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Dominance Evolution System: Sweat, Sex, and Streetball

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Synopsis
[Abandon all hope, ye who enter here] They say the Upperworld is paradise, clean air, real sunlight, and lives worth living. Down here, we've got rust, shadows… and Breakball. A savage fusion of street basketball, bloodsport, and raw spectacle, Breakball is the only way out of the slums. No rules. No mercy. Men and women grind together, shirtless or in skin-tight outfits, fighting for points, pride, and power. Drugs flow. Sex sells. One match can change your life... or end it. And once a year, the rich come down to watch us bleed. The Blood Star Invitational, one shot to rise, or vanish forever. Nash Blaze was built for this world. Quiet. Tactical. Obsessed with winning. A pass-first point ghost who made his trash team look like stars. But on the day of their miracle call-up, his teammates kicked him out. "You're too weak for the pros. Just a ghost on the court." Even his girlfriend left him, right into the arms of the new team ace. Abandoned, forgotten. Nash was ready to disappear. Until something inside him snapped. [REWRITE SYSTEM ACTIVATED] Categories: Body | Mind | Lust | Dominance. Boosts gained through Training, Victory, Seduction. Trait: Erotic Ascension | Hidden Stat: Legacy Now, Nash can rewrite everything, muscle by muscle, stat by stat. From stamina to sex appeal, reflexes to raw size, every conquest pushes him closer to the top. The court made him a ghost. Now he's coming back as a demon. Fame, vengeance, and women are just the beginning. Because when you're born in the dirt… You don't rise. You burn your way up.
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Chapter 1 - Cherry Balm and Cold Steel

They say the sky's blue up there. Real sunlight. Clean air you don't cough through. Meals that don't come shrink-wrapped in street grease and regret.

Up top, they've got paradise.

Down here? We've got rust, shadows… and Breakball.

The world split a long time ago. Not by war, not by laws. By height. The towers rose, and with them, the rich. The rest of us stayed buried beneath — in the soot, the steam, the rot.

Welcome to the Underground.

Where pipes groan, walls sweat, and hope's just a hustle.

And the only way out? Breakball.

It's not just basketball. Not down here. It's war with a scoreboard. Full contact. No pads. No gender lines. Shirtless, skin-tight, soaked in sweat and blood. Five-on-five, twenty-four minutes, no breaks. The crowd comes for dunks. They stay for broken bones.

We call it the Slumball Circuit. The Underleague.

The only place where a nobody can become a god for 24 minutes.

Sponsorship? Gangs. Pornhouses. Juice labs pushing combat roids and stamina spikes. You play for bars, brothels, and betting dens. You win, you get a cut. You lose? You might not walk again.

Body sells. Sex sells more. Some players trade their stats for stardom. Others trade their bodies for buffs.

And the Pro League? Clean courts, clean faces, and clean lies. Corporate cash, perfect jerseys, gender-segregated seasons. They're sanitized up top — but they come down once a year to feed.

The Blood Star Invitational.

The one shot. One game. One showcase. Every scout with a pen ready to sign, every player ready to die for a way up.

And tonight?

Tonight the dream's not on TV.

It's here, breathing. Watching, waiting to devour us whole.

Nash Blaze wasn't the kind of player people talked about. Fans cheered for dunks, big blocks, flashy plays. Nash didn't give them that. He gave them wins.

He moved like a shadow, a phantom, always in the right place, never in the spotlight. The kind of guy whose name the announcers forgot but whose passes turned chaos into rhythm.

Vision, control, flow, Nash played the whole court like a chessboard, two moves ahead of everyone, seeing cuts before they were made, holes before they opened.

He wasn't the best scorer. Not the fastest. But when the team fell apart, Nash picked up the pieces. Ran defense when no one rotated. Slid into offense when the bigs got lazy. Covered for mistakes that would've cost games.

He wasn't the flash. He was the glue. Every win they stacked was soaked in his sweat. Not that anyone said thanks.

It wasn't easy. Late nights, cracked courts, taped-up shoes. Most of them were just street rats with nothing to lose. But now, all that sweat was paying off.

Tonight's game was different. Everyone in the slums was talking. The winner might get into the Underleague. Real matches, real money. A real future. This wasn't just another fight for scraps, this could be the step out of the mud.

Nash rushed into the locker room, heart racing. He could feel it, this was it. Their shot.

The smell hit him first. Sweat, cheap spray, and raw tension. The room was full of noise. The team was loose, wild, fired up.

