Within the center of the luxurious, spherical resort, on its first floor, all one thousand, two hundred and fifty competitors were mingling and filling their plates with grub from the cafeteria. Ky was among them, stacking his culinary concoction like Tetris pieces. Acting as a support beam, a bottle of Dante's Inferno, Ky's blood-red, sponsored energy drink, prevented the tower of protein and carbs from toppling over.
As Ky carefully stepped away from the buffet, balancing his sustenance structure, something off to the side caught his eye. There was a metal window, small enough for a tray of food to slip through. Atop it was a display, which showed the device's name: Fan Gift Vendor.
"Fan Gift?" Ky read. "Right, everything we do is being broadcast live." Beneath its name, there was yet another prompt that asked Ky to enter his social media handle, and so he did. "Ky... underscore... Kaito... two thousand, and six..." Ky pressed the enter key, and the machine buffered for a moment before an artificial voice said, "Sorry, you have zero pending Fan Gifts."
Well, the competition just started so I guess it makes sense that I don't have any fans. Not that I'd have any anyway...
Ky wandered around the cafeteria; already, athletes were forming cliques and sitting with their teammates. Ky, however, opted to sit in solitude, giving himself a moment to brood.
First, there are no phones...
Then there are no video games...
And worst of all, I'm playing with the looming threat of having my dream shattered into a million pieces.
At least the food is okay. Chicken strips, fries, pasta, some Caesar salad, and mixed fruits. A pretty balanced meal, I'd say. I wonder if the cafeteria is open twenty-four hours.
Just as those thoughts left Ky's mind, he saw another competitor walking by with a plate of food far exceeding Ky's quality-wise. Just from the smell alone, Ky knew exactly what it was.
Wagyu steak? Ky's inner voice trembled as his eyes wantingly gawked at the steak owner's tray.
So that must be a Fan Gift... How does this guy have fans already?
Ky's eyes drifted upward until they found the boy's face, enlarging as the baller was immediately recognizable.
Holy shit! That's Marcus Jameson! Isn't he the top high schooler in the nation? No wonder he was able to bag a Fan Gift.
Marcus and Ky both shared similar ethnic backgrounds, both being half Asian and Black, giving Ky a small sense of camaraderie. Not wanting to seem like a fanboy, Ky nonchalantly nodded at the baller. However, the 6'6" shooting guard's eyebrows furrowed and his mouth scowled, looking down at Ky like a beggar on the street asking for spare coins. He scoffed and strode away, leaving Ky to his thoughts.
Wow, what an asshole. I hate this place... Ky's inner voice mumbled as he reluctantly shoved his face full of chicken strips. Ky hadn't even noticed, but Tommy Yarnham was sitting beside him; he had been for a while.
"Ouch!" Tommy exclaimed. Ky jumped, nearly knocking over his food. "Why are you in this corner away from everyone?" Tommy asked, having a plate full of junk; chips, gummy bears, and ice cream. It was the complete opposite of a balanced meal.
Yup, I hate this place and I want to die. Ky thought to himself.
"It was open," Ky mumbled.
"Eh?" Tommy muttered, looking around at the empty seats surrounding them.
"Anyway, are you American? We should train later. What school are you from? What's your position? How tall are you? What's your vertical?" As Tommy hit Ky with a barrage of questions, a vein nearly burst out of Ky's forehead.
"Did you get coffee with your lunch or are you just like this all the time? Besides, you said that I was weak, remember? Cause I sure do," Ky said plainly, taking another bite of chicken before unscrewing his bottle of Dante's Inferno and taking a sip.
"What do you mean? I only said you were rubbish to get under your skin. And it worked, yeah?" Tommy tilted his head before mimicking an American accent. "Get your filthy hands off of me you little bowl-cut-wearing bitch!"
Ky nearly spit out his drink. "I did not say that," he asserted, coughing between each syllable.
Ky looked down at the bottle, checking the backside for the list of ingredients. Why the hell is it spicy? It tastes terrible.
Another teammate sat on the other side of the lunch table, slamming his tray in front of him. Both boys looked up to see the giant, blonde delinquent, Shane Martinez, looking down at them. However, he didn't have an angry expression on his face, he was smiling devilishly right at the two of them.
"You're Yarnham, right?" Shane asked, smiling excitedly at the red-haired boy.
"Last time I checked, yeah!" said the Englishman.
"You decked the fuck out of that goody-goody loser, holy shit! I couldn't believe it!"
"And you!" Shane looked at Ky, laughing between words. "Get your dirty little hands off of me you bowl cut wearing little bitch!" Shane mimicked as he sat.
"I did not say that...." Ky whispered, taking another, cautious sip from his drink.
No, it doesn't even taste that bad. It just tastes funny. Like a spicy, cinnamon candy but as a carbonated liquid.
"Who decked who?" asked a German boy's voice. Klaus was already sitting directly next to Ky, eyes scanning drowsily.
"Where the hell did you come from?" Shane asked.
