CHAPTER 248: CHAPTER 235: VORPAL VS HARBOR KINGS (2)

The ball spun like a coin through light, carving a thin line over the collapsing trap.

(Corner or lift? Corner or lift—now!)

Lucas sprang out of his flare like a slingshot, heels kissing the sideline. Evan ghosted up off Brandon’s screen, hands ready. Malik pivoted to split the difference, one arm to the corner, one eye on the lift.

Ethan’s pass snapped to the corner.

Lucas caught it chest-high.

Jet whirled.

Clamps launched.

Dante screamed from the wing. "HAND UP!"

Lucas didn’t blink. (Ray Allen corner footwork—plant, pop, no dip.) Absolute Mimicry clicked; his feet set before the ball even met his fingers. He rose into a lightning-quick catch-and-shoot, release high, clean, ruthless.

The net quivered like someone plucked a harp string.

SWISH.

23–20, Vorpal. 2:57.

The gym detonated. Louie leapt so high he almost tackled Kai. "LET’S GO, MASTER LUCAS!"

Ayumi cupped her hands, cheeks flushed. "Beautiful shot!"

Coach Fred pumped a fist. "Balance back! Talk the matchups!"

Sora Nakamura barely blinked. A sharp chop of her hand already onto the next move. "Flow break! Jet, drag high! Skyline, vertical!"

Harbor’s inbound was a blur. Jet tore up the sideline, ball on a yo-yo string. DeShawn "Skyline" Rivers sprinted from block to block, then up the gut, a tower sliding on rails. Brick rumbled into Brandon’s chest to gum up the backline.

Jet changed speeds once, twice then skated into a high drag screen. Ethan called it out. "UP! ICE LEFT!" Brandon hedged just enough to stall, showing size, hands wide. Jet slipped the angle, tiny pocket bounce at the arc of Brandon’s reach.

Skyline caught and vaulted in the same motion, a skyscraper eating sky.

Brandon launched late fingertips grazing only air.

WHAM.

23–22. 2:39.

"Answer," Ethan said softly, already waving Evan to the middle, Ryan to the dunker spot. The press swarmed. Clamps chest-to-chest, Jet shading the hip, Malik lurking like a pickpocket.

(They’re jumping the first pass. Bait. Reverse. Cut the middle.)

Ethan jabbed as if swinging it to Lucas. Both Jet and Clamps hopped a half-step. The ball never left his hand. He snapped it backward to Evan, who knifed through the soft belly of the press.

Evan’s eyes flashed. "Middle’s ours."

Two long strides, then a sudden stop defender on skates. A one-hand shove pass to Ryan rumbling into the lane off Brandon’s brush.

Ryan caught, took contact from Brick, and kissed it high off glass.

25–22, Vorpal. 2:20.

Brick clapped angrily, palms echoing. "Body up! No free lanes!"

Ryan jogged back with a grin. "Love you too, big guy."

Harbor punched back instantly. Jet didn’t even call for a set—he snapped a pitch to Dante trailing on the wing. Dante’s feet pattered into rhythm, the Harbor Splash loading like a spring.

(Too comfy.) Evan flew with a high hand. Dante didn’t care—one dribble, side step, release over the contest.

Strings.

25–25. 1:58.

Sora’s voice cut the air. "Live on the upswitch! Spin, find the pocket!"

Malik "Spin" Carter got frisky. On the next dead ball he clapped at Ethan. "Dance with me, genius."

Ethan’s only answer was a nod. (Then dance.)

Vorpal set a horns look—Brandon at the left elbow, Ryan at the right, Lucas crossing Iverson-style across both screens. Ethan dribbled slow, heartbeat steady, then burst right off Brandon, planted, snapped left off Ryan. The switches tangled. Dante and Clamps bumped; Brick hesitated to help.

(Window.) Ethan zipped a dart to Lucas curling top. Lucas caught, one rhythm dribble, skidded to a stop.

(Dirk one-leg.) He flowed into a leaning fade, knee up, arc moon-high.

27–25, Vorpal. 1:34.

The press came back with teeth. Jet set a brush screen for himself with a sly shoulder, then shredded downhill. Lucas mirrored, steering him to Brandon’s shadow.

Jet fired a pass at an impossible angle through Ethan’s elbow, along Brandon’s hip—to Malik, who was already spinning.

Midair pirouette. Brooklyn Spin. Switch to the left. Kiss. In.

27–27. 1:12.

"Settle!" Ethan chopped his hand. The roar pressed on his eardrums, but the film rolled in his head anyway. (They’re hyper-rotating on Lucas. Use him as gravity, not endpoint.)

He pointed Lucas deep to the weak corner, then lifted Evan high and wide false spacing. Ryan drifted to the slot, Brandon anchoring.

Ethan lured Clamps two steps toward Lucas with a look-off, then slashed opposite. Jet stuck like glue. Ethan decelerated to a crawl, then crossed so low the ball skimmed the floorboards.

Jet twitched. Ethan stutter-stepped. (Now.) He edged his shoulder under Jet’s chest, won the inside line by a whisper, and tossed a looping floater before Skyline could rise.

It fell like a feather.

29–27, Vorpal. 0:56.

Harbor didn’t blink. Sora touched two fingers to her temple: "Ghost stagger." Dante weaved through a double pin. Evan fought like a net in a storm—over, under, reattach—still a half step late. Dante caught at 28 feet and fired.

Back iron. Pop.

Skyline devoured the board above three hands and spiked it through.

29–29. 0:39.

Louie barked from the bench, cupping his mouth. "OWN THE LAST 40!"

Ayumi’s hands twisted at her clipboard. (Stay clean, Ethan. One more perfect read.)

