Dominance Evolution System: Sweat, Sex, and Streetball

At the end of the tunnel, you could already hear the crowd. It was like a massive roar, a sound that rose and fell, like a giant breathing.

Nash stopped dead.

Roam stopped facing him, a few meters away. For a moment, no one moved. It was incredibly heavy.

The Dust Dogs were there, and they were staring at Nash. Like, they were really looking him up and down, as if they were seeing a ghost.

It was still crazy because less than a year ago, they all used to call him "the shrimp." We’re talking about the same guy, the same guy they had kicked out of the group because he "was useless" for some, or because he "talked too much for nothing" for others, or even because he "was casting too much of a shadow" for the one who knew.

Basically, Nash was too present, and it was starting to piss them off. Especially since, without even trying, he managed to make Roam look like an amateur. And that was the kind of thing Roam couldn’t stand.

One of the guys, a substitute who hadn’t jumped ship yet, started nervously fiddling with his bracelet, avoiding Nash’s gaze. The silence had become extremely heavy. They didn’t know what to think anymore. The fragile little guy had become someone else, and it showed right away on his face.

Because right there, standing in front of them, there was no more shrimp. There was a guy who was brushing two meters, all muscle, with a frame that was literally eating the light of the corridor.

Tylo swallowed without realizing it. The twins moved closer to each other, instinctively, like two kids looking for a bit of safety.

Behind Nash, it was even worse. Jaz was in the front line, one meter ninety-three of pure muscle and two missiles pointed at their targets. Next to her, the Baby-Boom girls — the same girls who had wrecked the Dust Dogs on the court a few days earlier, without lube or preparation.

It was too much. Way too much for a group that already felt the ground starting to give way under their feet.

Rin, who was still trying to play the detached girl, felt her back stiffen against the cold wall of the tunnel. Even she, with all her cynicism, was having a hard time ignoring how tense the situation was.

No one was speaking.

It was Saya who finally broke the silence with a small smile.

"What’s with the silence? It’s been a while since you last saw each other," she said in a drawling, almost amused tone. "You could at least try to look happy to see us again, no?"

A nervous, completely forced laugh went through the Dust Dogs group. Tylo cleared his throat, trying to sound relaxed even though he was clearly stressed out of his mind.

"Yeah," he said, his voice a little too high. "We’re just a bit surprised, even annoyed, you know! You just had to hide your talents from us like that, Nash."

"That’s right!" one of the twins added, forcing a small laugh. "You wouldn’t have done it on purpose, hiding your level this whole time, you lazy bastard? We never saw you play like that before."

Vargas, who didn’t really have much to say, had stayed a little back in his wheelchair, nodding several times, very quickly, as if he was trying to convince himself that everything was fine.

Roam, for his part, wasn’t saying anything. He was staring at a vague point on the wall, categorically refusing to look at Nash.

Saya was savoring the others’ discomfort before continuing with a smile.

"It’s funny you say that, Tylo," she said, turning toward him. "Because I remember very clearly when you used to make him carry your training bag all the way to the locker room. Every day. Like, literally every day, because you were ’tired.’" She let out a small cold laugh. "Now do you really think he’d still let you do that?"

Tylo lost his smile instantly. He looked at the floor, embarrassed.

Saya turned to Rin.

"And you, Rin," she continued in an almost soft voice, which made it even more unsettling. "Do you remember when you used to compare him to all the guys you brought to the locker room just to put him down?" She tilted her head. "Look at him now. Do you think a single one of them would still stand a chance against him?"

Rin didn’t answer. Her jaw was tight, and she almost looked ashamed.

Saya swept her gaze over the twins.

"You two used to laugh every time someone humiliated him without ever saying anything. Convenient, huh, never taking a side." She shrugged. "I guess that still continues today."

Kej, in the back, crossed his arms with a bored look, but he stayed silent, keeping his resentment to himself.

"That’s enough," Roam finally said, his voice tight. "We get it. Is all of this really necessary?"

"Completely necessary," Saya answered, turning back toward him, clearly enjoying her little performance.

Nash had stayed silent the whole time. He was watching the scene with indifference, as if it didn’t even touch him anymore.

Vargas rolled forward in his chair, a big smile plastered on his face. He already had his hand stretched out, looking like he was meeting some legendary star he’d worshipped his whole life.

"Nash!" he shouted, his voice way too excited. "Finally, we’re meeting face-to-face. I’m Vargas, the coach of these bastards." He stopped for a second, waiting for Nash to actually do something. But Nash didn’t move, only looked at this hand that might carry diseases and Saya’s DNA.

"I’ve been following your career since the start of the season, man. For real. What you did against the Raptors and the Talons? That was fucking art. I’m so glad it worked out for you so well after they did what they did to you."

Nash just looked at him for a moment, still not touching the hand. The silence between them was cold as ice, and soon Vargas’s smile flickered. His hand slowly dropped back down, and you could tell he felt like a complete idiot.

"It didn’t really work out for you guys in the end, did it?" Nash said.

