CHAPTER 186: CHAPTER 173: THE DAY BEFORE THE STORM

Time: 1 Day Before the National Tournament Begins

The court echoed with the sound of bouncing balls and squeaking shoes. The air was heavy not with excitement, but with a strange tension. A tension that came from absence.

Ethan Albarado was not here.

No encouraging grin.

No steady voice saying, "We’re not losing today."

No warmth in the corner of the gym where he always stretched first.

And yet, his presence lingered.

Lucas Graves (#10) stood near half court, sweat on his brow, his yellow eyes narrowed with quiet focus. His black hair clung to his forehead, damp from the relentless drills they’d been doing for hours.

"Run it again," he called out, voice calm but firm. "No shortcuts."

The team nodded, exhausted but obedient. They were Vorpal, after all.

The Starters Without Ethan:

Lucas Graves (#10) – Small Forward, Power: Absolute Mimicry

Evan Cooper (#9) – Point Guard, quick thinker, team’s brain

Josh Turner (#8) – Shooting Guard, mid-range specialist

Ryan Taylor (#11) – Power Forward, gritty rebounder

Brandon Young (#15) – Center, team’s last wall of defense

Bench Players:

Aiden White (#7) – Versatile small forward

Louie Gee Davas (#5) – Guard/Shooter, known for fiery spirit

Kai Mendoza (#31) – Guard/Forward, high energy off the bench

Coonie Smith (#6) – Quick-footed guard, strong on steals

Jeremy Park (#42) – Forward, dependable and consistent

As Lucas passed the ball to Evan, he muttered under his breath:

"It’s not just about filling in for Ethan... It’s about proving we’re more than one star."

Evan, catching it, nodded.

"We move as one. That’s what he taught us."

Louie dribbled on the sideline, biting his lip. He wanted to say something—he always did—but this time he stayed quiet. He still remembered Lucas’s words when he offered to stay at the hospital:

"Let me... this time."

Louie saw those eyes again now, sharp and full of resolve.

..

Later that afternoon

The locker room had emptied out after training, leaving behind only the muffled echoes of sneakers and the faint smell of sweat. Jerseys hung neatly, shoes tucked beneath benches. The sunlight from the upper windows cast soft beams through the dust in the air.

Lucas Graves sat on the wooden bench, towel over his head, cooling off. His hands rested on his knees, fingers trembling slightly though whether from exertion or nerves, he wasn’t sure.

From the hallway, someone stepped in.

"Lucas."

He glanced up.

It was Ayumi Brooke, his childhood friend and now the manager of Vorpal Basket. Her ponytail swayed slightly as she walked in, clipboard hugged to her chest.

She stopped a few feet from him, hesitating before softly asking:

"Are you okay?... Are you feeling pressured?"

Lucas looked up, eyes tired but honest.

He gave a half-smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Well... I can’t say I didn’t."

He stood up slowly, the towel falling from his shoulders.

He looked straight into Ayumi’s eyes.

"I feel pressured... but then I realized—this is what Ethan feels. What he’s been carrying all this time."

Lucas’s voice lowered, more reflective now.

"Back then, Coach Fred was supposed to lead us... but you know how he is. Incompetent. Lazy-ass coach who probably sleeps more than he studies plays."

Ayumi giggled at that, despite herself.

Lucas smiled faintly.

"So Ethan stepped up. Changed everything. Changed us. He made us believe we could be more than benchwarmers and background characters. Hell, he even made you the manager."

Ayumi’s gaze softened. She stepped closer, her voice quieter.

"Yeah... I know."

She looked down for a moment, then back up at him.

"That’s why I’m thankful to him. Because of Ethan, this team feels... like a real team. Like real basketball players. Not just a school club."

Lucas nodded.

He took a breath, exhaled slowly, and added:

"They’ve changed a lot. We’ve all changed. Even Coach Fred... he’s trying now. Trying to be better. I think... Ethan pulled that out of all of us."

There was a pause. Just the hum of air conditioning and distant shoes squeaking outside the gym floor.

Then Ayumi smiled one of those warm, steady smiles that had helped Lucas through harder times.

"You’ll do fine, Lucas. You’re leading this team now. And Ethan... he’s going to be proud of you when he wakes up."

Lucas chuckled softly.

"He better wake up just in time to see us win."

They both looked toward the door, where sunlight filtered in like a spotlight.

Tomorrow... was the national stage.

And even in Ethan’s absence, his shadow guided their every step.

..

Meanwhile The Forest Basket locker room was a contrast to Vorpal’s. Quiet, clean, and almost meditative—like a temple before a war.

A tall boy stood in front of the whiteboard, arms folded.

Elijah Rainn (#4) – Point Guard, nicknamed "The Forest Watcher"

, leaned forward and stared at the diagrams the coach had drawn.

Behind him, his teammates laced up their shoes, some doing stretches, others meditating with headphones on. They moved with calm discipline—no wasted movements.

The Forest Basket team wasn’t just talented. They were calculated. Precise. Every member was handpicked from the Pacific Northwest’s finest middle school talents. Known for their Zone Defense and High-IQ Play, they were a machine that rarely broke rhythm.

Coach Nguyen walked in, holding a clipboard and a thermos of green tea. His gaze swept across his players with approval.

Coach Nguyen:

"Tomorrow, we face Vorpal. They’re scrappy. Fast. Hungry."

"But we? We’re patient. Composed. We let the storm come to us—and then we tame it."

Elijah nodded without looking back.

"Lucas Graves will be their key. Their wild card. If I’m right, he’s been holding back ever since Ethan Albarado went down."

Carter Lewis (#22) – Shooting Guard, leaned back on the bench, spinning a basketball on his finger.

"Tch. That kid mimics moves, right? What’s he gonna do? Copy all of us?"

Elijah replied coldly, still focused:

"He doesn’t need to copy all of us. Just the right one at the right time."

Silas Park (#10) – Center, cracked his knuckles.

"Doesn’t matter. We’re not built on flash. We’re built on rhythm. You stop one of us, another picks up the slack."

Coach Nguyen walked to the center of the room.

"Remember, Forest Basket doesn’t chase. We let them burn their energy. Then we cut off their air."

Elijah finally turned around.

"Tomorrow... the forest doesn’t fall. It watches. And strikes only when it has to."

As the team huddled, the soft sound of leaves rustling in the wind played from the locker room speaker—something Coach Nguyen always played before big games.

It wasn’t intimidation they thrived on.

It was control.

To be continue