Basketball Soul System: I Got Westbrook's MVP Powers in Another World!

Chapter 138: Ripples

The second Ryan’s repost went up, the comments practically detonated on the spot.

Within minutes, hundreds, then thousands of replies poured in under his post, faster than anyone could scroll.

"Ryan? You writing songs AGAIN??"

"Bro, I’m STILL on repeat with Remember the Name and you’re already dropping another one?"

"Bad enough you can hoop—now here’s another track too? Is this guy just allowed to be good at everything?"

"Don’t know this singer, but if Ryan wrote it, I’m listening"

"A song Ryan wrote? Eyes closed, I’m all in—man’s never let me down yet"

Following the link, the fans came flooding into Selena’s post like a tide.

That teaser, dead quiet just an hour ago, watched its reposts, likes, and comments climb like a floodgate had been cracked open.

The comment section came alive—

"Came for Ryan, got hooked by the voice—who IS this, those pipes are insane"

"And she’s gorgeous? How have I never heard of her before?"

"Fifteen seconds, one line, and I’m already in love with this song"

"That arrangement, that voice—you can hear right away there’s something real here"

Not all of it was kind.

"This MV is so cheap though—one room, one mic, that’s it?"

"All carried by Ryan, zero buzz of her own"

"A third-tier singer’s big break (lol)—all thanks to knowing a ballplayer who writes songs"

"Riding coattails feels good for a minute..."

Halcyon Heights, the west side of Iron City.

Up in this hillside enclave overlooking the whole city, Selena Hartley’s apartment wasn’t the biggest, but it was bright and clean, floor-to-ceiling windows opening onto a spread of city lights. She wasn’t famous—but she and Chloe had grown up thick as thieves, inseparable since they were kids. Money had never been the thing she lost sleep over.

What she lost sleep over was something else.

It was late, well into the night, and Selena lay awake in bed, no sleep coming, staring at her phone.

Unstoppable’s teaser had gone up first thing that morning. She knew better than anyone what this song was worth—the melody, the lyrics, that opening line she’d worked over again and again. She was sure of it: this was the real thing, the best card she’d held in two years.

And yet the post just sat there, eerily dead. Likes in the double digits. Reposts in the single digits.

She scrolled it again and again, barely able to believe it. A song this good—how did nobody hear it?

She’d lost track of how long she’d been staring.

And then, out of nowhere, her phone started to buzz. One, then two, then a flood that wouldn’t stop. Notifications surged upward, the numbers jumping faster than her eyes could follow.

She opened her teaser and scrolled to the newest repost—

A blue verified check: Ryan Carter.

"New song from my friend @SelenaHartley, dropping April 11th. The words and music are something I messed around with—and she sings it way better than I wrote it. Go give it a listen when it’s out. 🎧"

Selena froze for a beat, then it clicked, and she let out a soft laugh.

So it was him.

The comments rolling in were overwhelmingly kind, with a few barbs mixed in that still made her chest tighten when she caught them. But this time, floating in that great wave of goodwill, the sour ones felt weightless.

She stared at the page refreshing itself, for a long while.

Then, after a moment’s thought, she sent Chloe a message:

"This was you, wasn’t it—getting Ryan to repost? 😭 I knew it. Thank you, babe—seriously, I don’t even know what to say."

In the car, a phone buzzed.

One hand on the wheel, Chloe fished the phone out with the other and glanced down.

"Eyes on the road." Ryan caught it and cut in. "You’re driving."

"I know, I know." She tossed the phone back onto her lap, but the corner of her mouth had curled up. "It’s Selena. Thanking me for getting you to repost." She smiled. "Looks like it took off."

"Took off?" That got Ryan’s interest. "Let me see."

He pulled out his own phone and opened the account—

Good lord.

The replies under that repost had blown wide open, more than he could scroll through. He swiped past the writing songs again? and the still got Remember the Name on repeat comments, and smiled. Happy for the girl.

"April eleventh," he said, something occurring to him. "Song drops the eleventh... that’s just a few days after we play the Paladins."

"Exactly." Chloe’s eyes glinted, her smile deepening. "Which is why I want you to win that one even more. Beat LaVonte, get your revenge—and then, a few days later, Unstoppable drops. How perfect is that?"