It got awkward. Vargas just stood there, blinking, trying to figure out how to respond to that shut-down.

Rin was the one who broke the tension. More used to dealing with humiliations, she had a smirk on her face, half-mocking and half-curious, her eyes glued to Nash.

"Yeah, well," she said, shrugging. "The others are just trash, honestly. And Roam completely shit the bed after you left. He’s got zero authority over anyone now. He’s a joke."

"Rin!" Roam snapped, but nobody really gave a fuck what he had to say.

"See? That idiot even tried to rape Saya because he has nothing else," Rin continued, not even looking at Roam, who looked stunned. "We needed a real leader, not the cuck of the Underground. Like seriously, these two mocked your dick but in the end princess there got railed by all humanity and the asshole here watched. Talk about an irony."

The Dust Dogs looked at her in utter disbelief. Even Saya froze for a bit, almost biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. It was one thing to trash-talk about herself; it was something else when another person was doing the trash-talking.

Nash listened to all this like he couldn’t care less. He just nodded occasionally, like he was hearing things he already knew were true.

"Yeah," he finally said, sounding bored. "I noticed that back then. Nothing new."

That comment ignited something in Roam’s chest. He clenched his fists, wanted to yell, to punch someone, but he didn’t dare say a word back. What could he even do? If he lashed out here, it would be the end of his career just minutes from such an opportunity.

He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t waste this insurance to shine in a match watched by thousands.

Vargas tried to steer the conversation back to something he could handle. He leaned forward in his chair, a nervous smile creeping back onto his face.

"Look," he whispered, lowering his voice like he was telling a secret. "We know the match is... well, you know the deal. We’ll make sure everything goes smoothly for everyone, alright? By the way, I hope Saya took good care of you last night. She’s a softie, but when she bites..."

Nash raised an eyebrow. Suddenly, he looked interested.

"Make sure what goes smoothly, exactly?"

Vargas froze. He looked confused at first, then slowly his brain connected the dots, and then he felt the worst sensation at that instant: fear. Why the hell was Nash asking this? Nash had already agreed to the plan, so why play dumb?

"Uh— I mean... You know... you know what I’m talking about..."

"No, no, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about," Nash insisted. A smile appeared on his face. He was clearly enjoying how the coach was starting to panic. "Explain it. Make sure what goes smoothly?"

Vargas opened his mouth, then closed it. He was desperate to make Nash understand what he should already know. He gave a panicked look at Saya, but she just stayed quiet, watching the whole thing with a cold, almost cruel look in her eyes.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I do know one thing," Nash finally said. "What you guys are going to need today... is a religion."

The whole group went dead silent. All those awkward smiles from a few seconds ago vanished.

Nash didn’t wait for an answer. He turned around and walked away without another word, heading toward the end of the tunnel where the blinding white lights of the stadium were already hitting the court.

Behind him, the pride of lionesses started moving. They followed him like a single block, every single one of them giving them the same look on their face: berating and pure pity.

The Dust Dogs just stood there, frozen, looking at each other for an answer that nobody had.

"Nash," Tylo tried, his voice shaking. "Nash, seriously, tell us—"

Nash didn’t answer. He was gone.

"Saya," Vargas practically begged, turning to her. "What’s happening? Why did he say that, Saya?!"

But Saya didn’t say a word. Her smile was gone. She took a deep breath and stepped out onto the court for what would probably be her last Breakball match... and her last fucking massacre.

The tunnel opened up into the arena, and the wall of sound hit them all at once. It was a constant roar, thousands of voices, piercing whistles, screams coming from everywhere. You could hear the deep thud of thousands of people stomping on the metal bleachers.

Then came the smell. Sweat. Lots of it. It was mixed with the smell of warm beer spilled all over the concrete. You could smell the hot rubber of sneakers screeching on the polished floor. And then there was that heat from the lights hanging from the ceiling, blasting a harsh white light on every inch of the court.

The Central Hangar was packed to the brim. Every single seat was taken, and every eye was on the entrance of the two teams.

Victoria and Dahlia were already sitting on the edge of the Blacklist bench. They looked perfect, silent, and their expressions were either chill or absolutely terrifying, depending on how you looked at it. On the opposite bench, Vargas moved clumsily next to their bench, surrounded by a few Dust Dogs NPCs who didn’t even have real uniforms, just some mismatched tracksuits they’d thrown on at the last minute.

Far away, in the manor’s living room, Zayela was getting comfortable in front of the giant screen, legs tucked under her. Lina, Sarra, and Amara were crowded around her, many pastries around.

"Go on," Zayela whispered, a fierce smile on her lips. "Make them pay for every single second."

The two teams finally lined up in the center of the court, face to face. On one side, Blacklist: five determined, calm faces, ready to execute. On the other side, the Dust Dogs: five tense faces with forced smiles that didn’t fool anyone in the building.

The referee stepped forward slowly, holding the ball.

The crowd roared even louder.

The show was finally starting.

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