsen dribbled between his legs—once, twice—smooth and confident.

Then, out of nowhere, a lightning-quick double crossover, blowing past Ryan like he was standing still.

What the—?

Ryan spun, chasing, but Halvorsen was already at the rim.

Malik, wary of his three fouls, went light on the contest.

Halvorsen powered through, slamming a two-handed dunk that shook the rim.

The Tigers’ bench exploding, their fans waving towels.

Ryan shook his head.

Got me.

Didn’t expect a big man with handles like that—and that kind of speed. The Tigers’ starting five is stacked. Every one of them can hoop.

No wonder the Tigers topped the West.

Ryan and Darius went back to work, targeting Hartzell.

Darius drove, missed a layup.

Ryan attacked next, only to get stuffed clean by Hartzell’s massive paw.

Hartzell’s scowl said he knew their game plan, the pressure mounting.

But the Roarers’ gambit backfired—two scoreless possessions, and Shael capitalized, drawing another foul on Malik in transition.

Malik’s fourth. Just 1:30 into the third, Crawford had no choice. He yanked Malik, subbing in Sloan.

Shael, cool as ever, sank both free throws.

Roarers 57, Tigers 71.

The gap was widening.

Next trip down, Ryan attacked Hartzell again.

He rose for the layup, lifting the ball slowly—baiting the block.

Hartzell locked in, tracking the ball, then swung hard.

But just before the swat connected, Ryan snapped his arm up with sudden speed.

Smack—contact on the forearm.

The ball popped free—

Swish.

Whistle. And-one.

Hartzell’s fourth.

The Tigers’ coach yanked him off the floor immediately.

Ryan and Darius dapped up, grinning. "Had to be me," Ryan said with a smirk.

Two minutes into the third, both teams’ starting centers were benched with fouls—a win for the Roarers, who now had a clearer path to the paint without the twin towers.

Ryan stepped to the line.

He released the shot.

Clang.

Besides, tonight’s system reward — ’Free Throw Night’ — only increases the number of free throws, not the accuracy.

It rimmed out. But Sloan, a rebounding fiend, read the miss perfectly, outjumping everyone for the board. He leaped for a putback, only to meet Halvorsen’s towering frame in mid-air. Their bodies collided, and Sloan went flying, crashing out of bounds with a grimace.

Ryan and Darius rushed over, crouching. "You good, man?" Ryan asked.

Sloan, still on the floor, winked. "How’s my acting? Decent, right?"

Ryan and Darius exchanged a look, then hauled him up. Sloan whispered, "Halvorsen’s got three fouls now. Wanna take him out too?"

Ryan looked at Darius.

"He’s nastier than us," Ryan said.

Darius grinned. "I like him."

Sloan, with his 69% free-throw clip, stepped to the line.

First shot missed.

He took the ball from the ref, went through his routine—mimicking his shooting motion, exhaling deep—and fired.

Swish.

With Hartzell benched, the Tigers’ twin towers were down to one, and the Roarers smelled blood.

The paint opened up, and Ryan and Darius went to work, slashing to the rim with ruthless precision. Kamara and Gibson chipped in, sneaking past defenders for quick buckets.

Sloan, lurking in the low post, feasted on a pair of slick feeds from Ryan, bullying his way to easy layups.

The Roarers clawed back, shrinking the Tigers’ lead to nine points.

Iron Vault Arena pulsed with anticipation, the crowd sensing a comeback.

But it wasn’t a pretty game. The refs were calling it tight—whistles came in flurries. Both teams lived at the line. Foul count kept climbing. It was less basketball, more a chess match of foul management.

The constant stoppages sapped the flow, leaving purists groaning.

Truth be told, the constant stoppages dulled the game’s flow—too many free throws, not enough rhythm.

By the six-minute mark of the fourth quarter, every starter was back on the floor, and the scoreboard read Roarers 89, Tigers 96.

Ryan was a force, racking up 22 points, half from the stripe—10 of 12 free throws, pure aggression, no theatrics.

Shael, though, was a different beast: 14 of 15 from the line, piling up 27 points with his infuriating foul-drawing antics.

Every player on the court carried at least three fouls. Halvorsen sat at four, while Malik and Hartzell teetered on the edge with five apiece—one more and they’d foul out.

But this was winning time. Coaches gambled, kept them in, and it was a test of who could stay on the floor longer.

On the next possession, Ryan worked a slick handoff, caught a screen, and darted toward the rim—right at Hartzell.

Five fouls deep, Hartzell hesitated. Couldn’t body up like usual.

Ryan saw his chance. He faked left, blew past Hartzell, and soared for a one-handed slam that detonated the arena.

The crowd lost it, chanting "Ry-an!" as the Jumbotron replayed the dunk.

Roarers now trailed by just five, 91-96.

Jogging back on defense, Ryan grinned at Hartzell. "You’re guarding me that soft? I’m gonna keep scoring on your head." He darted off, leaving the words hanging.

Hartzell burned. Not just from the dunk—but the trash talk.

Ryan wasn’t just flexing. He wanted Hartzell emotional. Wanted him reckless.

Because as long as the twin towers were in, paint points were still hard-earned.

The Tigers struck back. Russo, the elite 3-and-D wing, drained a wide-open corner three, silencing the crowd and stretching the lead to eight.

Next possession, Ryan took control.

He called Malik up for a high screen—classic bait.

The Tigers switched.

Hartzell got pulled out again, stuck on an island with Ryan.

Ryan flashed a cocky grin. Getting past you’s too easy."

He jab-stepped, then exploded past Hartzell with a lightning-fast crossover. Half a step behind, Hartzell’s temper flared.

Hartzell, trailing a step, lunged on the recovery—shouldered Ryan in the back.

Ryan, playing it up, flailed dramatically, crashing to the hardwood.

The whistle screamed.

Hartzell’s sixth foul. He was done.

The big man stormed off, head shaking, as the crowd roared.

Ryan lay there, catching his breath, thinking, Man, if I had Shael’s acting chops, I could’ve sold a shooting motion too—maybe got the and-one.

But getting Hartzell ejected was a win in itself.

One tower down, the paint was wide open.

On the bench, Crawford gave him a subtle nod—approval without words.

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