The word revenge made Ryan laugh.

"There’s no revenge to it." He leaned back, easy. "I’ve got nothing against the guy. He won that game clean—not a single cheap trick."

He looked out at the streetlights sliding past.

"I just want to know... how far I’ve actually come."

"Fine, fine," Chloe said, not about to argue semantics, waving a hand with a grin. "’Proving yourself.’ Doesn’t sound as good as ’revenge.’ Whatever—just win it for me."

Ryan shook his head, smiling, and let it drop.

"Oh," Chloe said, like she’d remembered the real business. "This song—I’m going to buy the rights and use it as a Zero9 ad track. And I’m thinking bigger than that. A song alone isn’t enough—I want to cut your game footage into it. You playing the Paladins, getting past LaVonte, winning that game, set to Unstoppable... that ad would be unreal."

"Game footage?"

"Mm. So we’d have to buy the footage rights from the league—broadcast clips, those belong to the league," Chloe said.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "That has to be paid for too?"

"Of course. And that’s not all." She nodded. "Any team logos that show up, you’ve got to pay the team for those. The Roarers’ share, well..." She paused, and broke into a grin herself. "It’s basically my dad’s team now anyway. Just moving money from one pocket to the other."

Ryan laughed.

"And every player who gets cut into it—their image rights all have to be cleared, one by one."

"The players too?"

"Of course. Using someone’s face to sell Zero9 isn’t news coverage—it’s commercial use." Chloe had it all down cold. "Especially LaVonte. An ad showing you beating him is basically putting his face behind our drink. He doesn’t sign off, we can’t use it."

At that, she frowned to herself.

"And there’s the catch. Whether LaVonte... would actually agree to that—hard to say."

Ryan listened, then suddenly grinned.

"The way you talk," he said, cutting her a sideways look, "you’d think I’ve already got this won. What if I lose?"

"Lose?" Chloe blinked. "If you lose, we cut a different game. The one against the Bullets—that last-second steal, the assist to Kamara for the buzzer-beater, taking down the reigning champs with your own hands—set that to Unstoppable and it’s just as fire."

"Cutting the Bullets game," Ryan said, taking his time, "still means Kambon and the rest have to sign off, you know."

Doused one bucket of cold water at a time, Chloe shot him an annoyed look—then caught herself mid-thought.

"...Aren’t you and Kambon pretty tight?" Her tone flipped. "I saw it before tip-off—he had you cornered the whole time, talking your ear off, arm around your shoulder and everything. He’s not going to give you at least that much?"

Ryan thought back to Kambon’s endless childhood saga before the game, caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement, and for a second couldn’t argue.

"So," Chloe said, perking back up, though her eyes turned serious again, "backups are backups—what I really want is for you to win the Paladins game. The clearances on LaVonte and the Paladins, don’t you worry about those. I’ll send my team in with all the goodwill in the world."

She looked at him.

"You just win."

The car pulled up outside Ryan’s building.

"Here we are." Chloe cut the engine. "Go up and get some sleep. Save your strength."

"Yeah." Ryan pushed the door open, then glanced back at her. "Night."

"Night, songwriter."

In bed, Ryan found no sleep.

On the ceiling, the city’s lights cast their faint, drifting shadows.

What kept turning over in his head was that line of Chloe’s—What I really want is for you to win the Paladins game. You just win.

And that word he’d laughed off: revenge.

He didn’t hate LaVonte. He really didn’t. But the expectation in Chloe’s eyes, that settled, certain I want you to win—that landed, real and solid, square on his chest.

April eighth. Home. The Paladins.

That was the answer he had to go claim for himself.

But that game was still three games out.

Two days from now he had the Talons at home, then a quick trip out to face the Mistfoxes—and the night after that road game, the Paladins, back home. Not a soft one in the bunch. Ryan closed his eyes and pressed that red name gently back down for now.

No rushing it. One game at a time. Take the one right in front of him first, then the next, then the next—step by step, all the way to that night of April eighth.

And when he got there, he’d stand on that floor, and take his answer back with his own hands.