Chapter 19: Offensive Tactics

[4th Quarter – 8:40 Remaining]

[Score Update:]

Orlando Hoops – 76

Vorpal Basket – 70

Alec Storm dribbled up the court, his sharp eyes scanning the defense.

He could feel the tension.

The momentum was shifting.

Vorpal Basket was creeping closer, and the crowd knew it.

But Alec wasn't worried.

He smirked, tightening his grip on the ball.

"(Time to execute the plan.)"

Coach Corson's voice echoed in his mind.

"Plan B. If things get rough, we're running Iso & Superstar-Centered Plays. We take the ball out of their hands and slow the game down."

Alec nodded to himself.

"(That's right. Keep control. Make them play at our pace.)"

He raised his hand, signaling the formation.

Four Orlando players spread out along the perimeter.

One at each wing. One in the corner. One up top.

Leaving Alec completely alone at the top of the key.

1-4 High Isolation.

A formation designed for elite scorers.

A play specifically designed for elite scorers.

Alec smirked, dribbling the ball slowly, watching Lucas Graves in front of him.

Lucas had been insane tonight.

His Absolute Mimicry had stolen the spotlight.

But Alec could see it.

The exhaustion creeping into his legs.

His breathing was sharp, forced.

Lucas was still locked in—but for how much longer?

Alec bounced the ball between his legs, swaying back and forth.

No rush.

No panic.

Let them sweat.

Let them think they still had momentum.

Lucas narrowed his eyes, lowering his stance.

Alec saw it immediately.

"(He's biting. Good.)"

Alec jab-stepped right.

Lucas twitched.

Alec immediately snapped left.

Lucas reacted—but it was too late.

Separation.

Alec took a step back, rising for a mid-range jumper.

Perfect shot. Perfect release.

The ball arced high—

Swish.

Bucket.

The gym erupted.

Coach Corson smirked. "(That's it. Stick to the plan.)"

[Score Update:]

Orlando Hoops – 78

Vorpal Basket – 70

...…

[Ethan side]

Ethan didn't react.

Didn't flinch.

He just watched.

Studied.

His blue eyes scanned every movement.

Every spacing choice.

Every hesitation Alec used to set up that shot.

"(So this is your plan Coach…)"

1-4 High Isolation.

A play designed to completely control the pace.

To drain the clock.

To let an elite scorer dictate every possession.

Ethan exhaled slowly. "(They're trying to kill our momentum.)"

This wasn't about just scoring.

This was about control.

And Alec Storm?

He was damn good at it.

Ethan turned his head slightly, looking at Lucas.

Lucas was still standing tall, still looking sharp—

But Ethan knew the truth.

"(He's getting tired… At this rate, he won't last the full quarter.)"

Ethan wiped the sweat off his forehead, his mind racing.

He glanced at the scoreboard.

8 points down.

Still possible.

Still winnable.

But if they let Orlando keep dictating the pace like this—

It was over.

Ethan clenched his fists. "(I need a counter for this. Fast.)"

….

[4th Quarter – 8:10 Remaining]

[Score Update:]

Orlando Hoops – 78

Vorpal Basket – 70

…..

3rd POV

Evan Cooper dribbled up the court, his mind sharp, his body tense.

Vorpal needed to score.

They couldn't let Orlando slow the game down.

As he crossed half-court, he glanced toward Ethan Albarado.

Ethan was focused—deep in thought, analyzing the court.

But before Ethan could speak—

"IN THE ZONE!!"

Alec Storm's voice cut through the gym like a gunshot.

Everything shifted.

Orlando Hoops suddenly collapsed into formation—

A 1-3-1 Zone Defense.

Alec Storm: At the top, pressuring the ball.

Julian Cross, Mason Hayes, Ethan Blake: A wall across the middle, cutting off passing lanes.

Jaxon Wells: A monster waiting under the rim.

A defensive wall.

Designed to trap. To suffocate. To kill momentum.

Evan's eyes widened.

"(Shit—this isn't normal defense!)"

Alec lunged at him immediately.

Fast. Aggressive. Suffocating.

Evan's dribble became shaky.

