NBA: Giant Killing

The atmosphere inside the packed arena crackled with energy, the tension thick enough to slice through.

Every player on Aina University's bench sat on the edge of their seat, their hearts hammering in sync with the rhythm of the game.

Before this season, Berheim had dared to dream only of survival—making it to March Madness and perhaps, just perhaps, winning a single round before bowing out with dignity.

But then Oliver arrived.

And suddenly, nothing seemed impossible anymore.

Berheim had never been more grateful for his decision. If he hadn't extended a hand to Oliver that day, Aina University wouldn't have made it this far. Wouldn't have been here, standing toe-to-toe with giants.

The timeout ended. The players returned to the court.

Marquette University wasted no time executing a crisp offensive play. Wade and Andrew, their movements sharp and precise, wove through Aina's defense like practiced dancers.

A well-timed pass, a quick pivot, and just like that—two points.

The crowd roared, the scoreboard ticking closer.

But Marquette wasn't just tightening up its offense. Their defense had evolved too.

Where before they had thrown everything at Oliver alone, now they expanded their reach, spreading their suffocating pressure across the entire Aina lineup.

Still, they weren't foolish enough to abandon their double-teams on Oliver. Whenever he touched the ball, two bodies converged on him instantly.

But instead of leaving gaping holes elsewhere, Marquette relied on a relentless switching scheme, covering open men with rapid rotations.

It was an exhausting strategy—but it was working.

Aina's players hesitated under the intensity of the defense.

Their shots came late, forced, and frantic.

One possession after another slipped away.

Marquette seized the moment.

Six unanswered points.

The scoreboard flashed: 90-87.

Aina's lead, once comfortable, had shrunk to a fragile three points.

The tension in the air grew thick.

Every possession mattered now.

Mike Johnson:

"Marquette has stormed back into this game! Aina University is still up by three, but you can feel the momentum shifting, Kevin."

Kevin Grant:

"Absolutely, Mike. Aina had this game under control, but Marquette's defensive adjustments have been brilliant. Their rotations are relentless, and Aina's supporting cast looks hesitant. They're forcing Oliver to work for every inch. But if there's one guy who thrives under pressure—it's him."

Aina University regained possession.

Oliver walked the ball up the court, eyes scanning the floor like a hunter assessing his prey.

Marquette's Norton and Andrew closed in the moment he crossed half-court.

Norton, desperate to prove himself, stuck to Oliver like glue.

He had spent the entire game suffering, his confidence chipped away possession by possession.

He had managed only three points all night, and even those came from drawing a foul.

Beyond that? Nothing.

His offensive game had been shattered by Oliver's suffocating presence.

He barely dared to dribble before passing the ball off, afraid of making another mistake.

But on defense, he was relentless.

He had no illusions about stopping Oliver, but at the very least, he could make him work for it.

Oliver, however, barely seemed to register his presence.

He had memorized Norton's movements, studied his every reaction.

There was no mystery left—only inevitability.

But Norton wasn't the only concern.

Andrew loomed nearby, longer, faster, with sharp instincts.

If Oliver pulled up for a three, there was a very real chance Andrew could get a hand on it.

Oliver's eyes flicked toward the rest of Marquette's defense, reading them like an open book.

He already knew what he was going to do.

Mike Johnson: "Oliver's sizing them up… You can feel it coming, Kevin."

Kevin Grant: "Marquette's done a great job containing him this quarter, but the problem with players like Oliver is… they don't just react. They calculate. They wait. And then—"

Oliver exploded.

With a sudden burst of speed, he shifted left, dragging Norton off balance—then spun the opposite way, leaving him in the dust.

Andrew lunged, arms outstretched, hoping to disrupt the drive—but Oliver had already anticipated him.

Before Andrew could even graze him, Oliver had slipped past, three strides ahead.

And then—chaos.

Marquette's defense collapsed inward, bodies scrambling to stop him.

Wade, ever the fastest to react, hurled himself forward in an attempt to cut Oliver off.

Orlington and Gall rushed in behind him, forming a desperate three-man blockade.

But it didn't matter.

Oliver was already inside. Already airborne.

He soared, his body twisting mid-air as the defense arrived a second too late.

And then—BANG!

The ball slammed through the hoop with a ferocious dunk, rattling the rim.

For a moment, the arena froze.

Then it exploded.

Mike Johnson: "OH MY GOODNESS! OLIVER JUST BLEW PAST THE ENTIRE MARQUETTE DEFENSE!"

Kevin Grant: "THAT. WAS. INSANE! AINA UNIVERSITY'S POINT GUARD JUST TOOK ON FIVE DEFENDERS AND DUNKED IT LIKE THEY WEREN'T EVEN THERE!"

The replay flashed on the big screen.

Oliver had ripped through Norton and Andrew, then streaked through the lane like a bullet, leaving Wade, Orlington, and Gall flailing in his wake.

The entire sequence had taken—five seconds.

The crowd had thought Oliver avoided driving because he was afraid of contact.

But now?

Now, they knew.

He had just been waiting.

Waiting for the right moment.

Waiting to make a statement.

He wasn't just a shooter.

He wasn't just a passer.

He could shatter defenses when he wanted to.

NBA scouts in the crowd exchanged glances, the same thought running through their minds:

We need him. No matter the cost.

The dunk sent a shockwave through Aina's bench.

Their energy surged, their confidence soaring.

Marquette, meanwhile, felt the weight of something much heavier than the score—doubt.

Wade grabbed the inbound pass, his movements tense, his mind racing.

Time was slipping away.

They couldn't afford another wasted possession.

But Oliver was everywhere.

No matter how Wade twisted, turned, or feinted, he couldn't shake him.

Desperate, he swung the ball to Andrew.

Andrew barely had time to set his feet before launching a rushed shot—

Clang!

The ball bounced off the rim, spiraling away.

The scoreboard remained frozen: 92-87.

The lead wasn't overwhelming, but it felt insurmountable.

For all their efforts, Marquette couldn't break the cycle.

No matter what they tried, they remained stuck in the same place—

Always trailing.

Always chasing a shadow.