Extra Basket-Chapter 193 - 180: Forest vs Vorpal (5)

Elijah Rainn took the inbound.

No panic.

No timeout.

No hesitation.

He dribbled slowly, calmly, his back straight, scanning the floor like a king moving chess pieces. His fingers flicked three raised.

A new play.

Forest shifted on cue.

Noah Sinclair sank back, anchoring the paint like a lurking leviathan.

Julian Kim drifted high, faking a handoff angle.

Mason Lee?

He ghosted away sliding deep into the right corner. No theatrics. No signal.

Just silence.

Lucas tracked Julian, staying tight. Chest to shoulder. He didn’t overreact.

But something prickled at the back of his mind.

(Wait... they’re spreading too wide.)

(This isn’t for Julian.)

(It’s not him they want...)

Then Elijah snapped into motion exploding left with a violent first step.

Evan jumped to cut him off.

But Elijah—

—didn’t even flinch.

He stopped just as fast as he started, sending the ball zipping backward to Thomas Webb.

Thomas didn’t even look.

One-touch pass—

Reversed.

Straight to Noah Sinclair, who caught and, without turning, slung a looping pass to the right corner.

Mason Lee was already there.

The Silent Arrow.

No words. No windup.

Just lift.

Release.

Swish.

18 – 18.

Forest’s bench jumped up. A few fans clapped rhythmically.

No screams. No roars.

Just respect.

A team that had just taken a punch—and responded in rhythm.

Ayumi gritted her teeth on the bench.

"Mason Lee... he’s not a decoy anymore."

Coach Fred scribbled notes, muttering to himself.

"They’re unpeeling us. Bit by bit."

But Lucas?

He stared at the net.

Then slowly walked back to take the inbound.

His eyes never blinked.

His fingers didn’t twitch.

He was calm.

Calmer than he had any right to be.

(Good. You’re trying now.)

(Then I’ll try harder.)

Josh passed him the ball.

Louie Gee grinned from the sideline.

"He’s heating up..."

..

Back to Court

He walked to the other end. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Slow.

Measured.

Eyes forward.

But no signals.

No hand gestures.

No coded plays.

Instead, he just glanced at Evan—

Then lifted his chin.

And pointed.

At Elijah.

One finger. One message.

Isolation.

The gym hushed, sensing the challenge in the air.

(You want a chess match?)

(Let’s play.)

Lucas dribbled up like a storm gathering.

He wasn’t the flashiest.

Not the fastest.

Not the most explosive.

But he watched.

He remembered.

He absorbed.

Every twitch Elijah made earlier—the way his foot planted, the way his shoulder dipped before the crossover...

Lucas didn’t just see it.

He understood it.

Because Absolute Mimicry was deconstruction.

Assimilation.

And improvement.

Jab step.

Retreat dribble.

Crossover.

Same tempo. Same posture. Same grace.

But cleaner.

Sharper.

Elijah’s brow furrowed slightly as he dropped into stance.

(No...)

Lucas spun out of the crossover—

Behind-the-back

Stepped back—

One beat faster than Elijah’s version.

Elevated.

Shot.

Buckets.

21 – 18.

The net snapped crisply, like it was saluting.

The gym erupted not in cheers but in a low, collective gasp.

Even Coach Fred staggered, catching his clipboard before it fell.

Ayumi’s voice cracked.

"He... he’s doing exactly what Elijah did..."

"But smoother."

Forest’s bench stilled.

No one yelled.

No one cursed.

And Elijah?

He stayed standing during the dead ball.

Didn’t look to the bench.

Didn’t sip water.

He just looked at Lucas—

And nodded.

Once.

Slow.

Deliberate.

(You’re not just a mirror anymore...)

(You’re a thief.)

In the stands, Jalen smile widened.

His fingers steepled beneath his chin.

"Yes... yes... that’s it, Lucas."

"Steal from them all."

"Surpass your limits."

And down on the court, Lucas adjusted his wristband.

Eyes locked on Elijah.

(Now steal back.)

Elijah Rainn passed midcourt.

No nod.

No glance.

No sound.

Just the rhythm of the ball.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Loose.

Unbothered.

Almost... lazy.

But Lucas didn’t bite.

He didn’t flinch.

His eyes locked in, body tense.

(What’s this...?)

(No pattern?)

(You were a machine before. Now you’re... jazz.)

Elijah drifted sideways—

Shoulders relaxed, head tilted slightly, like he was listening to a beat only he could hear.

Then—

Without warning—

He threw the ball off the glass.

Lucas blinked.

(What the—?!)

From the left corner, Julian Kim came flying in.

No warning.

No hand signal.

No cue.

Just instinct.

SLAM.

21 – 20.

The rim shook violently.

The gym exploded.

Ayumi shot up from the bench, hand covering her mouth.

Coach Fred’s eyes nearly fell out of his head.

"What the hell was that play?!"

Ayumi swallowed.

Her voice trembled.

"It... wasn’t a play," she said.

"It was feel."

Forest... was changing.

They weren’t just running sets anymore.

They were moving as one.

Structure into rhythm.

Plays into pulse.

Order into flow.

And that was terrifying.

Because monsters?

They dominate.

Strategists?

They adapt.

But artists?

They transcend.

Lucas wiped his sweat, watching Elijah retreat with a calm, almost amused smile.

Micah, usually silent, suddenly stood up from the Forest bench—his voice slicing through the noise:

"JUST MOVE! FLOW! DON’T THINK—FEEL!"

And Forest responded.

Like electricity surging through a wire.

Like jazz musicians in perfect sync.

Noah, the Evergreen Wall, spun smoothly at the top of the key—

(Spin. Vision. Read.)

—then dished to Mason on the wing.

Mason pump-faked.

Josh bit.

He soared too early.

One dribble.

Flip inside.

Thomas caught it—

But didn’t post up.

He twisted mid-air, fading away—

Then slung a no-look pass behind his head.

Right into the cutting lane.

Julian Kim.

Alone.

Layup.

22 – 21. Forest leads again.

Lucas stared in stunned silence.

Eyes scanning, heartbeat calm but confused.

(That wasn’t basketball anymore...)

(That was choreography.)

No fixed position.

No drawn-up play.

Just rhythm.

Just feel.

(They’re not playing...)

(They’re dancing.)

Then—slowly—

He smiled.

Wide.

Playful.

Challenged.

(Fine.)

He clapped his hands once.

CLAP.

Turned to Evan with fire in his eyes—

"NO MORE SYSTEM!" he yelled.

"JUST RUN WITH ME!"

And in that moment—

Vorpal Ball... unlocked.

Lucas Graves is beginning to awaken just like those players they faced back then.

(But this time... it feels different.)

(More controlled. More dangerous.)

Lucas dribbled. Fast. Loose. Wild.

The ball didn’t bounce — it snapped.

No pattern. No signal.

He didn’t even look at the coach.

He just moved.

Like fire in the wind.

To be