Nash was falling.
Not physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually.
It was like the floor under his soul cracked and gave way, and now he was just tumbling deeper into himself, watching everything he'd ever done spiral in slow motion.
He saw it all. Every moment.
The nights he'd worked himself to the bone, guard shifts in the red-light zones, stepping over used needles and half-naked bodies while carrying a baton he could barely swing.
Sewer runs for trash credits. Breathing in rot so Zayela could eat. So Saya could live better.
He remembered the time he bought her something special. Saved for months. Slept on the floor.
Ate nutrient slop so he could afford it. A sleek black box. Top-shelf stuff from a black-market seller, an erotic stim-bracelet.
Meant to link with nerve endings, enhancing every sensation in whoever wore it.
She moaned when she opened it. Kissed him on the cheek. Said she'd save it for a "special night."
He never saw it again.
Now he knew where it went.
She wore it when she fucked Roam.
Nash could see it in his mind now, her moaning, riding him with that same gift humming against her thighs, lighting up in rhythm with every thrust.
The gift he worked his fingers bloody to buy. That was his love, his money, his life, buzzing between her legs while she screamed another man's name.
He thought he'd die from that image alone.
But there was more.
He remembered giving advice to Tylo about off-ball movement. Telling Rin how to fake out a charge and bait a foul. Helping Kej with his footwork, even sketching drills on scrap plastic.
They'd nod, half-interested, then walk away and laugh behind his back. He remembered that too. Their smirks. Their whispers. "Ghost-boy lecturing again." "Bet he jerks off to his own playbook."
They never listened. Never respected him. He played every role, defense, support, fix-it man. But they only saw a shadow. Disposable. Replaceable.
And then… Zayela. His cousin. The only person who truly believed in him, his only family. She worked double shifts, skipped meals, dodged loan sharks.
All to bankroll this one shot. His shot.
She fought off street creeps, turned down offers to "work" in clubs where players went to get their stamina up.
But that resistance wouldn't last.
She was out of money.
Out of options.
Because of him.
She backed the wrong player. And now the men knocking on her door wouldn't be offering jobs. They'd be buying her.
Nash couldn't breathe. His chest crushed from the inside out.
And that's when the world went black.
Dead silence. No air. No time. Just darkness.
Then... light. Small, piercing. A single glowing message in the void.
[You were discarded. Judged weak.]
But data shows potential beneath rejection.
Cosmic Trial Approved. New Protocol Engaged.
[Initiating Interface…]
[CONDITION MET.]
Soul fracture detected.
Psychological threshold breached.
Evaluating environment...
[UNDERGROUND: VIOLENT. SEXUALLY DOMINANT. ATHLETICALLY COMPETITIVE.]
Criteria matched.
Host suitability: HIGH.
Trauma, betrayal, physical degradation...
All markers confirmed.
Initiating compatibility sync...
Syncing with suppressed attributes:
— Dominance: LOCKED [override]
— Lust Potential: LOCKED [override]
— Physical Growth Threshold: LOCKED [override]
— Legacy Seed: FOUND
Parsing host instinct:
[Desire to rise. Desire to rule. Desire to own.]
Optimal path: EVOLUTION THROUGH DOMINANCE.
Assigning base trait:
[Dominance Evolution System] — Activated
Constructing stat interface...
[Categories Unlocked:]
→ Basket Enhancement — Skill, strategy, precision. Court domination through superior play.
→ Seduction & Erotic Potential — Charisma, desire, performance. Turn lust into leverage.
→ Body Rewrite — Shape your flesh, enhance your form. Become unstoppable.
Point Accrual System Activated.
PP (Play Points):
Earned through practice, matches, assists, and victories. Court-based evolution.
SP (Seduction Points):
Gained via flirting, foreplay, arousal control, orgasms, and sexual dominance.
The more intense the experience, the more you gain.
BP (Body Points):
Acquired through endurance tasks, strength work and daily discipline.
Initial Traits Installed:
→ Focus Vision (Basket Category): Enhances court awareness and movement tracking.
→ Pheromone Drift (Seduction Category): Low-level arousal field activates in close proximity.
→ Muscle Memory Rewrite (Body Category): Physical training integrates faster. Gains come quicker.
Initial System Sync:
1%
7%
16%
34%
57%
84%
System Lock Broken. Welcome, Nash Blaze.
Rewrite begins now....
Something soft smacked him in the face.
Nash blinked, groggy. A folded napkin slid off his cheek and landed on his chest.
Light from the overhead panel buzzed, weak and pale.
He sat up slow, head pounding, mouth dry. Felt like he'd been out for days.
"'Bout damn time."
The voice cut through the haze, sharp, familiar, and warm under the edge.
Zayela, his cousin.
She stood at the door, arms crossed beneath her heavy, braless chest. Brown skin still dewy from her shower, tank top clinging to her curves, riding high on thick thighs.
