Evil MC's NTR Harem-Chapter 644 Elements

"The nine-time consecutive NBA champion has arrived! Ross—the man, the myth, the phenomenon! The question on everyone's mind: Can he shatter yet another record and push his legacy into truly untouchable territory?"

"It's crazy to even ask that now, after all he's done," another commentator added.

"Ross has rewritten what it means to be dominant in this league. Every season, he raises the bar. But this season… this could be the one that etches his name in stone forever."

"Though let's not pretend the road has been flawless," a third voice chimed in.

"There was a time when fans called him 'Mr. Perfect,' but lately, there've been cracks. He's missed some shots—not many, but enough for people to notice. Still, when you look closer, you realize those misses only came after some brutal, often uncalled fouls. You give Ross an inch, he'll take the whole court. But you push him? You better pray the refs are watching."

"And speaking of pushing," the first commentator cut in with a chuckle, "how about the players who tried? Most of them don't play anymore. Injuries, crushed confidence, you name it. We're talking about careers ended early—by none other than the demon of the hardwood himself. Ross isn't just the GOAT; he's the grim reaper of basketball dreams."

"Now, now," another commentator responded skeptically.

"Some would argue those injuries were accidents. Part of the game. Just unfortunate timing. After all, basketball is a contact sport. But fans have long debated whether Ross's style crosses the line—or if greatness simply has a cost."

"That's what makes tonight so thrilling. All eyes are on the Parkland Knights as they enter the first round of the playoffs. Ross is healthy. Hungry. And after everything that's been said, you know he's out to silence every doubter in the building."

The arena was packed, vibrating with anticipation. Fans stood on their feet, chanting his name.

The air was electric with energy, every heartbeat syncing with the countdown to tipoff.

The game commentators leaned forward in their seats, eyes glued to the tunnel.

And then, like a force of nature, Ross emerged—his expression calm, confident, and terrifyingly focused.

The King of the Court was back.

And true to form, Ross delivered—like clockwork, like destiny, like the inevitable.

He didn't just play. He conquered.

"It's a sweep. Again," a stunned commentator muttered as the buzzer sounded. "Why did I even bother to doubt Ross?"

"Same here," another said with a shake of the head, watching the scoreboard light up with another lopsided score.

"Since Ross Oakley made his debut, not a single team has taken even one playoff game off him. Not one. It's been years—and the man still hasn't dropped a game in the postseason. That's unheard of."

"He can't be defeated. Not in this lifetime," a third voice added. "He's built different. He doesn't crack under pressure—he thrives in it. He elevates when others fold. There have been legends, sure, but Ross… Ross is something else entirely. It's like watching destiny in motion."

"I've covered basketball for over twenty years," said a veteran analyst, voice low with awe, "and I've seen greatness come and go. But I've never seen this. Ross Oakley doesn't just win—he redefines what winning looks like. Every single time he steps on the court, he changes the narrative. He breaks expectations. He creates history."

And history was exactly what was being made.

The first round? A clean sweep. The Parkland Knights didn't even look like they broke a sweat.

Ross averaged nearly a triple-double per game, commanding the court with the poise of a seasoned general and the fury of a storm.

The conference semifinals? Another sweep. The opposing team had come in with hope—briefly.

But Ross extinguished it within minutes of Game 1. By Game 4, their spirits were crushed, their defense in shambles, their offense completely smothered.

Then came the conference finals—a matchup that was supposed to be his toughest challenge yet. On paper, it was even. In practice, it was a massacre.

Ross didn't just outplay his opponents—he embarrassed them.

He dunked over their big men, stripped the ball from their stars, and made highlight reels look like routine warm-ups.

By the time Game 4 ended, the Knights had advanced… again… undefeated.

Twelve playoff games. Twelve wins. Zero losses.

The numbers didn't feel real. And yet, the world watched them grow with every passing round.

Sports analysts ran out of adjectives. Fans ran out of ways to express their admiration.

Social media exploded after every game with memes, tributes, and stunned reactions.

Entire franchises were left reeling in his wake.

Ross Oakley wasn't just chasing a tenth championship—he was building a myth.

A legacy so towering, so absolute, that it might never be touched again.

And now, finally, the NBA Finals loomed ahead.

The last chapter. The final test—if it could even be called that. For Ross and the Parkland Knights, it wasn't just about winning anymore. It was about immortality.

The lights in the arena dimmed. The countdown to Game 1 began. The world held its breath.

Because the king was coming.

And everyone knew—he never left the throne.

When the finals arrived, the entire stadium buzzed with anticipation.

Fans packed the bleachers, chanting names and waving banners, but all eyes were ultimately on one man—Ross Oakley, the unstoppable titan of the court. Undefeated, unshaken, and untouchable.

But amid the noise, one figure stood firm, his eyes locked onto Ross with a mix of awe and defiance.

A man—no, a rookie—had decided tonight would be different.

"I'm going to show him his time is up," the rookie muttered under his breath, the words laced with quiet fury.

"It's my turn to shine. I'll do whatever it takes—even if it means pushing past the edge."

His name was Colton Reyes, the youngest player in the finals and the only one reckless enough to dream of taking down a legend.

He clenched his fists, jaw tight, as his heart pounded with adrenaline.

A hulking center walked over and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Watch your words, Colton. Ross is dangerous. He's not just another player—he's a force of nature."

Colton didn't flinch. "I know exactly what he is," he said. "But I won't back down. Not tonight. I've studied him all season. I know how he moves, how he thinks. I'm going to get under his skin and throw him off. If I can just make him lose focus for even a second… we have a shot."

The center raised a brow but said nothing more. He could see it—Colton had the fire.

As Colton walked toward the locker room tunnel, his mind replayed every brutal loss he'd suffered against Ross.

The blowouts. The humiliations.

The moments where he thought he had a chance, only for Ross to crush it with a single three-pointer or a gravity-defying dunk.

Ross wasn't just skilled; he played like he was born to dominate.

But everyone bleeds eventually, Colton thought. Even gods can fall.