NBA: Giant Killing

The second half had barely begun, yet Oliver could already sense the shift in Marquette University's defense.

They weren't just pressuring him—they were hunting him.

Dwyane Wade and Norton closed in from both sides, forming a wall with their bodies. Ahead, the Marquette big men stood firm in the paint, their arms raised like iron gates barring any hope of entry.

It was a formation designed with a single purpose: to keep Oliver out.

They weren't going to let him slash through the lane anymore. They were daring him to pass—forcing him to rely on his teammates.

A reasonable player would take the hint.

But Oliver had never been reasonable.

Not when the fire to score was burning inside him.

With Stephen Curry's skillset surging through his veins, the hunger for points was insatiable.

If they wouldn't let him drive—then he would bury them from deep.

Oliver's body moved instinctively. His right foot pushed back instead of forward, creating the illusion of retreat.

"Oliver's backing up… what's he thinking here?" Mike Johnson's voice carried a hint of intrigue, sensing something was about to unfold.

Dwyane Wade reacted immediately, extending his hand to cut off any space.

"Wade reaches in—wait, wait! Oliver spins—OH, WHAT A MOVE! He shakes free!" Kevin Grant exploded.

In one smooth motion, Oliver pirouetted away, rising into his shooting form as the ball left his fingertips.

The shot hung in the air, a perfect arc against the stadium lights.

Norton, watching from below, hesitated.

Why?

Why was Oliver still taking these reckless shots?

Shouldn't he be playing smarter in the second half?

Shouldn't he be trying to control the tempo, set up plays, protect the lead?

The ball swished through the net with a crisp, satisfying snap.

The arena was stunned into silence.

Then—

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! OLIVER DRAINS A THREE OVER TWO DEFENDERS!"

"This kid is on another level tonight! Mike, I swear, I think he's only missed once all game!"

"No way… is Oliver really trying to shoot Marquette out of the game with nothing but threes?!"

Somewhere in the crowd, whispers began to spread.

A few basketball purists frowned, questioning Oliver's approach. Was he being reckless? Overconfident?

Then someone murmured, "He's barely missed from three."

And just like that, the murmurs turned into realization.

Other players hesitated to take threes because they couldn't guarantee their accuracy.

But Oliver?

He didn't hesitate—because he barely missed.

If I could shoot like that, I'd be letting it fly too.

Fox Sports reporter Tony was already shaking with excitement.

"I GET IT NOW! Oliver isn't just playing a game—he's putting on a THREE-POINT SHOOTING CLINIC!"

Sitting beside him, ESPN's Cyril rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on! A 'three-point shooting clinic'? Do you even understand basketball, Tony? A real leader secures high-percentage shots in the second half! He's playing like he's in a pickup game!"

"That might be true for other players, but Oliver is different. Trust me—he knows exactly what he's doing. Watch closely. This is about to turn into a three-point exhibition."

"If he keeps playing like this, his numbers might look good, but Einhorn University is definitely losing this game."

"We'll see about that. As long as Oliver's on the court, expect the unexpected."

Back on the hardwood, Marquette's players barely reacted when the ball went through the net.

A second ago, they had thought it was just one lucky shot.

Then Oliver did it again.

This time, over an even taller defender.

"OH, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE JOKING! OLIVER WITH ANOTHER THREE—BACK-TO-BACK!"

"AND HE BARELY HAD ANY SPACE! WHO SHOOTS FROM THERE?!"

Norton clenched his jaw.

That should not have gone in.

Oliver was shooting from impossible angles—off the dribble, over extended arms, without even a clear look at the rim.

Yet every shot felt effortless.

On the sidelines, Marquette's head coach stood frozen, hands on his hips.

This wasn't normal.

Yes, teams sometimes relied on three-pointers, but not like this.

Not as a primary weapon.

Not with a guard running the entire offense from beyond the arc.

It was reckless. It was risky.

And yet… it was working.

Too well.

"Oliver brings the ball up—Marquette is all over him now! They're throwing Norton and Aldington at him—double pressure!"

Oliver saw them coming.

A taller defender, longer arms—less room to shoot.

Perfect.

He took a single step back, just enough to create space.

Then—elevation.

Release.

Swish.

"OH MY GOD! THIRD STRAIGHT THREE! HE CANNOT MISS!"

This time, the crowd didn't even know how to react.

They had never seen a player shoot like this before.

Taking threes in transition?

Pulling up from near half-court?

And making every. Single. One.

It should have been reckless.

But it wasn't.

It was deadly.

"HE'S LOST HIS MIND! OLIVER WITH THREE STRAIGHT THREES!"

"Kevin, this isn't just hot shooting. This—this is a revolution happening in real-time."

"You think he's doing this on purpose?"

"A hundred percent. This isn't just a hot hand. He's making a statement. He's rewriting the game as we speak."

In the stands, NBA coaches exchanged glances.

They had watched players get hot before, but this was different.

This wasn't a lucky streak.

This was methodical. Calculated.

And more than anything—unstoppable.

If a team's best defense was protecting the paint, then what stopped an elite shooter from raining down threes all night?

Nothing.

A terrifying realization settled in.

If a shooter was good enough—they wouldn't need to drive.

They wouldn't need to get past defenders.

They could kill the opposition from the outside.

For the first time, the coaches saw the future.

Oliver wasn't just winning a game.

He was leading the charge into a new era of basketball.