Chapter 14: The Storm Strikes Back  

[3rd Quarter – 8:00 Minutes Remaining]

..

[Orlando Hoops – 62

Vorpal Basket – 45]

..

The whistle blew.

The third quarter had begun.

Ethan Albarado wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped back on defense.

He glanced at Lucas Graves beside him.

Lucas, normally brimming with energy, had a more serious expression now.

They both knew it.

This wasn't going to be easy.

Orlando Hoops was about to crank up the pressure.

And they wouldn't stop until Vorpal Basket was buried.

Alec Storm dribbled the ball up the court, his expression unreadable.

But his eyes?

They were sharp. Focused.

…

[Score Update:]

[Orlando Hoops – 64

Vorpal Basket – 45]

..

[Vorpal Basket's Possession]

Evan Cooper dribbled up the court, scanning for an opening.

Ethan Albarado moved into position, hands ready.

Evan faked right—then passed left.

The ball never arrived.

Steal.

Julian Cross had read the play perfectly, intercepting it mid-air.

Julian bolted down the court, his speed undeniable.

Lucas sprinted after him—

But Julian was already at the rim.

One step. Two steps. Dunk.

BOOM.

The rim shook violently, and the crowd erupted.

The Orlando bench jumped to their feet, clapping and cheering.

Coach Corson didn't even react.

Because this was expected.

[Score Update:]

[Orlando Hoops – 66

Vorpal Basket – 45]

The air in the gym was suffocating. The cheers of the Orlando fans echoed through the court, drowning out any momentum Vorpal Basket had left.

"(Damn it…)"

Ethan Albarado clenched his fists as he jogged back on offense.

This wasn't just skill.

This was dominance.

Orlando Hoops wasn't just playing hard—they were destroying them.

Every passing lane was sealed.

Every driving gap was closed.

Their defense was like a moving wall—pressing in, suffocating, overwhelming.

Ethan turned to Lucas, eyes scanning his teammate.

Lucas's breaths were heavy, his muscles tensed. He was trying. Really trying.

But Orlando was just too fast. Too in sync.

"(We're drowning.)"

No more waiting. No more hesitation.

Ethan pounded the ball against the hardwood.

"ISO! ISO!"

His voice cut through the noise, sharp and clear.

Evan Cooper immediately nodded, signaling to Ryan Taylor and Brandon Young to clear out.

The court shifted.

It was now a one-on-one.

Ethan Albarado vs. Alec Storm.

Alec's eyes gleamed with amusement as he crouched into a defensive stance.

"Oh? You want this?"

Ethan's smirk was slight.

"You talk too much."

Then—he moved.

A quick jab step.

Alec's feet adjusted, his body staying balanced.

Ethan faked left—

Alec stayed locked in.

Then—SNAP!

A lightning-fast ghost pass.

The ball barely touched Ethan's fingers before it vanished between Alec's legs, rolling smoothly into Brandon Young's hands in the paint.

Alec's eyes widened.

"(Shit—where did—?)"

Brandon caught it cleanly, his massive frame already rising into the air for a slam.

He roared as he stretched his arms toward the rim—

But then—

SMACK!

Blocked.

A thunderous rejection sent the ball flying back into the air.

Ethan's stomach dropped.

"(No way—)"

The one who blocked it?

Jaxon Wells.

Orlando's center.

His palm still hung in the air, his expression unbothered.

Brandon stumbled back, eyes wide in disbelief.

Jaxon landed smoothly, grabbing the ball and immediately kicking it out to Alec Storm.

Fast break.

Alec dashed down the court, already pushing full speed.

Ethan turned, sprinting after him, his blood boiling.

But deep down—

He knew.

They were still a step behind.

[3rd Quarter – 7:00 Minutes Remaining]

Orlando Hoops – 66

Vorpal Basket – 45

Brandon Young knelt on the hardwood, his hands pressing against the cold floor as he stared upward.

Jaxon Wells loomed over him.

The gym lights cast a faint glow around the Orlando center, his muscular frame blocking out everything else. His serious, unwavering gaze burned into Brandon, filled with silent intensity.

Brandon's fingers curled into tight fists.

"(He's... too big.)"

He had gone up with everything he had—

All his power.

All his strength.

And yet, Jaxon had swatted it away like nothing.

Brandon gritted his teeth. His heart pounded in frustration.

Jaxon's expression didn't change. He wasn't taunting him. He wasn't smirking like Alec or Mason.

He was just... looking.

