Chapter 260: Coronation

The final horn sounded, and for a second, the entire arena felt like it was collapsing. The air was sucked out, like someone punched you in the gut, then boom.

The explosion.

The noise was brutal, like standing next to a jet engine. Rust flaked from the ceiling beams overhead, dusting people’s heads as they screamed. Confetti cannons blasted silver and black paper into the air, mixing with the sweat and stink of eighteen thousand people losing their damn minds.

Down in the Underground section, where people fought just to afford stale bread, Nash’s win wasn’t just a game. It was a goddamn coronation.

He was him.

People stood on their seats, bare fists punching the air, faces smeared with his number in cheap paint.

"BLAZE! BLAZE! BLAZE!"

The chant shook the whole damn building. Security guards strained against the tide of fans trying to climb the barriers. This wasn’t just one match, it was proof that even in this ugly, dog-eat-dog world, sheer skill and balls could still drag you up from the dirt.

Up in their tower, the three men in fancy suits were really quiet. The bald one with the shiny gold watch reached over and slapped the big screen off with a grunt.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, spinning his empty whiskey glass between thick fingers.

The silver-haired guy leaned back in his leather chair, the material groaning under his weight. His grin was wide enough to split his face.

"What did I say?! Told you!" he said, tapping the table. "That kid just flipped the Underground on its ass."

The youngest of them, who had been scrolling his phone bored as hell half an hour ago, was now practically jumping on his seat.

"Twelve percent?" He laughed. "Screw that. I want in on everything he touches. Energy drinks, sneakers, protein bars, hell, I’ll slap his face on bottled sewer water if he lets me. You saw that game. People will fucking kill each other just to own anything with ’Blaze’ on it."

The bald guy chuckled, but his hand shook a little when he took a deep gulp of his drink.

"Blank check," he muttered, staring at the ice cubes. "That’s what it’ll take. I’ll throw fists with the whole damn board tomorrow just to own a piece of his name." He grinned, all teeth. "Old-school sweat money isn’t dead."

In Section 112, Lina and Sarra were a complete mess, but like the happiest kind of mess one could imagine. They were hugging each other so tight it looked like they might break ribs, or that Sarra’s pillows would absorb Lina, jumping up and down like little kids who just got told Christmas came early.

Their screaming was so loud they sounded like dying seagulls by the end of it.

Meanwhile, a few sections over, Amara was standing on her seat like a crazy person, waving her Nash fan, like it was some kind of war flag.

Her eyes were wild, like a dog into espresso beans, and she was flipping off the court with both middle fingers while screaming the kind of words that would make a grandma faint.

In their apartment, Zayela slowly slid down the side of the couch until her knees hit the carpet. She hugged her legs tight, shoulders shaking like she was freezing, except she was just crying. Happy crying, though. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing tears everywhere, but she was smiling.

"Nash..." she whispered, voice all soft and wrecked. "You’re really amazing."

Back in the arena, everyone else was losing their damn minds, but in some spots, people were frozen.

Drex was sitting alone, hood pulled so far down his face you could only see his mouth, and even that looked pissed. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets like he was trying to disappear into them.

"Fucking golden boy..." he muttered. "Always the hero. Always."

The crowd was chanting "BLAZE! BLAZE!" so loud it felt like someone was hitting him in the head with it, and his stomach twisted like he might puke.

Near the exit tunnel, things were worse. Roam was already up, grabbing his leather jacket so hard it made this awful ripping sound like he almost tore it.

"We’re leaving. Now," he spat, voice shaking like he was about to explode, or cry. "This entire fucking place is a joke."

Except he didn’t leave. He just stood there, stuck like an idiot, because Saya hadn’t moved. She was just staring at the court, face blank, but you could tell exactly what she was seeing: Jaz, Nia, and Alicia catching their breath, all sweaty and triumphant. The girls who took her spot. The life she could’ve had.

She’d dumped Nash when he was nobody. Now he was everything, making everyone around him shine like damn stars.

They could look at the Raptors and say they had beaten them, Meanwhile, the Raptors would look at her and say she was nothing but their cum dumpster.

Roam shifted next to her, guilty all over his stupid face. Ever since that night underground, he never argued with her, and right now, Nash had just humiliated him all over again.

Saya didn’t even glance at him. She just kept staring, dead silent.

Over at Baby-Boom’s building, it was very rose, and very tense.

"Putain de merde!"1 Monique screamed, throwing her golden fan across the room like a dramatic bitch. She paced back and forth, heels clicking like gunshots. "Ce petit enculé va tout foutre en l’air! Comment cette pute l’a déniché?!" 2

The Baby-Boom girls were just sitting there, staring at the screen like they’d seen a ghost. Aiko looked the most impressed, lips slightly open, cheeks red, like she’d been caught doing something dirty. The girls kept sneaking glances at each other, clearly shook by what they’d just seen.

If Nash’s plan worked, this right here, would be their future. Just the thought gave them goosebumps.

On the court, the effects of the Zone State finally let go, like a surge of adrenaline finally saying goodbye. And man, the sudden return to normal was brutal.

Alicia just collapsed. Her knees hit the polished wood with a loud, wet smack. She was breathing so hard her chest looked like it was about to explode, exposing her collarbone, her skin flushed bright red over her freckles and covered in sweat. Like, seriously, she was dripping, her jersey stuck to her completely, showing off every curve, her nipples hard under the cold arena air. She tried to stand, but her thighs were shaking too much. She just stayed there, head hanging, sweat plopping onto the floor.

