Infinite Rebate: I Get Richer Every Time I Spend

The buzzer echoed through the arena.

Before the sound had completely faded, Lucas stepped across half court.

For a brief moment, twenty thousand voices seemed to hesitate. The noise didn’t disappear~it shifted. Heads turned. Eyes followed him as whispers spread through the stands.

"Who’s that?"

"Ashford made a substitution?"

"I’ve never seen that guy before."

"He doesn’t even look like a basketball player."

Lucas paid them no attention. He casually jogged onto the floor, flexing his shoulders once before rolling his neck from side to side.

Yesterday’s street games had left every muscle in his body aching, but compared to what Tank and the guys at 24 Mob had put him through, this soreness barely registered.

The polished hardwood felt completely different from the cracked concrete he’d played on the day before.

Bright arena lights reflected off the freshly waxed floor, the rims carried crisp white nets, and the painted lanes looked untouched. Everything about the court screamed money, discipline, and prestige.

Almost too perfect.

Along the baseline, Northlake’s cheerleaders were in the middle of another routine. Blue-and-white pom-poms flashed beneath the lights while music thundered through the arena, every movement sharp and perfectly synchronized. Then... something changed.

It was subtle.

So subtle the crowd never noticed.

One blonde near the front missed her timing by half a beat. Another girl’s practiced smile faded as her eyes drifted toward center court. Then another followed. And another. The routine itself never fell apart, but their attention certainly did.

Dexter noticed immediately.

His eyes followed theirs until they landed on Lucas.

Standing quietly near the three-point line.

Relaxed.

Confident.

Like he belonged there.

A vein twitched along Dexter’s jaw.

One of his teammates nudged him.

"That’s not your assignment."

Dexter never looked away.

"It is now."

---

The referee tossed the ball to the inbounder, and play resumed.

Ashford’s point guard caught the pass and immediately looked toward the paint. Lucas stood completely alone on the wing, wide open, but the guard never even glanced in his direction. Instead, he dumped the ball inside to the center.

Same offense.

Same predictable basketball.

Lucas almost laughed.

Nothing had changed.

Dexter wasn’t interested in the ball either. He abandoned his own assignment without hesitation and walked straight toward Lucas until they were nearly chest to chest. Up close, he looked even bigger.

Broad shoulders. Tree-trunk arms. Every muscle on his body looked carved out of stone.

He leaned in slightly.

"You look lost."

Lucas looked him up and down.

"I don’t."

Dexter smirked.

"Good."

"I’d hate for somebody to carry you back to your bus."

The ball rotated around the perimeter. For the first time, it actually looked like Lucas might receive a pass.

Dexter didn’t wait.

He exploded forward.

The same move.

The same cheap shot.

Shoulder lowered.

Full speed.

Exactly the way he’d bulldozed Ashford’s forward earlier.

The crowd leaned forward.

Everyone expected another body to hit the floor.

Lucas moved first.

Not backward.

Not sideways.

He rotated his hips at the last possible instant, stepping just outside the line of impact while guiding Dexter’s shoulder past him with the slightest touch. That tiny adjustment was enough. Dexter’s own momentum carried him forward with nothing left to stop it.

There was nothing to hit.

His feet kept moving.

His upper body didn’t.

His balance disappeared.

His sneakers screeched across the hardwood.

Then—

BAM!

He slammed onto the floor flat on his side.

For nearly two full seconds...

The arena forgot how to make noise.

Even the referees froze.

Then someone high in the student section completely lost it.

"HE JUST SAT HIM DOWN!"

The silence shattered.

Laughter rolled through the arena like a tidal wave. Entire rows doubled over. Students slapped their knees. Even plenty of Northlake fans couldn’t keep straight faces anymore. Across the court, Dexter’s own teammates suddenly found absolutely everything more interesting than looking in his direction. One player bent down to tie a shoe that wasn’t untied. Another reached for a water bottle despite standing in the middle of live play.

Nobody wanted to make eye contact.

---

The loose ball bounced toward midcourt.

Lucas got there first.

He gathered it cleanly with one hand, slowing the pace instead of forcing the fast break. A defender rushed him, and Lucas gave the slightest hesitation dribble.