The pressure was insane.

Alec's feet danced in front of him, never giving him space, cutting off his angles.

"(Damn it—how do I pass through this?!)"

...

[Ethan Albarado POV]

Ethan's stomach dropped.

The court looked different now.

The usual spacing? Gone.

The usual passing lanes? Cut off.

This wasn't just a zone.

This was a trap.

"(Shit—what is this?)"

His eyes scanned the floor, absorbing everything.

Alec up top—hounding Evan.

Mason and Julian shifting side to side—covering the wings.

Ethan Blake standing like a wall—blocking the middle.

And Jaxon Wells?

Waiting.

Like a predator at the rim.

Ethan exhaled sharply.

"(This isn't a normal 1-3-1.)"

It was faster. More fluid. More dangerous.

Coach Corson smirked from the sidelines.

"(It's working.)"

Because this wasn't just any 1-3-1 Zone.

It was a modified version.

The "Trap & Chaos" Zone.

The goal?

Force panic.

Force mistakes.

Force turnovers.

"Damn it—there must be something!" Ethan thought, his mind racing.

Evan was running out of time.

The trap was closing in.

Mason stepped up.

Julian stepped up.

Evan was surrounded.

No escape.

Alec's smirk widened. "Turn it over, Cooper."

Evan gritted his teeth.

Ethan's eyes flickered.

Then—

He saw it.

A small gap. A split second. A single weak spot.

"(THERE!)"

Ethan sprinted forward.

"EVAN! HERE!"

Evan's hands moved instinctively.

A sharp, desperate pass—firing toward Ethan.

Alec lunged—

Too late.

Ethan caught it clean.

But the moment he caught it, the trap collapsed on him.

Alec Storm snapped forward, his arms stretched wide, cutting off Ethan's view of the court.

Julian Cross and Mason Hayes closed in from the sides, boxing him in.

Ethan's instincts screamed at him—move!

He tried to dribble left—blocked.

He tried to spin right—walled off.

"(What—?!)"

Ethan had never felt pressure like this before.

Every time he moved, Orlando's defense shifted instantly.

"(They're reacting before I can even do anything?! How?!)"

Ethan's grip on the ball tightened.

The shot clock ticked down.

10 seconds.

Ethan faked left—nothing.

He faked a pass—still nothing.

Alec smirked, eyes sharp. "You're stuck, rookie."

"(Damn it—I need an opening!)"

8 seconds.

He spotted Lucas Graves cutting toward the wing.

Lucas raised his hands, calling for it.

Ethan whipped a pass—

Mason Hayes intercepted it.

"Tsk—!"

The ball was gone.

Mason immediately pushed forward, starting a fast break.

Ethan sprinted back.

Lucas chased after Mason—but Julian Cross was already running beside him.

Mason passed—Julian caught it clean.

Lucas lunged, trying to block him—

Too late.

Julian rose into the air, a perfect mid-air adjustment—and slammed it down.

BOOM!

The rim shook violently.

The crowd erupted.

"JULIAN CROSS WITH THE FAST BREAK SLAM!!!"

[Score Update:]

Orlando Hoops – 82

Vorpal Basket – 70

Lucas gritted his teeth as he landed.

He had read that move—but he was still too slow.

...

Ethan Albarado POV

"(Damn it.)"

I wiped the sweat off my face.

This wasn't just a normal defense.

This was a trap. A perfect suffocating wall.

Alec and the others were forcing us into bad passes.

The moment we tried to move—they cut us off.

And the worst part?

They were reading us.

Every mistake we made, they were one step ahead.

I looked at Coach Corson on the Orlando bench.

He wasn't shouting.

He wasn't panicking.

He was watching.

Studying.

"(He knows we haven't figured it out yet…)"

A sharp whistle snapped me out of my thoughts.

Vorpal had possession again.

Evan Cooper inbounded the ball—straight to me.

I caught it.

The trap collapsed instantly.

"(Shit—already?!)"

Alec pressed up against me.

Julian and Mason covered the passing lanes.

I tried to break through—nowhere to go.

"Move it." Alec's voice was low, mocking.