"I've been napping here the whole time," Klaus remarked matter-of-factually
"That's just a straight-up lie," Ky mumbled.
"He was there the whole time, I saw him," said Adam Newman, wearing his everyday glasses instead of sports goggles, as he sat beside Klaus. "Is sleeping all that you do, Klaus?
Why!? Ky groaned in his mind, seeing that his strategy of hiding away in the corner had failed. The entire gang was surrounding him.
"Yes... I couldn't really sleep last night. Sometimes I sleep during timeouts, just a little nappy nap, you know? And during quarter changes. And half-time. And on the bus rides to games. Oh, and sometimes, my coach would let me sleep when I was subbed out!"
In utter disbelief at the extent of the boy's narcolepsy, Team 126 exchanged blank looks. Ignoring their glares, Klaus pointed at Shane's plate. "Is that fresh ramen?"
"Yup! After our little game of one, my social media blew up. A whole bunch of chicks have been blowing up my DMs. Apparently, your followers can buy you stuff to show their support. It's called like Fan Gifts or something. Have you guys checked it out?"
Seriously!? He's getting gifts just because girls think he's attractive? Ky's inner voice ranted.
"Nope..." Ky lied.
"Yeah, you did," Adam said, repositioning his glasses. "I literally saw you type in your handle and then walk away all sad and defeated."
Stolen story; please report.
"Damn, Kaito. I guess you don't got the sauce like me," Shane joked.
Meanwhile, Tommy snuck his dirty, slender fingers into Shane's broth and stole his egg before shoving it in his mouth. By the time Shane looked down, the egg was already long gone. Using his chopsticks, he searched the broth for his missing egg, but it was nowhere to be found.
"What the hell happened to my-"
GULP!
Tommy swallowed the egg whole; Team 126 gaped at him and Shane's rage-filled eyes were nearly smoking.
"Hehe. Dunno," Tommy jested.
"You little shit!" Shane lunged across the table, grabbing Tommy by the collar and slamming him against a wall as he started lecturing him on why you can't just steal people's eggs.
Ky exhaled, placing his forehead in his hand as he finished his meal.
I'm surrounded by idiots...
Ky looked back at the two idiots; however, when he did so, there was something incredibly off.
What the hell? Am I tripping balls?
Numbers and jargon were floating around the two boys. Their heights, weights, and double-digit numbers were sitting above their heads. Above Shane's blonde, nearly shaven head, read the number eighty-one. Tommy's number was just a single digit higher at eighty-two.
Am I high? Is this what it's like to be high? No, I can't be high. I haven't even...
Before Ky could finish his thoughts, he felt his heart drop like a rollercoaster upon connecting the dots.
Dante's Inferno, he thought. That bastard gave me drugs!? Under NDA my ass! This shit has to be illegal!
Ky frantically grabbed the bottle of Dante's Inferno and started reading back the label again; still, none of the ingredients were raising any alarm bells.
I don't know what half of this stuff is, but it all seems normal. Maybe it's not the drink? No, it has to be. He said something about it changing my frontal lobe and how I analyze things. Yeah, well I'm definitely analyzing shit now. How the hell can I tell their height and weight from just a glance?
Ky looked around at the rest of his teammates.
Adam and Klaus have an eighty above their heads too. What does that number even mean?
Ky's eyes scanned the cafeteria, checking for numbers over the heads of the sea of ball players. Each one of them had a number that was equal to eighty or above. The kid from earlier, Marcus, had the number ninety-four over his head.
I get it. It's their overall skill value. Like in ABA2K.
Meanwhile, Adam got up from his seat and grabbed Shane's shoulder. "Enough. We're supposed to be teammates, don't injure him or you'll ruin all of our chances."
Ky watched as Adam broke up the fight; however, as he did so, he noticed more mumbo jumbo floating around him.
It says his leadership value is ninety-five. I guess that makes sense. Shane's physical strength is ninety-three. Fitting. What am I saying? I'm losing my marbles...
Shane scoffed, throwing Tommy to the ground before returning to his seat.
Swiftly, Ky left the table without saying a word, bringing the bottle of Dante's Inferno with him. "Hey! Where are you going Kaito?" Shane asked, getting no response from the loner.
"Talk about anti-social..." he muttered.
Meanwhile, Tommy slid his slop over to Shane. "You can have the rest of my food as an apology," Tommy spoke, bowing to Shane before following Ky out of the lunch room.
"Thanks!" Shane said before taking the tray and sliding it over to himself. He then looked down, and his expression went from eager to pissed in a second. "What the fuck? Hey, this is just a bunch of junk food!"
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Moments later, Ky was staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He wore dread like a mask over his face as he stared at the number of his head. Out of the numbers he'd seen that day, his was the lowest.
Seventy-Five. Seriously? These guys are all that much stronger than me? This whole time, I thought I was a strong player, but it was all a lie... I guess it makes sense considering where I'm from. It's not like I had much competition in Bumfuck, Nowhere.
