Chapter 40: Powerball Effect

Rain walked across the central quad, bypassing his dorm block and heading toward the massive, arched concrete structure of the university’s central athletic complex.

The sun was beginning to dip toward the western horizon, casting long, golden shadows across the wide concrete plazas. Heavy cheers, rhythmically thumping bass from loudspeakers, and the sharp squeak of rubber soles echoed through the open ventilation archways of the main arena as he got closer.

Rain walked inside, climbing the wide concrete stairs to the upper spectator deck overlooking Court 1.

The arena was half-full, populated mostly by cheering students, off-duty instructors, and scout recruiters sitting in the lower reserved boxes. Rain found an empty spot near the middle railing of the upper concourse, resting his forearms against the cold metal bar as he looked down at the playing surface below.

Down on the court, a Powerball match was in its final three minutes.

Rain had seen snippets of the sport on old orphanage television sets growing up, but watching a high-tier academy match live was entirely different. To someone unfamiliar with standard ball games, the layout was clear and intuitive: a court slightly larger than a standard basketball floor, constructed from polished, high-density impact resin designed to withstand massive force. At each end of the court stood a wide, glowing brass hoop mounted ten feet high against a reinforced backboard, surrounded by a semi-circular scoring arc marked in bright blue paint.

The objective was straightforward: carry, pass, or bounce a dense, dark-grey leather sphere, slightly smaller than a basketball, down the court and throw it through the opposing team’s brass hoop. A successful shot from inside the arc was worth two points; a shot from outside was worth three.

What set Powerball apart from ordinary athletics, however, was the integration of bound skills.

As Rain watched, the game moved at a terrifying, explosive speed. Spectators in the front rows wore protective clear visors to shield themselves from the constant spray of air pressure and dust generated by the players’ movements.

It was not magic, nor was it some separate, specialized system. Powerball was simply the application of ordinary, legal Resonance Ceremony skills, the exact same bound abilities used by combatants inside Dead Domains, adapted strictly for athletic competition within a regulated framework of rules.

Rain leaned over the railing, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the play unfolding below.

A guard wearing a dark blue jersey, the team representing the Blue Wave athletics division, intercepted a long pass near mid-court. The instant his fingers touched the leather ball, his feet blurred. A sharp, localized burst of wind exploded from his heels as he activated a low-tier speed skill, hurtling down the sideline in a blinding streak that covered thirty feet in less than a second.

"Fast break!" a spectator three rows down yelled, jumping to his feet.

Before the Blue Wave guard could reach the rim, a massive forward from the opposing gold-jersey team stepped up to contest the drive. The forward planted his feet inside the paint, his chest and forearms swelling slightly as a low, metallic sheen passed over his skin, a physical hardening skill used legally to box out attackers without incurring a charging penalty.

The two bodies collided with a loud, wooden crack that echoed straight up to the concourse rafters. The guard was bounced backward by the sheer physical wall, but before he hit the resin floor, he whipped a blind, sidearm pass back toward the top of the key.

Standing near the perimeter was Eren Toma.

Rain recognized the captain instantly. Eren wore the dark blue number 7 jersey, his sharp features locked in intense concentration, his dark hair damp with sweat. Eren caught the pass cleanly, raised the ball over his head, and leaped into the air for a three-point attempt.

An opposing defender charged out from the corner, jumping to block the shot. As the defender rose, his right arm suddenly stretched three extra inches at the elbow, an elastic reach skill, his fingers tipping the edge of the ball just as it left Eren’s hands.

The shot bounced hard off the front of the brass rim.

A scramble for the loose rebound erupted inside the blue arc. A towering gold-jersey center fought for position under the backboard. Rain watched closely as the center bent his knees, preparing to jump.

In that fraction of a second, the muscles in the center’s quads visibly swelled, thickening until his shorts strained against the massive bulge of muscle. The man launched himself upward, his boots leaving the resin court with a violent, concussive boom that sent a small shockwave ripple through the floorboards. He snatched the ball out of the air at twelve feet, landed hard enough to rattle the hoop’s iron support frame, and whipped an outlet pass down the court as the final game buzzer sounded.

[FINAL SCORE: GOLD SPARKS 78 - BLUE WAVE 71]

The gold-jersey players raised their fists in victory, jogging off toward their bench as their student section cheered loudly.

Rain stayed at the railing, watching the Blue Wave bench.

Eren Toma pulled his dark blue jersey over his head, wiping his sweat-soaked face with a grey towel as he walked toward the team bench. His expression was dark, his jaw set in a tight, frustrated line.

