Michael Jordan: Rebound from Oblivion

Mike wiped the sweat from her brow, the concrete court beneath her feet already stained with the rhythm of another intense game. Her breathing was steady now, but her muscles still buzzed from the grind. The game against Fleck was over, and the crowd had melted away, leaving only a few kids still catching their breath or nursing bruised pride.

Her body ached, but that pain felt like fuel.

She was back. And not just back—different.

Stronger.

Inside her, something still hummed like an engine revving low, the residue of the match still burning in her limbs. But this wasn't the time to dwell on victories. There was always someone better. Always a new opponent.

A shadow moved across the court.

"New blood wants to test you," said one of the kids, nodding toward the gate.

Two figures walked in—older teens, maybe seventeen or eighteen. Tall, lanky, athletic. Not from the neighborhood.

Mike rolled her neck. "Visitors, huh?"

They weren't awakened. You could tell. But they carried themselves with edge—like people used to being underestimated. Failed awakeners, probably. That made them even more dangerous.

"We heard you took Fleck's crown," one of them said, spinning a ball lazily. "You keepin' it warm or tryna build a throne?"

Mike didn't blink. "I built the court. Now I'm building the rules."

They smirked. One of them dribbled toward her. Not aggressive. Just close.

"Best to know your limits."

Mike's grin was dry. "I don't have any."

> [System Notification: No threats detected. Internal Energy suppression advised.]

She ignored the system. She wasn't about to blow her cover. Not here.

---

The game started.

They played hard. Elbows flew. Drives turned into brawls beneath the rim. Trash talk poured like sweat.

Mike stayed calm, every step mapped in her head before it happened. Even without system boosts, her court instincts were beginning to evolve. What once felt like reaction was now prediction.

One kid came at her fast—too fast. He ducked low, spun, tried to drive. Mike slid, planted, and stole clean.

"She cooked him alive."

"That boy might retire after this."

"She turning him into practice tape."

"Somebody get him a stretcher, he ain't coming back from that one."

The crowd was half-laughing, half-staring.

Mike finished the drive with a reverse layup so smooth it looked like water.

They didn't come back after that.

Score: 9–4.

---

Later that night, she limped back into the orphanage, alone. Her body buzzed again—but this time it wasn't pain. It was… a ripple. A pressure. The world around her bent slightly. The shadows deepened. The windows trembled.

> [System Alert: Match initializing… Opponent incoming.]

"What now?" she whispered.

> [Opponent assigned: Tier-Sealed God-Class. Match location: Shadow Grid Court.]

The world tore apart.

She was pulled.

---

She landed in darkness.

Cold. Black. An empty court surrounded by drifting void. The rim floated. The paint was cracked marble. Above her, stars blinked like the eyes of silent judges.

And across from her, a man stood barefoot.

Tall. Bald. Calm. Eyes closed.

He didn't look divine. He looked broken.

Mike took her stance. "Who am I playing?"

> [God of Calm – Tier-Sealed.]

"Seriously?"

> [Your win condition remains: survive and win. Or die.]

Mike spat. "Nice. So just another day at the office."

He opened his eyes.

The pressure hit instantly.

Court Pressure.

It wasn't the system's. This was divine-level intent, smothering the space like a tsunami in slow motion. Mike dropped to one knee, gasping.

> [Court Link Established. Opponent's power compressed to Host level. Abilities remain. Good luck.]

She stood, breath ragged.

"Alright. Let's dance."

---

The god moved like mist.

Not fast—inevitable. Every movement was quiet, but absolute. His crossover made the air hiss. His jumper floated like it didn't believe in gravity.

Mike defended like her life depended on it.

Because it did.

He scored. Twice.

She adapted. Internal Energy flickered in her joints, boosting reflexes just enough to shadow his next step. She swiped the ball.

Counter. Drive. Spin.

2–1.

The battle felt endless.

4–3.

6–6.

Blood seeped from her elbow. Her lip was cracked again. Her ankle twisted. But her focus sharpened.

8–8.

Final possession.

The god hovered at the key. Ball low. Staring.

Mike squared up.

He moved.

She stepped early.

Interception.

Ball loose.

She snatched it mid-air.

Breakaway.

She rose.

> [Skill Unlocked: Court Style – Phantom Rise Lv.1]

Her leap was unreal. Air held her like it forgot to drop things.

Dunk.

9–8.

The god vanished like smoke.

Mike fell to her knees.

> [Match Complete. New Title Unlocked: Court Slayer. Hidden Trait Activated: Divine Resistance Lv.1]

She didn't speak.

Just breathed.

---

In the godrealm, panic spread like wildfire.

"Another is gone."

"A Slayer… is rising."

The God-King remained silent.

But his grip tightened.

---

Back on Earth, Mike limped out of the court and collapsed against the old fence.

> [Next match pending. Team synchronization recommended. Initiate gathering soon.]

She chuckled, weakly.

"I gotta find the squad. This ain't gonna be a solo mission."

The system said nothing.

But the mist rolled in again.

Soon.