Chapter 13: Diagonal Pass

[Halftime – Orlando Hoops Locker Room]

The Orlando Hoops locker room was quiet.

Too quiet.

The scoreboard outside showed 59-43, a solid lead. But no one was celebrating.

Coach Guy Corson sat on the edge of a bench, his clipboard resting on his lap. He wasn't looking at the numbers. He was looking at his players—the five starters who were supposed to be dominating this game.

Instead, they were working harder than expected.

Alec Storm leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, his usual smirk absent.

Mason Hayes sat beside him, rolling his wrist, annoyed.

Julian Cross was staring at the floor, lost in thought.

Ethan Blake cracked his knuckles, his irritation clear.

Jaxon Wells stretched his arms, letting out a slow exhale.

The silence stretched, tense and heavy.

Coach Corson finally spoke.

"Alright. Let's get one thing straight."

His voice was calm, but sharp, slicing through the tension like a blade.

"I came into this game thinking we were gonna walk all over them. That this was just another warm-up before we played against real competition."

Alec scoffed. "Aren't we?"

Corson's eyes snapped to him.

"Look at the damn score, Storm. Do we look like we're crushing them?"

Alec shut his mouth, clicking his tongue in frustration.

Corson leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze moved from one player to another.

"I thought Vorpal Basket was nothing but a trash-tier team. And yeah, maybe most of them still are. But two of them—" he pointed his clipboard at the board, tapping it twice. "—are a problem."

Mason rolled his eyes. "That Lucas Graves guy?"

Corson nodded.

"Yeah. Number 10. The copycat."

Julian exhaled through his nose, arms crossed. "Annoying as hell."

Corson agreed. "That kid isn't just mimicking you. He's refining everything he takes. Every move you make, every play you run, he's picking it apart and improving on it."

Alec tilted his head slightly. "So what? He's just a damn copy."

Corson smirked. "Then tell me why you still haven't stopped him."

Alec's smirk faltered.

"That's what I thought."

Corson sat up straight, his expression turning serious.

"And then, there's Number 20."

Mason scoffed. "Albarado.'"

Julian's eyes narrowed. "He's a playmaker. A damn good one."

Corson nodded. "Exactly. His passing is insane. He's got vision better than half the guards I've seen at your level."

Ethan Blake, who had been silent until now, finally spoke.

"So, what do we do?"

Corson's smirk returned.

"We suffocate them."

The air in the room shifted.

Alec straightened up, interest flickering in his eyes. "Go on."

Corson lifted his clipboard, flipping it around so everyone could see.

The X's and O's were clear.

A new strategy.

Alec, Mason, Julian, Ethan, and Jaxon all leaned in.

"First—Lucas Graves. The Copycat. We're taking away his options." Corson tapped a spot on the board.

"He thrives in space, so we don't give him any. Make him play one-on-one. Cut off his passing lanes. Shadow him the entire game. He wants to copy us? Fine. But basketball isn't just about skills. It's about mental endurance."

Julian smirked slightly. "So we let him think he has a chance, then break him."

Corson nodded. "Exactly."

Alec chuckled. "That sounds fun."

Corson turned the clipboard again.

"Now, Ethan Albarado. The Playmaker. He's our real target."

Mason frowned. "I thought Graves was more dangerous."

Corson shook his head. "Wrong. Albarado is the reason they still have life in this game."

The room fell silent.

"You don't kill the head of the snake, it keeps moving."

Alec smirked. "So we cut off the head?"

Corson grinned. "Exactly. Full-court press. Every time he touches the ball, you two—" he pointed at Alec and Mason "—trap him immediately."

Mason nodded. "Make him feel the pressure."

Julian cracked his neck. "Make him suffer."

Corson chuckled. "I knew I liked you guys."

Jaxon Wells finally spoke. "And me?"

Corson turned to him. "You own the paint. No easy buckets. Every time they come inside, make them regret it."

Jaxon smirked. "Got it."

Corson slammed the clipboard down on the bench.

"Second half, we shut them down. No mercy. No breathing room. No comeback."

He leaned in, his voice dropping.

"End this game."

Alec's smirk returned.

Mason cracked his knuckles.

Julian exhaled, ready.

Ethan Blake rolled his shoulders.

Jaxon grinned.

They weren't just going to win.

They were going to crush Vorpal Basket.

And when they walked back onto the court—

The second half of the game was going to be a nightmare for Lucas Graves and Ethan Albarado.

.......