I gritted my teeth.

"(I need to pass—NOW!)"

I spotted Ryan Taylor open near the free-throw line.

A sharp pass—but too slow.

Ethan Blake stole it.

"(NO—!)"

Orlando pushed forward again.

Fast break.

Mason to Julian—Julian to Jaxon Wells.

Jaxon grabbed the ball inside the paint—

And slammed it down.

BOOM!

"JAXON WELLS WITH THE POWER DUNK!!!"

The gym exploded.

[Score Update:]

Orlando Hoops – 84

Vorpal Basket – 70

"(Shit—!)"

I turned around and saw Lucas panting, hands on his knees.

Ryan clenched his fists.

Evan ran his hands through his hair.

The bench players were silent.

For the first time…it felt like we were drowning.

I could hear Coach Mason's stupid voice yelling from the sidelines.

"Calm down! Pass the ball! Stop forcing it!"

Tsk. As if he knows anything.

The ref handed Evan the ball for another inbound.

This time, he passed to Lucas instead of me.

Lucas dribbled up…but the trap collapsed on him too.

Lucas tried to escape, spinning to his right…but Julian was already there.

Steal.

"(Again?!)"

Julian fired the ball down the court…straight to Alec Storm.

Alec caught it smoothly.

A perfect rhythm jumper.

Swish.

[Score Update:]

Orlando Hoops – 86

Vorpal Basket – 70

The gap was getting wider.

We hadn't scored since the start of the quarter.

"(This is bad…)"

I forced myself to breathe.

To think.

I glanced at Lucas.

His golden eyes were shaking.

"(He's starting to feel it too…)"

Alec jogged back on defense, his smirk widening.

"You guys done yet?"

I clenched my fists.

No.

We weren't done.

But if we didn't figure this out now—

We would be.

"(Come on, Ethan. THINK!)"

What was the weakness?

How did we break through this zone?

I took a deep breath.

7:10 remaining.

We had time.

But not much.

And if we didn't stop them soon—

It would be over.

…

Bench POV – Vorpal Basket

Coonie Smith leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His jaw was clenched so tight it hurt.

"(Shit… What the hell are we doing?)"

The energy they had at the end of the third quarter—gone.

The momentum? Crushed.

Orlando Hoops was toying with them.

Ethan Albarado and Lucas Graves had changed the game when they first checked in.

But now?

Now it looked like Orlando was dragging them back to reality.

"Damn it, do something!" Coonie muttered under his breath, gripping his jersey.

Next to him, Jeremy Park exhaled sharply. His face was unreadable, but his fists were curled into tight balls.

Kai Mendoza sat beside them, rubbing his face with both hands

.

"They're shutting us down." Kai said quietly.

Coonie clicked his tongue. "Yeah, no shit."

Jeremy leaned forward. "They need a plan. Fast."

Coonie didn't respond.

Because he knew the truth.

If Ethan and Lucas didn't figure something out soon—

This game would be over.

And they'd be just another team Orlando Hoops crushed under their feet.

....

Coach Fred Mason POV

Coach Mason stood stiffly on the sidelines, arms crossed.

His foot tapped against the wooden floor—faster than usual.

"(Shit, shit, shit…)"

The lead was growing.

Orlando had locked them down completely.

He turned his gaze toward Ethan.

Ethan Albarado.

The wild card. The brat who had somehow gotten them back into this game in the first place.

But now?

Now even Ethan was struggling.

"(What the hell is this defense?)"

It was too coordinated. Too suffocating.

And the worst part?

He had no answer.

"(Damn it, do something, kid…)"

The moment those words entered his head, Coach Mason froze.

Wait.

Was he really relying on a damn benchwarmer to save the game?

His stomach churned.

He knew he wasn't a real coach.

He didn't study plays. He make mediocre strategies.

He just… sat back and let things happen.

And now?

Now, he was praying that Ethan Albarado...a player he had never even given a chance before—would fix everything.

"Damn it." He muttered under his breath.

Because he knew the truth.

If Ethan didn't fix this—

He sure as hell wasn't going to.

To be continue