That made it worse.

Brandon felt like a child being stared down by a giant.

"(Am I... really this weak?)"

But before the doubt could fully settle—

A sharp, familiar voice cut through the court.

"Yosh!!!"

Everyone turned toward the sound.

Lucas Graves.

His legs were trembling. His arms felt like lead. His body was drenched in sweat.

But he was smiling.

Lucas slapped his knees and grinned, sucking in deep breaths before forcing himself to stand upright.

Ethan Albarado's eyes flicked toward him.

"(As expected… Absolute Mimicry is taking a toll on him.)"

Lucas had been using his power the entire game, copying elite-level techniques over and over. His body wasn't built to handle that kind of strain for long.

At this rate—

"(He's going to collapse before the 4th quarter.)"

Ethan clenched his jaw. He needed to find a way to lessen Lucas's burden.

But before he could say anything—

Lucas clapped his hands together, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Come on!! We're not done yet!"

His voice rang through the gym.

His teammates, exhausted and panting, froze.

Ryan Taylor wiped the sweat from his forehead and exhaled sharply.

Brandon, still on his knees, slowly looked up.

Evan Cooper, catching his breath near the free-throw line, let out a small chuckle.

Even Coonie Smith—who had been sitting on the bench, arms crossed in frustration—grinned.

Lucas wasn't giving up.

Even after all the hits.

Even after all the blocks.

Even after getting suffocated by Orlando's defense.

He was still standing.

Ethan exhaled, shaking his head.

"(He really is the protagonist... changing the game.)"

Then, his eyes flickered toward the scoreboard.

7 minutes left in the 3rd quarter.

They still had time.

Lucas still had fight left in him.

And Ethan?

He was going to make sure that fight wouldn't go to waste.

...

The Orlando Hoops players stood on the court, watching.

Their opponents—the so-called weak team—were still fighting.

Lucas Graves, the benchwarmer turned playmaker, stood at the center of it all, grinning through exhaustion. His teammates, battered and struggling, refused to back down.

For a brief moment—just a second—Coach Guy Corson felt something.

A flicker of something buried deep inside him.

A memory.

Years ago, when he was just a teenager, playing ball in an old gym with scuffed wooden floors, broken rims, and no air-conditioning.

Back then, basketball was different.

It wasn't about scholarships.

It wasn't about sponsorships.

It wasn't about crushing weak teams just to look good.

It was just about playing.

Just you, the ball, and the game.

The sound of sneakers squeaking.

The ball bouncing against the floor.

The laughter. The trash talk.

Back then, winning wasn't everything.

It was about the love of the sport.

Coach Corson closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.

That world didn't exist anymore.

The old era was dead.

Now?

Basketball was survival.

No one played just for fun anymore.

If you weren't good enough—

If you weren't strong enough—

If you weren't born with talent—

You got left behind.

That was the reality now.

Corson opened his eyes, shaking off the nostalgia.

Those kids on Vorpal Basket?

They were too soft. 

Lucas Graves could smile all he wanted. Ethan Albarado could pass all he wanted.

But effort alone wasn't enough.

Because at the end of the day, talent crushed hard work.

Every. Single. Time.

He exhaled sharply, then turned toward his team.

Alec Storm. Mason Hayes. Julian Cross. Ethan Blake. Jaxon Wells.

His five elites.

The players handpicked to dominate.

They weren't playing to "have fun."

They were playing to win. 

Coach Corson's voice was calm, but firm.

"Stick to the plan."

No hesitation.

No questioning.

Just obedience.

"YES, COACH!!"

The gym shook with their unified response.

Alec Storm cracked his knuckles, his usual smirk returning.

Mason Hayes rolled his shoulders, eyes gleaming with intensity.

Julian Cross clenched his fists, already anticipating his next steal.

Ethan Blake's lips curled into a smirk, glancing toward the exhausted Ethan Albarado.

Jaxon Wells simply nodded.

Their movements were sharp. Precise.

A well-oiled machine.

Lucas Graves and Ethan Albarado may have ignited a fire in Vorpal Basket—

But Orlando Hoops?

They were a storm.

And the storm was about to wipe them out

…

Evan Cooper dribbled up the court, sweat dripping from his chin.

He could feel Alec's presence in front of him—watching, waiting.

Waiting for a mistake.

Alec Storm wasn't just fast.

He wasn't just skilled.

He was merciless.

And the moment Evan hesitated—just for a second—

SWIPE!