[Vorpal Basket Locker Room – Halftime]

The air was thick with sweat and exhaustion.

Ethan Albarado sat on the bench, towel draped around his neck, eyes flickering across the room.

Evan Cooper, Ryan Taylor, Brandon Young, Lucas Graves… Coonie Smith. Other bench player

His teammates.

They weren't celebrating.

They weren't hyped.

Despite the small momentum shift in the second quarter, the scoreboard still told the truth.

[Orlando Hoops – 59

Vorpal Basket – 43]

They were still getting destroyed.

Ethan sighed, running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair.

"What should I do…?"

He knew what was coming.

Alec Storm wasn't the type to let up. Neither was their coach.

Orlando Hoops wasn't about to let them crawl back into this game.

They were going to tighten their grip.

Which meant—

Ethan needed a counter-strategy.

Something. Anything.

Before he could speak—

A loud, fake laugh filled the room.

"Good work! Good work, Albarado! I knew you had it in you!"

Coach Fred Mason.

The lazy, corrupt, incompetent excuse of a head coach waddled toward Ethan, his bloated face twisted into a nervous grin.

Ethan turned his head slightly, eyeing the man.

"Tsk."

Coach Mason gulped under Ethan's stare, but quickly covered it up with another forced laugh.

"Always keep the momentum, guys! Keep doing what you're doing, and we'll be fine! Ha-ha!"

Silence.

No one responded.

Ethan let out a slow breath, keeping his expression neutral.

"(He's scared I'll expose him.)"

The missing team funds. The favoritism. The blatant neglect of actual strategy.

Coach Mason wasn't a coach.

He was a fraud.

And now?

He was panicking because Ethan blackmail.

Coonie Smith, sitting on the far end, crossed his arms and clicked his tongue.

"(This pig.)"

Evan Cooper rubbed his temples.

"So… what's the plan, Coach?"

Coach Mason blinked.

"Plan?" He laughed again, trying to keep up his fake confidence. "Just—just keep doing what you're doing! You're doing great!"

Ethan exhaled sharply.

"(This idiot.)"

Ryan Taylor frowned.

"That's it? No adjustments?"

Brandon Young wiped his face with his jersey, shaking his head.

Lucas Graves, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke.

His golden eyes locked onto Coach Mason.

"Orlando's going to press us hard in the second half."

Mason blinked.

"H-Huh?"

Lucas continued, voice sharp.

"They're not gonna let us play comfortably anymore. They're gonna trap Ethan the second he touches the ball. And they're gonna isolate me so I can't move freely."

Coonie leaned forward.

"And what about the paint? Jaxon Wells is already eating us alive."

Brandon Young gritted his teeth.

"He's too strong. We need to double him."

Evan nodded.

"Yeah, we need a counter—"

"I SAID KEEP THE MOMENTUM!"

Everyone froze.

Coach Mason's fake cheerfulness was gone.

For a second—just a second—his real personality slipped out.

His beady eyes sharpened, his chubby face twisted in frustration.

"I'm the coach here! Not you!" Mason snapped, his voice sharp. "Just listen to me and keep playing the way you're playing! Don't overthink it!"

Silence.

Ethan's fist clenched.

"(This fatass didn't care.)"

He had no strategy. No adjustments.

Nothing.

He was just praying that Ethan and Lucas could somehow keep them in the game.

"(Tsk. This is why we always lose.)"

Ethan then thought, "(For now, I'll let him do what he wants. We have momentum, and I still need more data on the other players. After all…)"

….

[Start of the Third Quarter]

The whistle blew.

The game resumed.

Evan Cooper dribbled up the court, sweat dripping from his forehead as he scanned the floor. His eyes flickered toward Ethan Albarado.

Ethan nodded.

"Let's run it."

Evan took a step forward, reading Orlando's defense.

Alec Storm was in front of him, eyes sharp.

Julian Cross hovered near the wing, ready to pounce on any lazy pass.

Mason Hayes was lurking, already anticipating the play.

Everything looked normal.

But something—something felt off.

Ethan's sharp gaze flickered. His instincts screamed.

Then he saw it—

The shift.

Orlando's defense subtly adjusted—Alec took a half-step toward Ethan before Evan even passed.

They knew.

They knew the pass was coming.

Ethan's eyes widened.

"No!"

Evan had already thrown it.

Alec Storm shot forward, his body moving before the ball even reached Ethan.

A perfect read.

Steal.

Alec's fingers wrapped around the ball, and in one smooth motion, he spun on his heel, turning defense into offense.

