NBA: GIANT KILLING

"Then let's dance!"

Oliver tilted his head and grinned, stepping beyond the three-point line before tossing the ball back to Goring, signaling for him to pass it over.

Goring, his eyes burning with anger, slammed the ball to the ground before it rebounded forcefully back to Oliver.

Oliver paid no mind to Goring's frustration-filled pass. Instead, with lightning-fast speed, he brought the ball to his waist with both hands, lowered his center of gravity, and locked eyes with Goring.

In Goring's eyes, there was provocation, there was shock, but most of all—there was curiosity. He was intrigued by Oliver's sudden transformation.

Though furious, Goring was, after all, a core player of the school team. He quickly adapted and found a way to counter Oliver—by using his height advantage and stepping back to increase the defensive gap.

This was absolute confidence in his reaction speed and reach.

He believed that as long as Oliver attempted a shot, he could extend his arm and block it before the ball left his fingertips.

Oliver smiled wryly. Before having AI's capabilities, how could he possibly compete against such attempts of leveraging physical differences?

Just then, Iverson's signature movements flashed through Oliver's mind like a slideshow.

At that moment, the basketball felt like an extension of his own fingers—light, fluid, and alive.

It was as if he had become Allen Iverson, reliving that unforgettable night when the 76ers faced the Lakers.

It was akin to Shaquille O'Neal standing before Iverson, a towering presence so overwhelming it almost felt hopeless.

But now, Oliver was Iverson. And the man before him? Not even remotely close to Shaq.

His thoughts sharpened in an instant. Every muscle in his body tensed like a coiled spring before explosively launching him toward the right.

Goring, standing near the free-throw line, kept his composure despite his opponent's unpredictability.

How could someone of his stature possess such speed and power? He reminded Goring of…

Before he could finish his thought, Oliver had already accelerated like a bolt of lightning, breaking left.

Goring's heart skipped a beat, but his movements remained steady, adamant on stopping Oliver's advances.

Oliver, his body and the ball in perfect harmony, displayed an almost supernatural level of control—

At such high speed, he stopped and reversed direction.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

The spectators, basketball enthusiasts and players alike, recognized that the very person they recently underestimated or mocked just pulled of a move they could never replicate.

Stopping abruptly at such velocity was unimaginable for them.

But Oliver managed it.

And not because he was recklessly overexerting himself—

His follow-up movement proved that his actions were a testament to his otherworldly muscle control.

He had distributed the counterforce across every fiber of his being, dispersing the impact like an egg resisting pressure under a firm grip.

The coach remained silent, not out of ignorance but out of awe.

In fact, he saw more than anyone else.

Oliver's shocking muscle control was merely the tip of the iceberg.

Every breath, every step he took was as precise as a drumbeat, and his ball-handling was seamless, free of any excess movement.

The coach suddenly felt grateful—he had almost overlooked a generational talent. Now, he could hardly wait to see what Oliver would do next.

Sure enough, Oliver's initial burst of speed had been nothing more than a smokescreen.

He knew that no matter how fast he was, human reflexes had their limits.

As long as Goring kept his distance, he could always block Oliver's shot the moment he jumped.

Against Goring, who showed quite respectable patience and decision making, raw speed alone wasn't enough.

Yet Iverson's greatness didn't come solely from his speed.

At his peak, every step Iverson took was like a dagger stabbing into his opponent's heart.

Every move sent shivers through the defense.

His court presence was like that of a magician, each offensive maneuver leaving defenders in utter despair.

Within 24 short seconds, he could drain his opponent's mental and physical stamina, waiting for that single moment of weakness before effortlessly laying the ball into the basket.

And so, Oliver executed a crossover—

His first burst of speed was just a feint. The true essence of his offense lay in the moves that followed.

With a lightning-fast between-the-legs dribble, he seamlessly transitioned into a controlled hesitation move.

This was a common move in crossover techniques, designed to trick the defender's balance.

But Oliver's execution was different.

His hesitation had no clear directional bias—his rhythm slowed down.

It was poetry in motion.

On the sidelines, the coach's eyes lit up, and he couldn't help but exclaim, "He's got him!"

Goring had deliberately tuned out Oliver's speed to avoid getting caught in his pace.

Instead, he focused solely on predicting the exact moment Oliver would take his shot.

But Oliver's slow-down dribble subtly dragged Goring into his tempo, like a hunter weaving a trap, waiting for his prey to step in.

Sure enough, the moment Oliver executed his hesitation, Goring instinctively took half a step forward.

An opening!

Like an elegant dancer, Oliver switched hands, stepping into a sharp crossover.

Goring instinctively tried to cut off his path—

But Oliver spun cleanly, leaving Goring behind him.

Everything felt effortless, as if Goring had willingly let Oliver past.

Iverson's free-spirited style of play had come alive once again through Oliver's movements.

Seeing Oliver just inches from the rim, Goring lunged in desperation, reaching out in a last-ditch effort to block the shot.

But just then, Oliver stopped abruptly and took a step back.

Goring, still shifting toward Oliver's previous direction, had no chance to recover.

For a brief moment, the court fell into complete silence.

Goring could hear his own heartbeat.

He didn't understand.

How had he fallen for such a simple trick?

Why, despite his better athleticism and physique, had this player, he didn't think highly of, managed to create so much separation?

It was as if time had frozen.

For the first time, Goring saw the fire in Oliver's eyes—the sheer love for the game.

Yes, why had he been so dismissive of someone who loved basketball?

There would always be someone stronger.

There would always be greater challenges.

If he had to face an opponent with such a physical disadvantage, would he have the courage to stand up like Oliver did?

That cunning footwork, that mesmerizing playstyle, that effortless ball control—

Goring understood now.

He hadn't lost his balance.

He had simply been entranced by Oliver's offense.

Sometimes, basketball is an art form…

And the man before him is just the better artist..

The ball left Oliver's fingertips.

Swoosh.

Nothing but net.