Extra Basket-Chapter 195 - 182: Forest vs Vorpal (7)

30 – 24.

Forest leads.

2 minutes left in the first quarter.

The tension inside the arena began to rise—

Like pressure in a sealed jar threatening to burst.

Every seat was filled.

Every breath was held.

Every dribble echoed like thunder on the polished court.

Lucas exhaled slowly.

(Two minutes.)

(We either crumble... or cut through the vines.)

Thump.

He slapped the ball as Evan inbounded it with urgency.

"Let’s move. Flow with me. No patterns—just read and react!"

Evan nodded fiercely.

Josh wiped sweat from his brow.

Ryan and Brandon pounded their chests, teeth clenched tight.

They were tired.

They were outmatched.

But they weren’t broken.

Lucas took control and pushed the ball forward.

No play call.

No signals.

Just motion pure instinct.

He jabbed left

Evan sliced through the middle like a scalpel through silk.

Ryan floated up top for a screen—

But Lucas didn’t need it.

He crossed right, low and tight—

(Allen Iverson’s speed...)

A snap of movement.

Kael reached—

Too slow.

Mason rotated from the weak side—

Too late.

Lucas rose not to shoot

But for a mid-air bullet pass to the corner.

Straight into Josh’s chest.

Josh didn’t blink.

He rose.

Pulled up.

Snap.

Swish.

30 – 27.

"THAT’S VORPAL BALL!"

Ayumi screamed, nearly flipping off the bench.

Even Coach Fred stood up his usual calm cracked.

"Keep it moving!" he barked.

"Let it breathe! Like Ethan said—ball’s alive!"

Forest answered immediately.

Elijah strolled the ball upcourt.

Not fast.

Not rushed.

Composed.

Complete.

In control.

But Lucas...

Lucas was no longer chasing him.

He was watching him.

Not the ball.

Not the hands.

Just the eyes.

Elijah’s calm didn’t scare him anymore.

(You’re always two steps ahead... but let’s see how you handle reflection.)

Elijah passed to Julian.

Quick. Crisp. No wasted motion.

Back to Elijah.

Then a skip-pass to Mason Lee, curling up from the baseline.

Cut.

Curl.

Slide.

Forest moved like liquid through fingers.

But Lucas was already shifting—

Shoulders coiled. Eyes reading.

Breathing in the rhythm.

(Now.)

He burst through the passing lane.

Shot the gap.

Hands out.

Snatch.

INTERCEPTED.

Crowd:

"OOOOHHHHH!!!"

Gasps ricocheted through the arena.

Lucas didn’t even dribble.

(Go. GO.)

He launched the ball ahead—full court, overhead whip—

Like a quarterback hitting his wide receiver in stride.

Fast-break.

Ryan Young caught it clean.

One step.

Two.

CONTACT—

THWACK!

AND ONE!

The whistle blew sharp. The crowd erupted like a detonated drumline.

30 – 29.

The gap was one.

"LET’S GOOOO!!"

Louie Gee Davas screamed from the bench, his voice cracking with fire.

He nearly knocked over Jeremy Park in his excitement.

Ayumi gasped again, but this time her hands covered a wide, stunned smile.

Coach Fred—red-faced and shaking—punched the air so hard his glasses almost flew off.

"YES! YES! THAT’S IT! VORPAL HEART!!"

But Lucas?

Lucas didn’t celebrate.

He walked back slowly, sweat trailing down his jaw.

No smile.

No taunt.

No fist pump.

Just breathing.

Focused. Grounded.

Eyes on the scoreboard.

Mind already moving.

(One minute left.)

(One more chance to equalize... or take the lead.)

And for the first time—

Elijah wasn’t smiling either.

He adjusted his headband with a quiet exhale.

His eyes didn’t look surprised.

Just... serious.

(You’re not just a mirror, Lucas...)

(You’re a wildfire with memory.)

Time left: 1:03.

Score: 30 – 29.

Forest still leads.

But the wind was shifting.

Elijah Rainn stood still at half court.

The lights above crowned him in white, his expression unreadable, the ball hugged under his right arm. A quiet calm draped over his frame like it always did like he was never rushed, never shaken.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

Just one look.

A nod to Mason. A glance toward Julian. A tap on his chest to Kael.

They responded in kind silent warriors trained in rhythm.

(They brought the fight to us... good. Let’s close this quarter right.)

With a flick of the wrist, Elijah inbounded to Mason, who immediately fired it to Julian on the left wing.

Julian dropped low, sold the drive baseline with a violent jab step—but Lucas didn’t flinch.

Feet rooted. Eyes calm.

(Not falling for it... discipline, Graves. Stay sharp.)

Julian kicked it back up top to Elijah, resetting.