Alec lunged forward, hand slicing through the air, stealing the ball in a single, perfect motion.

He smirked, gripping the ball as he sprinted toward the basket.

"Too much distraction." he muttered under his breath.

But before he could push forward—

Tap.

The ball shifted.

Just a slight movement.

Not a full steal.

But enough to change everything.

Alec's smirk vanished.

"Shit—tip ball!!"

Ethan Albarado had read him.

Anticipated the steal.

Alec had the ball, but it wasn't fully in his control anymore.

And now—

It was loose.

The game exploded into chaos.

Bodies dived.

Shoes screeched across the polished floor.

Alec lunged for it.

Ethan Albarado lunged for it.

Julian Cross rushed in.

Ryan Taylor pushed forward.

The ball bounced wildly across the court.

For a split second, it was anyone's game.

Then—

A flash of gold.

Lucas Graves.

With insane reflexes, he snatched the ball mid-air, securing possession.

His fingers tightened around the leather as he landed, sneakers barely making a sound.

But he wasn't stopping.

He was already moving.

Dribbling.

Charging.

Straight down the court.

Alec turned—his mind racing.

"(He's fast!)"

Lucas wasn't just running.

He was flowing.

Smooth. Balanced.

His footwork—Alec recognized it immediately.

(Wait—)

And then—

It hit him.

Lucas wasn't just running.

He was mimicking.

The tension in the gym was palpable. The crowd's cheers blurred into a dull roar as Lucas Graves sprinted down the court, the basketball firmly in his grasp.

Alec Storm chased after him, his legs moving on instinct, but his mind—his mind was racing.

(This bastard… he can still mimic my moves? I thought he was tired!)

Lucas wasn't just running.

He was copying Alec's exact movements.

The way Alec dribbled. The way he shifted his weight. The way he moved his body—

It was identical.

Alec gritted his teeth, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

Alec's fingers twitched.

"Fuck it."

He surged forward, determined to shut this down.

…..

[Lucas POV]

My breath was coming in short gasps.

(Tsk… this is hard… my stamina…!)

Every muscle in my body was burning.

I knew this would happen.

Mimicking someone's skill was one thing.

But maintaining it? Executing it at full speed?

That was another story.

I felt my legs getting heavier.

My body slowing down.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself forward.

I had no choice.

I had to keep going.

Alec was right behind me.

(Just a little more… just a little longer… I have to…! )

I clenched the ball tighter, my vision tunneling toward the basket ahead.

This wasn't about skill anymore.

This was about who would break first.

As Lucas Graves pushed forward, his breath ragged, his vision tunneling on the defense ahead.

Then—

"HERE!!"

A sharp voice cut through the chaos.

Lucas's golden eyes flickered to the side.

Ethan Albarado.

Hand raised. Ready.

Lucas didn't hesitate.

A quick flick of the wrist—a bullet pass.

The ball sliced through the air.

Ethan caught it mid-stride, barely breaking momentum.

(Perfect.)

He surged forward, his dribble sharp, controlled.

But—

A looming shadow.

Jaxon Wells.

The Orlando center, built like a wall, stepped up to meet him.

"NOT ON MY WATCH!" Jaxon bellowed, his arms outstretched, ready to smother Ethan's drive.

Ethan's grip on the ball tightened.

He had expected this.

(I need to shift his focus—now.)

At the very last second—

A quick side step.

Jaxon reacted instantly, shifting with him.

Exactly as planned.

(Gotcha.)

As Jaxon committed to the block, Ethan's eyes flicked to the side.

There—wide open.

Brandon Young.

Jaxon had completely forgotten about him.

Ethan smirked.

A pinpoint bounce pass—straight to Brandon.

Brandon's hands gripped the ball tight, his eyes locked on the rim.

Ethan's voice boomed across the court.

"SLAM IT!!"

Brandon took a deep breath—then rose.

Higher.

Higher.

ABOVE JAXON.

And then—

BOOM!!!

A monstrous dunk.

The rim shook violently.

The crowd erupted.

The Vorpal bench jumped to their feet.

Even Lucas, still catching his breath, let out a sharp grin.

(Hell yeah, Brandon!)

Jaxon landed, his face twisting in frustration.

Alec Storm, watching from the three-point line, clicked his tongue.

(Damn it… that was clean.)

Even Coach Corson's brows furrowed slightly.

That pass. That movement. That setup.

Ethan Albarado wasn't just playing.

He was playing the game like a chess.

To be continue