Ethan jogged it up, chin raised. (Two-for-one’s dead. Control the shot-clock. Make them guard to zero.)

He set the chessboard: Evan in the weakside corner, Lucas in the strongside slot, Ryan low, Brandon high. He dribbled, retreated, advanced, tugging Harbor’s shell an inch at a time. Jet’s breath hot at his shoulder. Clamps inching to pounce. Brick shading Brandon. Skyline poised like a coiled spring.

"Ten!" Coach Fred counted.

Ethan slid left off Brandon. Nothing. Re-screen snake back right. Jet rode the hip. Ethan paused mid-lane head fake, ball fake, shoulder fake. The defense hiccuped.

He slung a behind-the-head pass to no one.

Except it wasn’t to no one. Ryan had ghosted the dunker spot the moment Skyline leaned.

He appeared like a magic trick, hands soft, and scooped it off the bounce up and under Skyline’s arm.

Glass. Drop.

31–29, Vorpal. 0:08.

The gym cracked open.

Lucas smacked Ethan’s shoulder. "Filthy."

Ethan exhaled once. (One more stop.)

Harbor sprinted the outlet. Jet was a whipcrack through midcourt, eight seconds enough for forever in his hands. He surged right, crossed left, then snapped back right again—Lucas stuck to him like static. Jet flipped a late pass to Dante, who shoveled it on to Malik streaking the sideline.

"Two!" Sora barked.

Malik didn’t have a lane, he made one. He euro-stepped around Evan, shoulders carving an S. Brandon rotated, arms high. Malik tossed a high kiss that sailed over Brandon’s fingertips.

CLANG. Back iron. The ball bloomed up.

Skyline rose again only this time Brandon did too, timing like a metronome. (I’ve got your rhythm now.) He met Skyline at the top and swatted the tip-out straight to Ethan.

"TIME!" the horn blared.

But the ball had already touched Ethan’s palm. One dribble. He unfurled a three-quarter-court heave, the arc a comet tail under the rafters.

Silence swallowed the gym.

It tracked... tracked... then drifted a breath left and thudded off the backboard as the buzzer screamed alive.

Gasps. Groans. Laughter breaking the tension.

Ethan let out a hand-on-knee chuckle. Lucas jogged over, grinning. "If that went in, we end the Chapter right there."

Ethan smirked. "We don’t need miracles."

Scoreboard: Vorpal 31 – Harbor 29.

End of the first-quarter storm, with three minutes earlier having lit the fuse and the last sixty seconds proving neither side would blink first.

On the Harbor sideline, Sora’s eyes were flint. "Adjustments on the quarter. Top-lock Lucas. Shade Ethan’s strong hand. Skyline: earlier verticals."

On Vorpal’s, Coach Fred glanced at Ethan, a question without words. Ethan nodded once. (We’ve got the rhythm. Now we press the advantage.)

The benches rose. The crowd roared. And between them, two teams stood in the thin air of a game that already felt like a final.

Charlotte Graves leaned forward in her seat, elbows on her knees, eyes sharp as a hawk tracking prey.

"(You better win this game, Ethan...)" she thought, her grip tightening on the railing in front of her.

Her team crowded around, each girl reacting differently to the furious pace below.

Izzy Moreno whistled low. "Yo... Lucas just pulled a Ray Allen corner three. Clean. That’s nasty."

Charlotte didn’t glance at her, eyes still locked. "Focus on the bigger picture. Harbor adjusts quick. It’s a war of counters."

Lena Kowalski smirked, leaning back casually. "Still. Lucas might be a problem for Harbor’s wings. If I were down there, I’d jam him before he even touched the ball." She punched her palm, eager.

Sakura Tanaka’s voice carried a mix of excitement and respect. "Look at Brandon down there battling Skyline. He’s giving up height, but the guy’s timing? Unreal. Reminds me of Carmen in the paint."

Carmen Delgado snorted, arms crossed. "Please. Skyline might be tall, but he’s sloppy on box-outs. I’d eat him alive on rebounds."

The bench chimed in as Harbor’s Jamal "Jet" sliced through the defense.

Mina El-Sayed leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "That speed. He’s basically a blur. How do you even stay in front of that?"

Jasmine Williams grinned, spinning an imaginary ball on her finger. "Oh, I’d cook him in transition. Speed against speed. Let’s go."

Natalie "Nattie" Carter gasped as Ethan threaded a no-look dime to Ryan for a finish.

"That pass... that’s surgical. He didn’t even look! Ethan’s got vision for days."

Eva Johansson, ever calm, adjusted her glasses and murmured, "It’s not just vision. It’s calculated. He reads two plays ahead. That’s not luck—it’s mastery."

Clara van der Meer stretched her long legs out, watching Skyline and Brick hammer the paint. "Mm. Bodies are flying, but nobody’s putting fear in them. If I was out there, those Harbor bigs wouldn’t dare crash so free."

The girls burst out laughing as Ryan winked at the crowd after finishing a tough layup.

Izzy shook her head. "Look at that playboy act. How does Ethan even deal with him?"

Charlotte’s lips twitched upward just for a second. "Brandon deals with him. That’s why it works."

Then Harbor answered with a dunk from Skyline. The roar shook the stands.

Charlotte clenched her fists. "(No... keep your composure. Don’t let them steal the rhythm.)"

Sakura glanced sideways at her captain. "Charlotte, you’re sweating. You okay?"

Charlotte quickly waved her off, cheeks faintly pink. "Just... watching closely. That’s all."

But inside, her heart thumped harder than she wanted to admit.

"(Ethan... if you lose here, everything ends. But if you win... the finals, the Grand Arena—it’s yours to claim. So don’t falter now.)"

To be continue