Michael Jordan: Rebound from Oblivion

The silence was almost spiritual. No crowd. No referees. Just the court, empty and looming like a judgment seat, glowing faintly beneath her sneakers.

Mike took a slow breath, bouncing the ball once. It thudded with a weight that didn't belong to rubber and air—more like a heartbeat sealed in stone.

Across from her stood a man. Not a boy. Not another street player. Not like Ramo, with his flashy bloodline and hothead ego. No, this one didn't even announce himself.

He just appeared, tall, calm, and impossibly still.

His eyes were closed.

Mike narrowed her eyes. The air trembled.

> "Match Initialized."

"Opponent Class: Null-God Candidate."

She frowned. Null-God?

> "Energy suppression in effect. Physical stats scaled to host level. Abilities retained. This is a death match. Win or be erased."

There was no explanation beyond that. The system had a flair for minimalism, but something in its voice had shifted. Like it enjoyed the panic crawling into her spine.

Mike wiped her palms on her shorts. "Alright... pressure makes diamonds, right?"

The man finally opened his eyes. Empty whites. As if his pupils had dissolved.

He stepped forward. No dribble. Just the sound of gravity bowing to him.

Mike's knees tensed.

---

The match began with a single pivot.

He moved.

Mike saw nothing. One blink, and he was gone.

But instinct kicked in—no, something deeper. Her limbs twisted like they were tracing patterns written into the air.

> "Court Grid: Active." "Circuits Aligning."

She ducked low just in time to catch his presence sliding behind her, a phantom of movement. The man hadn't even touched the ball yet.

Then he did.

The bounce was... wrong.

The floor flexed with it. Like the court itself bowed beneath his fingers. Lines shimmered beneath his feet, ancient and geometric, coiling into a sigil before vanishing.

Mike shot back, retreating.

He chased.

And every step made her vision blur.

> "System Alert: Host body stress level exceeding safe threshold."

Her legs screamed. Her lungs burned.

The pressure wasn't like before. It wasn't just aura—this was deeper. The court itself felt alive. And it wasn't on her side this time.

She slammed the ball against the hardwood and spun right.

He followed.

She dropped to one knee mid-spin, hands flicking the ball under his grasp. His body flickered past like a shadow torn by light.

Her fingers caught the ball.

Whump.

She rose.

Leap.

Hang time.

But before her hand met the rim, she felt it—a ripple behind her.

Too fast!

He was already there.

Mike twisted in midair, ball cradled like a secret.

Air Step.

Her foot touched nothing. Yet she pushed off.

Snap!

A sharp pain coiled up her ankle.

> "Minor fracture detected. Pain inhibitors deployed."

The dunk landed with a seismic pulse.

1 - 0.

She collapsed after, clutching her leg.

The man turned slowly, calm, unfazed.

---

The game didn't stop.

He charged.

No expression. No sweat.

Just force.

Mike rolled back, dodging with desperation now. Her body was burning through stamina like gasoline.

She managed a shaky stance.

> "System Override: Temporary boost initiated."

Her body surged.

Faster.

Grip. Slide. Twist.

She weaved under his guard, snatched the ball, and darted.

But he didn't miss a beat.

His foot slammed the court.

BOOM!

A wave of raw pressure rippled from him, knocking the wind from her lungs. Her body staggered mid-sprint.

> "Host defense system at 14%."

"He ain't playing fair..." she muttered, clutching her side.

But her grin cracked through the pain.

"Neither am I."

She bounced once, then faked left. The man moved to intercept.

She dropped her shoulder and phased through his stance—not teleportation, but perfect synchronization with the court grid beneath.

Flash Drive: Ghost Layup.

2 - 0.

The system buzzed.

> "God Fragment weakening. Continue match."

God.

Her eyes twitched.

She was fighting a god.

And winning.

---

By the sixth point, her fingers were numb.

Her back ached.

Her vision stung with sweat and blood.

And still, he didn't slow down.

At one point, he slammed her into the court. Her shoulder cracked.

> "Dislocation. Auto-align enabled."

POP.

She hissed.

But the ball was still hers.

Bang. Another three.

8 - 0.

---

Final point.

She stood, wobbling. The man tilted his head.

Then he spoke for the first time.

"You don't belong here."

His voice sounded... wrong. Like something wearing a voice. Hollow.

She spit blood to the side.

"Tell that to my jump shot."

And then she ran.

Her feet barely touched the ground. The court shifted around her. Time flickered.

Last shot.

She flew.

He rose to meet her.

Their bodies collided in midair.

Crack!

Her ribs. Something gave.

But her hands still pushed.

Ball. Rim.

Net.

9 - 0.

The silence that followed felt like the world exhaling.

> "Victory registered. Null-God suppressed. Host clearance level increased."

Mike fell backward, landing hard.

The man's body dissolved into mist.

She groaned. "System... what the hell did I just play against?"

The reply came cold and sharp.

> "A lesser god. His power was scaled to yours. His skill remained untouched. This is the cost of ascension. Each match forward will demand more."

She closed her eyes.

"So this is what it means to rise..."

Then darkness took her.