"You were out cold," she said, walking in and tossing a towel onto his lap. "Thought I'd have to check if you were still breathing. You better not be out here dreamin' about that fake-ass girlfriend of yours."
Nash rubbed his eyes.
"Where…?"
"You're in bed, genius," she said, already halfway across the room. "Barely made it through the door last day. Looked like a kicked stray. You collapsed, face first. I dragged you in, locked the door, and left you to sleep it off."
Their apartment wasn't much, just one tight, low-ceilinged room split only by a half-curtain and the illusion of space.
Two mattresses, side by side. No walls. No privacy. A pile of laundry. A mini-fridge they barely kept running.
A folding table that served as both desk and dining surface. Heat came from a wall pipe they wrapped in blankets last winter. Comfort didn't live here, just survival.
"You looked like a kicked dog. Collapsed in the hall. I had to drag you in."
Nash sat up straighter, still dazed.
"No. I… I was... I don't remember anything after…" He paused. His hands were shaking slightly. They looked the same, but they felt different. Like something inside the skin had changed.
Zayela didn't notice. She was at the desk, straightening the mess. She found the paper he came with and unfolded it.
"You still stuck on them?" she asked, voice lower now.
He didn't answer. Just watched her as she unfolded the paper. A bold headline stared back: Dust Dogs Slaughter the Court – Invited to the Underleague
A blurry image of Roam flexing with Saya straddling his lap filled the center. Confetti, beer, fame.
Zayela clicked her tongue.
"They really made it, huh?" She shook her head and exhaled through her nose. "You break your back for 'em, and the second they get shine, they leave you in the dirt. Fuckers."
She crumpled the paper and tossed it at the wall.
"You sulking ain't gonna do shit. They threw you out? Fine. Good. Now it's your turn."
He looked at her, this time seeing through the anger in her voice to the worry underneath. She didn't want to lose him to despair.
She was fighting the world too, and she couldn't carry them both forever.
"Go get a damn job," she muttered, half-joking, but her voice cracked a little. "And eat. You look like a skeleton."
She walked out, hips swaying, legs toned from years of grinding just like him.
She paused in the doorway, glanced back over her shoulder.
"And for fuck's sake, stop letting people walk over you." Then she was gone.
Nash stared at the door for a long moment.
Her scent lingered faintly, vanilla soap, heat, something earthy.
In the middle of all this grime and betrayal, Zayela was the one thing that hadn't changed.
He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. Something glitched in his vision.
Right in front of him, floating faintly, was text. Transparent and glowing.
[Manual access available]
A pulse hit behind his eyes. He blinked rapidly, rubbing his temples. It wasn't going away.
She didn't see it, he thought. She was right in front of me and she didn't react. So why can I see this?
Was it a hallucination? A burnout symptom?
His heart raced. He licked his lips.
There was a line beneath the message.
Say or think: "Open System"
He stared at it.
This is crazy. I'm cracked. I'm finally cracked.
But… what if it was real?
The dream. The voice. The data. The messages burning into his skull like a second heartbeat.
Something had changed. He felt different. Still weak, but raw. Like something inside him had woken up, breathing heavy.
He whispered it, barely audible.
"Open… system."
The air trembled.
Then it exploded into light.
[DOMINANCE EVOLUTION SYSTEM]
MAIN INTERFACE
User: Nash Blaze
Titles:
[Low-Grade Human]
[Discarded Point Guard]
[Shrimp]
Class: Streetball Candidate (Unranked)
Tier: Shrimp
Playstyle Affinity: Ghost Playmaker
Seduction Potential: Locked
Allocatable Points:
PP (Play Points): 0
SP (Seduction Points): 0
BP (Body Points): 0
BODY INTERFACE
Height: 164 cm
Weight: 54 kg
Frame: Narrow, low-density musculature
Muscle Mass Index: 22/100
Flexibility: 44/100
Recovery Speed: 38/100
Visual Impact Rating: 1.5★ (Weak presence)
BASKETBALL STATS
General Performance:
Agility: 38 (Clunky footwork)
Reflex: 35 (Late reaction time)
Strength: 22 (No body presence)
Stamina: 41 (Burns out before 2nd half)
Focus: 48 (Loses concentration under pressure)
Court Sense: 77 (Elite vision, team synergy buff)
Skill-Based Attributes:
Short Shot: 44
Long Shot: 29
Dunk Ability: 11
Defense: 26
Passing: 82 (Core strength)
Rebound: 33
Movement IQ: 50 (Developing instincts)
SEXUAL STATS
Seduction Profile:
Charisma: 31 ("Friend-zoned")
Virility: 29 (Low libido impression)
Endurance: 16 (Climaxes fast, needs long rest)
Tease: 24 (Poor dress/seduction tactics)
Domination: 17 (Submissive, lacks edge)
Sexual Form:
Length: 10.9 cm (Below average)
Girth: 7.9 cm circumference (Thin, low pressure)
Control: 18 / 100 (Overstimulated, no rhythm)
Appeal Rating: ★☆☆☆☆