Ethan cursed under his breath and immediately sprinted back.

Alec smirked.

"Too easy."

He dribbled behind his back—smooth, effortless.

Brandon Young stepped up, arms wide, trying to stop the fast break.

Alec barely acknowledged him.

A quick crossover—left to right.

Brandon lunged—too late.

Alec blew past him.

"Shit!" Brandon cursed, his momentum taking him the wrong way.

Alec drove inside but didn't force a contested shot.

He was calm. Calculated.

A sharp flick of his wrist—

A clean pass.

Right into Ethan Blake's hands.

Wide open.

Coach Corson smirked from the sidelines.

"(That's it. Gain the momentum.)"

Ethan Blake squared up, his form perfect.

Lucas Graves and Evan Cooper tried to recover, but—

It was too late.

Splash.

A clean three-pointer.

The net snapped.

The crowd exploded.

[Scoreboard Update:]

Orlando Hoops – 62

Vorpal Basket – 43

Coach Corson nodded, satisfied.

"(Now, they'll feel it. The pressure. The weight. This is how we break them.)"

Alec turned, jogging back on defense, his smirk growing.

He pointed at Ethan Albarado, his voice dripping with arrogance.

"You better wake up, Albarado. Or this game is gonna end real fast."

Ethan clenched his fists.

He wasn't angry.

He was pissed.

Ethan Albarado exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he controlled his breathing.

But anger wouldn't help him now.

He needed focus. 

His fingers tightened around the ball as he activated his skills.

[Skill Activated: Playmaker's Vision (Advanced)]

Decision-making drastically enhanced.Passing accuracy and court awareness significantly improved.Teammates become more effective on offense.

[Skill Activated: Magic Johnson Passing Vision (Intermediate Level)]

Enhanced court mapping.Can anticipate defensive movements with greater accuracy.Increases effectiveness of deceptive passing.

His blue eyes scanned the floor, everything slowing down in his mind.

The movement of defenders. The shifts in positioning. The tiny gaps in coverage.

He saw it all.

"Let me hold the ball."

Evan Cooper blinked at him but nodded.

"Alright. Run it."

Ryan Taylor stood outside the line, ball in hand, waiting for the inbound.

With a quick pass, he tossed it toward Ethan.

Ethan caught it cleanly, his grip firm, his dribble steady.

As soon as the ball touched the floor—

Two defenders collapsed on him.

Ethan Blake. Julian Cross.

Two of Orlando's best defensive players.

Ethan clicked his tongue.

"(Shit, they really boxing me out.)"

Their positioning was perfect.

One high, one low.

Cutting off his driving lanes.

Forcing him into a difficult position.

Lucas Graves, standing near the wing, saw the pressure and immediately called out.

"Pass to me, Ethan!!"

Ethan snapped his gaze toward him.

Lucas had space—but Alec Storm was lurking in the middle, waiting.

"(I see what you're doing, Alec.)"

Ethan moved his right hand, setting up the motion for the pass.

Alec smirked.

"(This is mine.)"

The moment Ethan flicked his wrist—

Alec lunged.

He saw the ball moving toward Lucas and immediately extended his arm, ready to intercept.

But then—

The ball changed direction.

Alec's eyes widened in shock.

"What?!"

The ball didn't reach Lucas.

It curved—a diagonal pass, cutting between defenders.

Alec turned his head in disbelief, tracking the ball's movement.

"(How did—)"

His eyes locked onto Ryan Taylor, who caught the pass cleanly inside the paint.

Ryan wasted no time—

One step. Two steps.

Layup.

Bucket.

The whistle blew.

And-One.

The crowd gasped, murmurs spreading through the gym.

Even Coach Corson, arms crossed, narrowed his eyes.

"(That pass…)"

His fingers tapped against his elbow as he studied Ethan Albarado.

"(That was no ordinary pass… It's just like the legendary pass of Larkson…)"

The Diagonal Pass.

[A deceptive pass that looked like it was meant for one player—only to curve toward another at the last second.]

It was an elite-level pass.

A pass only the best playmakers could pull off.

Coach Corson's jaw tightened.

"(A bench… managed to pull that off?)"

Alec, still standing in the middle of the court, exhaled sharply.

His expression was unreadable.

He looked at Ethan.

Ethan just smirked.

"Heh."

Alec's lips curled slightly, amusement flashing in his eyes.

"(Hoh…)"

This just got interesting.

To be continue