Roam, the captain, leaned back on a bench like he owned the world. Shirtless, body thick with muscle and scars. One leg up. The other stretched wide. In front of him, Rin, the redhead with tight twintails and tighter shorts, was bent over, lacing her shoes.

Roam's hand slid straight down the back of her shorts, fingers sinking deep between her cheeks, rubbing her like she was already his prize. Right there in front of everyone.

She didn't stop him. She bit her lip and pushed back against his hand, low moan slipping out like a purr. Her eyes were half-closed.

Everyone saw. No one said a word. That's just how it was. In this world, strength meant freedom. If you were strong enough, you did what you wanted.

Saya stood against the lockers, arms crossed, blonde ponytail swinging over one shoulder. Nash's girl. Yet, she didn't even look at him when he walked in. Just kept chewing her gum, her eyes flat.

Roam pulled his hand back from Rin's ass with a slick sound and licked his fingers.

"Mmm. She's ready to play."

The room laughed.

Nash tried to focus. He was used to their shit. He sat down, started taping his hands. He just needed to get on the court. One game. One win. They'd all see.

Roam stood and clapped loud.

"Alright, dogs, listen the fuck up!"

The team circled in. Ten players. Two girls, eight guys, all amped. Roam looked at each of them like he already knew the future.

"This is it. The match. The one that gets us outta this rat pit. No more hustling for boosters. No more waiting on dumb scouts to notice. We win tonight, we're in the Underleague. The real shit."

Cheers exploded. Fist bumps flew. Someone whooped loud.

"Let's fucking go!" Tylo shouted.

Kej threw his elbow up, grinning wild. Nash cracked a small smile despite himself. He felt the heat, the rush, the hope. This was what they'd worked for. What he had bled for.

Then Roam raised his hand. Just two fingers. The room went quiet, fast.

"One thing first," he said. "Before we hit the court."

Eyes locked in.

"We need five starters. Best five. No weak links. No slow feet. No second chances. This game is everything. And that means…" His gaze locked onto Nash. "Ghost, you're out."

Nash blinked.

"What?"

"You're not playing," Roam said, tone casual, like it was already obvious. "You're benched."

Nash stepped forward.

"Hold on. That's gotta be a joke."

But Roam didn't laugh.

"It's not. You're sitting this one out."

"You can't be serious." Nash looked around at the others, searching for a smirk, some sign this was a prank. Nothing.

"I'm dead serious," Roam said, voice dropping. "This game needs killers, Nash. Not guys who hide behind assists. You don't drive. You don't clash. You don't dominate. You just… slip around. Ghost shit."

"I organize," Nash said, his voice rising. "I control the pace. I set you up for clean shots. That's my job."

Roam stepped closer, arms open wide.

"And what does that do when the other team's slamming bodies and biting faces off? You gonna outsmart a six-foot-six berserker with a spiked elbow? No. You'll pass the ball, tuck your head, and pray someone else finishes."

"I've carried your defense more times than I can count," Nash snapped. "I've plugged your holes when Rin got lazy on switch, or when Tylo blew the trap. I'm the one tracking the plays and calling counters in real time. Half our wins came from my calls."

Roam smirked.

"Yeah. Half. The other half came from muscle and guts. People who took hits and gave 'em back. You don't hit. You don't grind. You think IQ is enough for this game? It's not chess, Nash. It's Breakball."

Nash clenched his jaw.

"You said we'd fight for this together."

"We are," Roam said. "That's why we're cutting you. Because this is too big to fuck up. We don't need a ghost tonight. We need monsters."

Nash looked around again. His voice dipped.

"And… everyone's fine with this?"

Roam shrugged.

"Yeah, you're the only one who didn't know."

A silence dropped. Nash looked at each face, one by one.

Kej looked down. Rin chewed her gum harder and wouldn't meet his eyes. Tylo scratched the back of his neck and gave the smallest nod, like he didn't want to say it out loud. Even Saya, his girl, just stood still, arms crossed, looking past him like he didn't exist.

Nash's voice cracked.

"Tylo?"

Tylo didn't answer.

"Kej… you too?"

Kej looked away.

"Sorry, man. It's just... Roam's right."

"Rin? Seriously?"

Rin shrugged.

"I don't wanna chase another one of your safe-ass passes into a dead corner."

Finally, his eyes locked with Saya's. For a second, Nash saw her the way he used to, soft in the eyes, real in the way no one else in the room ever felt. Someone who smiled when he spoke about court theory. Someone who'd laughed in the dark with him after losing a match.

