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!"
