CHAPTER 246: CHAPTER 233: SEMI-FINAL – VORPAL VS HARBOR KINGS

The gym smelled like polished wood, sweat, and adrenaline. Lights hung high, casting long shadows over the court. The bleachers were lined with students, coaches, and a few die-hard spectators, all buzzing with excitement. The national semi-finals had arrived, and the tension could have been sliced with a knife.

Ethan stood at midcourt, hands resting lightly on his knees as he bent forward, breathing steady. "(This is it. Semi-final. No room for error. Harbor isn’t just any team—they’re fast, creative, and ruthless. But I’ve been here before. We’ve trained for this. I know their tendencies, their traps... I just need to make sure my team moves as one.)"

Lucas bounced the ball lightly beside him, his signature sunlit grin struggling to mask the nervous energy in his body. "Ethan... are you calm? Because I feel like my chest is gonna explode from excitement and fear."

Ethan shook his head, letting out a low chuckle. "That’s good. Fear sharpens your senses. Just remember, it’s a game, and a game we’ll control."

Lucas nodded, then his eyes swept over the starting five of the Harbor Kings stretching on the opposite side. Jamal "Jet" Robinson was already darting through a series of quick cuts, his speed almost dizzying. Malik "Spin" Carter twisted through a baseline drill with ridiculous flair, his ball seemingly glued to his hands. Dante "The Sniper" Morales crouched low, eyes locked on a target, pulling up imaginary threes with mechanical precision. Terrence "Brick" Douglas and DeShawn "Skyline" Rivers were setting screens and rebounding, their movements deliberate, powerful, like two living walls ready to crush any Vorpal attack.

Ethan’s fingers itched with anticipation. "(Every movement is precise. Each player has their signature, their rhythm. Lucas... you’re key here. Observe, adapt, and exploit. We’ll need to dismantle their full-court press while keeping Jet in check.)"

Brandon, quiet as ever, stood behind Ethan, flexing his fingers and adjusting his jersey. "I’ll handle Brick. He won’t get the best of us inside. Just make sure the guards don’t get too crazy with the dribble."

Ryan, lounging with his usual confident smirk, elbowed Brandon lightly. "Relax, big man. I’ve got the outside covered. If I miss a three, blame me, not the rest of the team."

Louie practically vibrated on the spot, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yeah! Let’s show them what Vorpal is made of! Ethan! Lucas! Let’s gooo!"

Ethan raised a hand. "Calm down. Energy is good, but control it. We need precision over chaos. Remember, Harbor thrives on exploiting mistakes."

Kai Mendoza waved cheerily from the bench. "We believe in you guys! You’ve got this!"

Josh Turner tightened the straps of his sneakers. "Time to test everything we’ve drilled. No shortcuts."

Coonie smirked, crossing his arms. "I’ll be the voice of sarcasm and truth on the bench. Don’t disappoint me, starters."

Jeremy nodded in agreement. "We’re right here if you need us. Let’s make it count."

Ayumi Brooke, standing near the scorer’s table, gave Lucas a reassuring nod. "Lucas, keep your focus. Ethan trusts you. Trust yourself too."

Coach Fred Mason paced along the sideline, clipboard clutched tightly. His usual uncertain demeanor was tempered by respect for Ethan’s strategy. "Alright, team... trust the plan. Follow Ethan’s lead. I’m counting on you all to execute perfectly."

On the other side, Mrs. Sora Nakamura watched her team with hawk-like intensity. Her eyes flicked between Jamal’s blinding speed, Dante’s lethal accuracy, Malik’s unpredictable creativity, and the solid posts of Brick and Skyline. "Rule the Court, Rule the Harbor," she murmured under her breath. "Vorpal Basket... they may have genius on their side, but we have chaos, speed, and instinct. Let’s see if their brilliance can survive the storm."

Jamal jogged over to her briefly. "Coach... you think we’re ready? Semi-final nerves hitting me a little."

Sora smirked, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Jet... you were born ready. Just play like you do in the gym. Trust your instincts. Trust your team. That’s how we win."

Back on the Vorpal side, Lucas whispered to Ethan. "I feel it... Harbor’s energy. They’re on another level. But, uh... we can match it, right?"

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. "We will match it. Every team has a rhythm. Every signature move can be countered. Harbor’s speed is impressive, but predictable if we watch carefully. And that’s my job and yours, Lucas to adapt and dictate."

The referees blew their whistles, signaling the start of warm-ups. Balls bounced and squeaked, sneakers squealed, and the two teams moved in mirrored drills. Ethan’s mind raced, already calculating spacing, timing, and sequences. "(Dante’s range... Malik’s unpredictability... Brick and Skyline forming an impenetrable wall. Jet’s speed alone could tear gaps if we misstep. But our coordination is sharper. We’ve trained for chaos. We’ll bend it to our favor.)"