But this time, she didn't blink.

"Saya…" His voice was low, shaky. "Say something. Please."

She stared at him, eyes cool as steel. She uncrossed her arms with a slow breath, then crossed them again, this time tighter.

"What do you want me to say, Nash?" she said finally. "This is the game. Grow the fuck up. You're not good enough."

It hit harder than any punch. Nash staggered back half a step. His mouth opened, but nothing came out at first.

"Saya... How could... We're… you're my..."

She raised an eyebrow, then smiled.

"Yours?"

He watched her, more and more stunned.

"I thought we were together," he said, barely above a whisper. "We've been together for months."

That's when Roam barked a laugh from across the circle. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head like Nash had just told the dumbest joke in the world.

"Nah, bro. She's mine. I just loaned her to you."

It took a second to sink in.

"You... loaned...?" Nash's mouth hung open.

Roam walked over and draped an arm across Saya's shoulders, grinning wide.

"What, you thought she was giving it to you outta love? Nah. I told her to keep you company. Let you feel like a man for once. Not my fault you didn't know what to do with her."

Tylo chuckled.

"Bro was on a rental plan."

Kej burst out laughing.

"Loaner pussy? Damn, that's cold."

Saya didn't react. She just tilted her head slightly toward Nash and spoke flatly.

"I thought maybe you'd become something. That's the only reason I played nice."

She shifted her weight to one leg, chewing the inside of her cheek, voice still calm but now filled with disgust.

"But you didn't. You stayed small. Weak. You think strategy makes up for spine? You don't have any bite. You can't even kiss without asking permission first."

She stepped forward, close enough that Nash could smell her cherry lip balm, the one he thought she wore for him.

"You don't have presence. You don't have fight. And you definitely don't have the dick for it."

The room erupted.

Rin choked on her gum and started laughing so hard she had to lean on a locker.

Tylo threw his head back.

Kej practically collapsed.

Nash's chest caved. His pulse was pounding in his ears.

"You were sleeping with him this whole time?" he asked, voice shaking.

She smirked now, openly.

"Behind your back? Babe, I was riding Roam before you even worked up the guts to hold my hand."

Roam chuckled and leaned into her.

"I told her to give you a mercy ride, but she said you couldn't even get it up."

The room cracked up.

"Fucking pathetic," Rin muttered under her breath.

Getting more confident, Saya stepped closer to Nash, like she wanted him to really see her.

"Even in the slums, we've got standards. And yours?" She dropped her eyes to his crotch, then let her tongue poke out slightly, mocking, before she added, "I've seen bigger on a damn toddler."

The laughter exploded.

Rin spat her gum into the trash can with a loud ping and covered her mouth, failing to hide her snort.

Kej stumbled backward, wheezing. "Shit! Bro, she cooked you hard!"

Tylo slapped Roam's shoulder, doubled over. "This dude's been swinging a baby dick the whole time? Man! We should've run physicals!"

One of the twins, Kiel, wrapped an arm around Nash like they were old friends.

"Hey, man, no shame in having a training stick. You just need the right league... y'know, like preschool."

Nash shoved the arm off hard, breath catching, jaw clenched.

For one second, his whole body shook. His eyes locked on Saya. Maybe he was going to hit her. Maybe himself. He didn't know.

Then Roam stepped in.

"Don't try it, shrimp," he said, dropping the smile. His voice had weight now, calm and dangerous. "We both know how that ends."

Nash looked up. Roam was solid as a wall, cut from muscle and raw confidence. Taller, stronger, already a king in the slums.

Nash looked like a kid in front of him.

A broken kid.

He didn't answer. Just turned toward his locker.

The team kept laughing.

"Make sure you wash that jersey, some of us still use it!"

"Yo, send us a vid when you cry into your pillow tonight!"

"Try not to trip over your own dick... oh wait, never mind!"

He packed in silence.

Taped hands, old shoes, jersey he'd worn for four seasons straight.That was it. That was all he had left.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and walked out.

As the door swung shut behind him, someone yelled.

"Don't worry! We'll send you highlights from the Underleague! You can jerk off to us when we're famous!"

Only when the door slammed shut behind him did his face change.

His jaw relaxed. His eyes blurred. His breath came out slow and shaky.

Tears welled up, but he didn't wipe them. Didn't blink them away.

He just walked.

Nowhere in mind.

No team behind him.

No idea who the fuck he was anymore.