Ky's eyes focused on his skill value, prompting the appearance of more stats sheets and menus.
It really is like ABA2K. Or like an MMORPG. I guess I just scroll through the menu with my eyes. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I schizophrenic? Am I high? Maybe I'm just sleep-deprived. If I had my phone, I could just call that asshole and ask him if this is normal.
Ky splashed his face with cold water, hoping it would wake him up from whatever trance he found himself in. When he opened his eyes, the data was all still there.
This is real. Fuck me... It's real and I have to accept that. Maybe I'm having some sort of hallucinogenic high but this is real and I have to make use of it. Or at least, I have to try. What are these? Talents?
Ky focused his gaze and the Talent menu opened up.
Talents Description Court Visionary Improves the ability to read and predict where the ball will go. Mathematician Improves the ability to aim passes and shots on the fly.
So I have two talents. These both sound about right. I can shoot from anywhere if I'm open and have enough time to calculate the necessary arch of the shot. When it comes to my court vision, I'm second to none. At least, I thought so. Regardless, these talents are sort of like those badges from ABA2K. Hold on a second...
Ky's eyes focused on the Mathematician Talent and yet another tab opened.
Mathematician Progress Perform a combination of one thousand successful three-point attempts and passes further than twenty feet. 0/1000
So if I practice... I get to level up my stats. That makes sense. That is what practice does, I guess... except now I can actually see my progress. Let's see about Court Visionary.
Ky adjusted his gaze and a menu for the Court Visionary Talent opened.
Court Visionary Progress Perform a combination of one thousand pass interceptions, rebounds, and assists 0/1000
I'm sure there's a practice area around here somewhere. If I level up these talents, maybe my overall skill value will increase.
Ky left the bathroom and wandered around the spherical resort until he strolled into a gymnasium with twenty, full-sized basketball courts. Without hesitation, Ky grabbed a ball and went to work.
He'd shoot a three-pointer, and if he'd make it, he'd sprint back to the three-point line and try again. If he missed the shot, he'd predict how it would bounce off the rim and grab the rebound. In the corner of his eyes, he watched as each successful shot and rebound were being tracked, and slowly but surely, he was crawling his way toward a thousand.
After ten minutes, he was completely locked in. Just as if he were in a real match, the world around him was swallowed up by a dense, black mist. All Ky could see was the ball and the hoop, nothing else; he couldn't even see Tommy, standing just a few feet away from him.
"Working hard, huh?" said Tommy, knocking Ky out of his trance.
"Just putting up some shots," Ky declared.
"Mind if I join you?" Tommy asked.
"I would say no, but I feel like you aren't going to take no for an answer."
Tommy chuckled, already having a ball in his hand. "You know me so well already. It's like we're best friends. One and the same."
Tommy fired a mid-range jumper, making it with ease.
"Mmm... I don't think we're anything alike." Ky said, shooting a three, missing, and getting his own rebound. "I don't go around knocking people's teeth out. Why did you punch that kid anyway? You said you could've just blocked him."
"You really wanna know why I did it?" Tommy asked, shooting another shot, but missing.
"That is why I'm asking," Ky said plainly, putting up another shot.
"Whenever I do anything competitive, I despise my opponent. Even if he and are friends, the moment the first whistle blows I want to kill him. And I mean that. I want him dead. If I could've punched his jaw clean off of his face, I would have. That's just the honest truth."
Ky started to put up another shot, but he stopped himself and turned toward the redhead. "You don't actually think that do you? You're fucking with me, right? That's not a very normal way of thinking."
"That's because I'm not normal," Tommy declared, smiling gently. "It's something I can't control; in fact, I used to wish I could control it. Now that I'm an adult, I've learned to live with it and embrace it. It's my superpower. Anyway, how about you and I play a little one-on-one match? I'm curious what your superpower is."
"I don't have one," Ky lied.
Tommy laughed. "You liar. Everyone has one. If you really don't know it, then let's find out right now. First to eleven and we'll play by the book. No fouls or anything. Just raw skills."
This kid's weird, but I'm sure it'll benefit me if I play him.
"So no punching or kicking?" Ky asked.
"Nope. I cross me heart."
Ky sighed before reluctantly agreeing. "Alright, fine. First to eleven. Shoot for the ball."
"That won't be necessary, you can start with the ball. I wanna see what you're made of." Tommy picked up a ball and shoved it into Ky's chest. The moment the ball made contact, Tommy's entire demeanor changed.
That jester-esque smile had faded and those cheery had turned into empty, glassy spheres. Ky could see Tommy's aura emanating from his body; once it touched Ky's skin, he could feel the sting of its chilling nature. That aura intensified and Ky could feel himself fighting against it as if caught in a hurricane.
This is unreal. I've never felt pressure emanating from a person like this in my life. Is this due to my heightened senses? No, that's not it. His spirit. His aura. It's unlike anything I've ever encountered.
It's just as he said; this isn't the aura of a competitor.
It's the aura of someone with the intent to kill...