The defender bit immediately. One smooth behind-the-back crossover later, Lucas glided past him without breaking stride.

Another defender rotated over.

One quick change of direction.

Gone.

The lane opened.

The crowd held its breath.

Everyone expected a dunk.

Lucas could’ve thrown it down.

Instead...

He floated the ball softly off the glass.

The shot kissed the backboard before dropping cleanly through the net.

Swish.

Lucas landed lightly beneath the rim. Only then did he glance back. Dexter had finally climbed to his feet.

Their eyes met across the court.

Lucas didn’t smile.

He didn’t celebrate.

He simply turned and jogged back on defense as though scoring against Northlake was the easiest thing in the world.

The scoreboard flickered.

Northlake 18.

Ashford 13.

Five points still separated them.

But something invisible had shifted.

---

Dexter was back on his feet almost instantly. He slapped away the hand one of his teammates offered him, his face twisted with humiliation.

"Lucky play," he growled.

His pride had taken the hit far harder than his body ever could.

From that moment on, basketball stopped mattering.

He wasn’t guarding a position anymore.

He was guarding Lucas.

Every possession, every cut, every step Lucas took, Dexter stayed glued to him like a shadow.

He ignored switches, abandoned help defense, and even left his own assignment wide open just to stay in Lucas’s face. Ashford’s guards still refused to pass Lucas the ball, but Lucas wasn’t worried about touching it anymore.

He was learning something much more valuable.

Every few seconds Dexter tried to move him. A forearm to the ribs. A shoulder into the chest. A hard bump while fighting for position.

The kind of little dirty plays referees almost never called. Lucas absorbed every one of them. Not comfortably, but he stayed planted.

Yesterday, Tank had nearly broken his ribs with a single shoulder.

Compared to that...

This barely registered.

Lucas frowned.

Something wasn’t right.

---

Dexter looked terrifying.

Six-foot-six.

Shoulders wide enough to block out the lights.

Arms packed with muscle that stretched the sleeves of his jersey.

Just standing beside him made most players look undersized.

Yet every collision felt...

Ordinary.

Strong.

But nowhere near as overwhelming as someone built like that should’ve been.

Lucas quietly braced himself for another hit.

Dexter lowered his shoulder again.

Boom.

Lucas slid back half a step.

Then stopped.

Dexter’s own balance wobbled before he caught himself.

Lucas blinked.

"...That’s it?"

He’d expected a freight train.

Instead...

It felt like someone trying very hard to be one.

---

The next few possessions only confirmed it.

Dexter’s first shove was explosive. The second wasn’t quite as strong. By the third, his breathing had already become noticeably heavier.

His chest rose and fell faster than it should have this early in the game. Sweat rolled down his forehead, and his movements became increasingly sloppy.

Lucas watched everything.

Not the muscles.

The feet.

The hips.

The breathing.

The rhythm.

The guy had incredible size.

But almost no efficiency.

Every movement wasted energy. Every bump required his whole body instead of proper leverage.

Lucas had spent only three hours on the streets yesterday, yet even Tank knew how to conserve strength between collisions.

Dexter didn’t.

---

Another whistle echoed through the arena.

Players lined up for an inbound.

Dexter leaned in close enough that only Lucas could hear him.

"You think one lucky play makes you somebody?"

Lucas looked him up and down.

Then smiled.

"No."

"It just helped me figure you out."

Dexter’s eyebrows drew together.

"What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"

Lucas shrugged.

"You’ve got a lot of muscle..."

He paused just long enough.

"...But you use way too much of it."

For the first time all game...

Dexter didn’t answer.

Lucas turned away before he recovered.

---

A timeout whistle echoed through the arena, sending both teams toward their benches.

Lucas grabbed a towel as he walked past Coach Harris without saying a word. His eyes drifted toward the scoreboard.

Northlake 18.

Ashford 13.

Still only five points.

Completely manageable.

Then his gaze shifted back toward Dexter.

The Northlake captain sat at the end of the bench, breathing noticeably harder than anyone else on the floor, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful.

Lucas couldn’t help smiling.

He hadn’t come here just to help Ashford win.

Now...

He wanted something else.

He wanted to break Dexter’s confidence.

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