50 seconds on the clock.

Lucas squared up, low and wide, knees bent, chest forward. Every breath he took felt deeper now slower. Controlled.

Elijah bounced the ball once.

Then again.

Lucas didn’t blink.

(No mimicry this time...)

(Just me. Just you. Let’s see whose will gives out first.)

Elijah exploded left—fast, but Lucas mirrored perfectly. Shoulder to shoulder.

Then, a subtle shimmy.

Lucas didn’t bite.

(No gap. Stay grounded.)

Suddenly Elijah slipped the ball behind his back.

A seamless drop-off.

Straight into Mason’s waiting hands on the wing.

Screen.

Josh saw it late.

"Switch! SWITCH!" he shouted.

Too slow.

Mason curled clean, shoulders low, and took one dribble into the open space.

He rose smooth, square, confident.

Mid-range jumper.

Release.

Clean form.

But it clanged off the back iron.

Brandon didn’t wait.

Didn’t hesitate.

He launched.

Higher than anyone expected.

"GOT IT!!" he roared, palming the rebound like a titan.

One motion,

he brought it down, secured it, and turned.

The crowd erupted again.

Louie punched the air on the bench.

"LET’S GOOOOO!!"

Jeremy ducked before Louie accidentally slapped him.

Ayumi gasped hand over her heart, eyes wide with awe.

Coach Fred didn’t yell.

He just grinned, arms folded across his chest.

Because now...

Vorpal had it.

And time was ticking.

34 seconds left.

Shot clock still ticking.

Evan caught the outlet pass clean and took off like a cannonball.

Lucas trailed beside him, breath steady despite the storm inside the gym.

"Go early?" Evan glanced over, voice quick, checking for the green light.

Lucas shook his head once firm, decisive.

"Burn the clock. Take the last shot."

"Got it."

They both eased up. Like wolves slowing before the pounce.

Time drained.

The Forest players didn’t chase. No trap. No gamble. They slid back into their unnatural formation—a shifting, pulsing web of defenders.

That zone.

The one that blinked open and shut like a mechanical eye.

Back and forth. Shrinking. Expanding. Always threatening.

(They’re waiting for us to blink...)

The ball moved to Lucas. He walked it to the left wing.

20 seconds.

No pass.

No fake.

Just reading. Waiting.

Evan was up top, bouncing in place. Brandon stood in the dunker spot, hands low, ready to spring. Josh circled weak side.

Forest stayed home.

Coach Fred made no call.

He trusted them now.

10 seconds.

Lucas glanced at the clock.

Then at Elijah.

Then—

He moved.

Lucas held the ball at the top of the key.

Ryan on his left.

Josh in the corner.

Brandon lurking in the low post.

Evan spread wide on the right wing.

The court felt quiet.

Like a stage.

Ayumi stood at the edge of the bench, hands clutched, whispering under her breath—

"(Come on... come on... last shot...)"

Coach Fred didn’t yell. Didn’t call a play.

He just clenched his fists and said:

"Let the kid cook."

8 seconds.

Lucas dribbled once.

Forest braced.

Then—he moved.

A screen from Ryan.

Lucas sold it hard, eyes glancing left—

Then rejected it, slicing right, a blur of instinct and angle.

Forest reacted, but not fast enough.

Elijah jumped into the lane to cut him off—

But Lucas was already airborne, eyes scanning like radar—

Mid-air dish.

Quick bounce pass.

Straight to Evan.

Pump-fake.

Julian bit. Flew right past him. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

"NOW!" Lucas roared.

Evan rose from the elbow.

Release.

The ball flew.

Buzzer.

Swish.

Vorpal Basket – 31

Forest Basket – 30

End of First Quarter.

The crowd ERUPTED.

Fans leapt to their feet.

Cell phones lit up like a galaxy.

The noise was deafening—but beautiful.

Even Charlotte, calm and calculated in the stands, shot up from her seat with wide eyes.

"YOOOO!"

Ayumi clapped with both hands covering her mouth, eyes brimming.

Coach Fred slack-jawed slowly sank back into his seat like he’d just seen a ghost dunk on gravity.

"Holy..." he mumbled. "...They’re really doing it."

And Elijah?

He didn’t yell.

Didn’t curse.

Didn’t slam a towel.

He walked calmly to the bench, letting the towel drape over his shoulders.

But as he sat down, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and whispered:

"(Alright... round one goes to you, Lucas Graves.)"

Lucas jogged back, team closing around him.

No flashy celebrations.

No trash talk.

Just nods.

Just heavy breathing.

Just heartbeats syncing to something new.

Something hungry.

Something unshaken.

Something real.

The rhythm of a team learning how to fight... without its leader.

Quarter One: Done.

Three more to go.

To be continue