"We can’t keep giving up second-chance rebounds on the defensive glass!" Eren snapped at his teammates, his voice carrying clearly up to the low concourse seats. He threw his towel onto the bench, looking at a tall, awkward boy sitting near the water cooler, clearly a recent roster replacement from the seasonal tryouts. "If you can’t box out a basic physical-type forward without relying on your skill cool down, you shouldn’t be on the floor during the fourth quarter. That’s three open possessions we gave away in five minutes."

The substitute boy ducked his head, staring silently at his shoes. The rest of the team gathered their gear in tense, quiet silence, slinging their bags over their shoulders as they prepared to head down the locker room tunnel.

Rain pushed off the concourse railing, walked down the concrete stairs, and stepped onto the outer edge of the court.

He walked past the scoring table, stopping near the Blue Wave equipment rack where Eren was zipping up his gear bag. Eren was completely focused on his things, his face still flushed with post-game frustration, until Rain stepped into his field of vision.

Eren paused, looking up. He blinked once, wiping a stray drop of sweat from his forehead with his wrist, his eyes scanning Rain’s face for a second before recognition clicked.

"Rain?" Eren asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "What’s up?"

"Hey, Eren," Rain said plainly, stopping two paces away. "Got a minute?"

Eren looked down at his bag, then back at Rain, his initial post-game annoyance fading into a calm, curious attention. "Yeah, sure. What’s going on?"

"I wanted to apologize directly for missing our meeting last Saturday," Rain said, his voice quiet, sincere, and entirely clear. "I know we agreed to meet at two o’clock outside the complex. An emergency came up right before the weekend, and I couldn’t get word to you."

Eren looked at him for a second, then let out a short, easy breath, waving one hand dismissively. "Oh, okay. Don’t worry about it. Things happen. I figured something came up when you didn’t show."

Rain nodded, keeping his posture relaxed. "Is the roster spot on the team still available?"

Eren’s expression shifted, a sudden look of genuine regret touching his features. He reached down, adjusting the strap of his bag.

"Ah, about that," Eren said apologetically, shaking his head slightly. "The coach made us finalize the mid-term trial roster by Sunday afternoon. We had to fill the open forward slot before the league registration window locked, so we brought up one of the reserve guys from the secondary tryout group." He gestured vaguely toward the locker room tunnel. "That was the guy who played the fourth quarter today."

Rain accepted the news without a single flicker of disappointment or annoyance on his face. He simply nodded his head smoothly.

"Oh, okay," Rain said plainly. "I understand."

Eren looked at Rain, taking in the F-rank student’s complete lack of drama or entitlement. He thought about the disaster on the boards during the fourth quarter, remembering how easily Rain had handled a high-intensity situation during their brief encounter weeks ago.

Eren paused, rubbing the back of his neck with a thoughtful frown.

"Look," Eren said, leaning in slightly. "Our secondary conditioning roster opens up again in three weeks after the mid-term evaluation. Let me talk to the coach tonight. If I tell him I personally requested an evaluation for you, he might let us add an extra practice squad slot for conditioning sessions. What dorm are you in so i’ll reach out to you through your dorm once I talk to him."

Rain smiled warmly, offering his hand. "Dorm C. And I appreciate that, Eren. Thanks."

Eren shook his hand with a firm, solid grip. "No problem. Sorry about the timing, man. I’ll let you know what the coach says."

"Good luck with the next match," Rain said.

Eren nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking down the dark concrete tunnel toward the locker rooms.

Rain walked out of the athletic complex, stepping into the cool, twilight air of the university plaza.

As he walked back toward Dorm Block C, Rain reflected honestly on why he had approached Eren in the first place.

It wasn’t just about the practical incentives, the credit stipends, the priority gym access, or the academic point bonuses he heard rumors of before he got into the academy that came with varsity sports placement. Watching the match live, seeing the sheer, brutal physical demands placed on the players’ legs, core, and recovery, Rain realized how perfectly Powerball aligned with his own growth goals.

The sport was an absolute crucible for physical conditioning. The constant high-impact jumping, explosive directional changes, and heavy physical contact would serve as an ideal complementary training ground alongside the rigid stance work Tenski was demanding in Krav Maga. It forced a combatant to maintain balance, spatial awareness, and body control while under extreme physical exhaustion.

And beyond all the analytical benefits, Rain admitted plainly to himself as a small, quiet smile touched his lips. ’Watching those guys fly through the air and hit each other at full speed looks genuinely fun,’

Rain reached the entrance of Dorm Block C as the sun finally vanished below the horizon, bathing the stone buildings in deep purple twilight.

He walked up the stairs, unlocked door, and stepped inside. Jansen wasn’t back yet.

Rain sat down on the edge of his cot, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time.

8:15 PM.

Forty-five minutes until his nine o’clock meeting in the basement of Dorm Block A.

Rain stood up, zipping his hoodie to his chin, and stepped back out into the night. Whatever waited behind that basement door, he’d find out soon enough.