Brandon clapped Ryan on the back. "You ready for the press? They’re fast and slippery."

Ryan smirked, spinning the ball on one finger. "Born ready. Let’s make it interesting."

Evan Cooper called out, clipboard in hand during a quick huddle. "Remember, starters: we control tempo. We bait them, break their press, force mismatches. Ethan’s reads are our eyes. Trust the system."

Ethan met everyone’s gaze, the weight of expectation settling on his shoulders, but not burdening him. "(We’ve come too far to falter now. Every pass, every cut, every shot will be intentional. Harbor is fast... but we’re precise. We’re ready.)"

The scoreboard flashed 0:00 on the clock for warm-ups. The gym went silent, anticipation thick. Harbor’s starting five lined up on one side; Vorpal’s on the other.

Sora Nakamura called out, "Remember our motto: Rule the Court, Rule the Harbor. Let’s make them regret underestimating us."

Coach Fred raised his hand and gestured to his team. "Trust Ethan. Follow Lucas. Every play, every sequence... it’s our advantage. This is the semi-final. Make it ours."

Ethan inhaled deeply, fists clenched at his sides. "(This is more than a game. This is our statement. Let’s go.)"

Lucas bounced the ball one last time, grin bright but eyes serious. "Let’s do this, Ethan. Together."

"Together," Ethan echoed. And with that, the whistle blew—the semi-final had begun.

The hardwood gleamed under the gym lights, reflecting the intensity in every player’s eyes. Ethan, Lucas, Ryan, Evan, and Brandon stood side by side at midcourt, the weight of the semi-final pressing on their shoulders. The crowd’s chatter faded into a dull roar, each spectator’s anticipation tightening the air.

Ethan’s eyes swept over the Harbor Kings’ starting five across the circle—Jamal’s grin, Dante’s calm focus, Malik’s mischief in his stance, Brick’s solid bulk, and Skyline’s poised readiness. "(They’re ready... we’re ready. No distractions. Every decision counts. Every step precise.)"

Lucas bounced the ball lightly, his shoulders tense, a rare flicker of nerves betraying his usually sunny disposition. "Ethan... we’ve done the work. We’ve trained. We can handle this, right?"

Ethan’s lips curled into a faint smile, confidence radiating from his posture. "We don’t hope for it, Lucas. We execute. Just watch the opening play, anticipate, and flow with it. The rest... follows."

Ryan stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles. "Let’s make this fun. Or at least, let’s not get embarrassed in front of these guys. I refuse to cry today."

Brandon’s eyes narrowed, scanning Harbor’s formation. "Brick and Skyline are strong, but slow off the first move. If we can bait Jet and Malik early, we might create an opening."

Evan tapped the floor with his finger, calculating silently. "Tip-off is everything. Whoever controls it can dictate tempo for the first possession. Harbor’s fast—catching them off-guard here is key."

The referee lifted the ball, holding it high. "Tip-off!"

The world seemed to shrink around Ethan as he crouched, muscles coiled. Across him, Jamal mirrored his stance, eyes sharp as a predator. Lucas, Ryan, Evan, and Brandon tensed like five perfectly aligned springs, ready to unleash.

The ball dropped. Both Ethan and Jamal leapt, arms stretching, fingertips grazing the leather. The ball arced upward, spinning, caught in the center of gravity for a heartbeat that stretched into eternity.

Ethan’s heart pounded in rhythm with the bounce. "(Here we go. First possession... don’t misstep.)"

The tip-off bounced high, both teams jostling for position. Brandon lunged forward, brushing against Brick, while Evan sidestepped Dante, keeping a clear path for Lucas. Ethan’s eyes never left the ball as it spun toward him—and then it fell perfectly into his hands.

"Got it," he muttered under his breath, the first possession theirs.

Lucas immediately moved to set up a screen, sliding to protect Ethan as the small forward surveyed the court. Ryan sprinted to the wing, positioning himself for a quick outlet. The crowd roared, sensing the instant intensity.

Across the circle, Harbor’s guards reacted instantly. Jamal charged, feet moving like lightning, trying to force Ethan into a mistake. Malik slid into the lane, ready to intercept a pass. Dante raised his hands, anticipation sharp in every twitch.

Ethan pivoted, scanning his teammates. "(Ryan on the wing, Lucas ready for the screen... Evan, you can control the pace. Brandon, make your move in the paint.)"

With a swift motion, Ethan dribbled, stepping around Jamal’s defensive press. "(First strike. Let’s see how they respond.)"

The semi-final had officially begun, each second a heartbeat of strategy, speed, and raw determination. The gym seemed to hold its breath as Vorpal and Harbor collided in the opening moments, the tip-off having set the stage for a battle that would test every ounce of skill, instinct, and courage.

"(This is it. Every move matters. Every pass counts.)" Ethan thought, muscles tense, mind razor-sharp, as he prepared to lead his team into the storm.

To be continue