Next to her, Nia wasn’t much better. She hunched over, hands gripping her knees like they were the only things keeping her from face-planting. Her long blue hair was soaked, sticking to her neck and cheeks. She was panting hard, lips parted, looking totally wrecked in a way that was, yeah, kinda hot, honestly. Every shaky breath made her sweat-soaked uniform cling tighter to her body, showing off her abs and everything.

The only one still standing was Jaz, but even her huge, muscled body was trembling. Arms limp, shoulders slumped, breathing like she’d just run a marathon. Sweat pooled between her collarbones, ran down her ribs, and yeah, definitely dripped between her massive tits too. Her face was red, her vision blurry, but she kept looking at Nash like she was ready to pounce on him, or maybe devour him right here.

Her hormones were sending all kind of signals, hard to tell which one would let the poor guy walking off standing tonight.

Speaking of Nash, he looked wrecked too. Chest heaving, sweat dripping off his chin. But somehow, he stayed standing. He glanced up at the scoreboard and let out a tired laugh.

"What a drill..." he muttered, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it either.

He dragged a hand through his sweaty hair, trying to catch his breath. These girls had given everything, broken their own limits just to pull off his insane plan. They deserved every bit of praise he was about to give them.

He needed to say it. But before he could...

"How the fuck did this happen?!" Jax suddenly screamed nearby, not even looking at anyone, just yelling at the air.

Dude was losing it. The Raptors were supposed to be unstoppable. The kings of the Underground, at least among the most dangerous. And yet here they were, wrecked by one guy running on bullshit stamina and three half-dead women.

Jax finally stopped shouting, his chest heaving as he glared at Nash with eyes full of murder. He wanted something, an explanation, a taunt, hell, even a handshake. Anything to make sense of how badly they’d just gotten owned.

Nash just stared back, cold and blank. He opened his mouth slowly, like he was about to drop some deep wisdom about the game.

Then, calm as hell, he lifted his hand and flipped Jax off, middle finger right in his face.

Jax froze. Like, full-body freeze. His brain short-circuited from the sheer disrespect.

"You’re nothing special, ugly boy," Nash said. "You only looked good because you were bigger. And you still lost."

Nash took a step closer, his eyes turning icy, then reached Jax and said to his ear.

"And next time you try to hit my women... or call me pretty boy again..." His voice dropped lower. "I’ll leave you looking worse than your bitch. Now get the fuck out of my sight."

Jax trembled, full-body rage shaking him. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked. But Nash, even wrecked, still had that predator presence, like he’d tear Jax apart if he even tried to swing.

So Jax didn’t.

Like a little bitch, he turned and stormed off the court, tail between his legs.

Over on the Blacklist bench, the staff was going absolutely wild with relief, full-on chaos mode. People were hugging each other, throwing towels up in the air, and the whole sideline was screaming like crazy as if they had won a finale, but none of that noise reached the manly bench warmers sitting there, ignored as usual.

Dahlia stood right in the middle of all that madness, clutching a giant pile of scouting papers against her chest.

She took a deep breath, then let it out slow, like she was trying to calm herself down, before smoothing out the lapels of her dark blazer like she always did when she was nervous.

Then she turned her head to look at Victoria, expecting the usual cold, robotic breakdown of their match, because that’s what Victoria always did after a game.

But instead, Dahlia froze. Her eyebrows rose because... what the hell?

Victoria was standing there at the edge of the baseline, arms crossed tight over her chest like normal, but her face? Not normal at all.

No icy smirk, no arrogant glare. She was staring straight at Nash, and... holy shit, she was smiling.

A real smile. Not the cold, calculated kind. Like, warm. Happy. Almost soft. Which was terrifying, because Victoria never looked soft. Ever.

Dahlia held a surprised chuckle, before speaking up, keeping her voice low.

"Ma’am? Are you... pleased?"

Victoria didn’t even glance away from Nash. Not for a second. Her voice came out weirdly gentle, nothing like her usual sharp tone.

"Incredibly so, Dahlia." She even sounded relaxed. Then she reached down and calmly smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt, taking her damn time about it. "Cancel the post-game briefing tonight. Tell the trainers to get the girls into ice baths right away. Let them enjoy the win. They earned it."

She turned to leave, her high heels clicking loud against the concrete floor. But after just a few steps, she paused. Looked back over her shoulder.

"Oh, and Dahlia? Tell Nash to wait before he starts his usual celebration with the girls. I need a private briefing with him first."

And just like that, she walked off into the shadows of the tunnel, leaving Dahlia standing there, staring at the empty hallway.

A slow smile crept on Dahlia’s mouth. She shook her head a little, shifting the papers in her arms. Seriously, what the hell had happened in that locked office a few days ago to turn Victoria, ruthless, ice-cold Victoria, into someone who looked at Nash like that?

Dahlia glanced back at the court just in time to see Alicia and Nia finally dragging themselves up, their bodies drenched in sweat, leaning on each other like they might collapse any second. Jaz lumbered over and wrapped her big arms around both of them, half-carrying them toward the bench.

Dahlia snorted softly and waved down a trainer holding a basket of ice towels.

Yeah, no way those girls had any energy left for that anyway. Not tonight.

Nash strode over to the exhausted girls like some kind of victorious general. He clapped a firm hand on Nia’s shoulder, saying something that made their tired faces light up with pride. Even though their bodies were shaking from how hard they’d pushed themselves, their eyes were still burning.

Around them, the arena was still roaring, chanting Nash’s name over and over while black and silver confetti rained down from the ceiling.

In the Underground, wins like this weren’t just wins. They were coronations.

TL: That little bastard is going to screw everything up! How did that whore even find him?!TL: "Fucking hell!"