CHAPTER 251: CHAPTER 238: VORPAL VS HARBOR KINGS (5)

The scoreboard glared like a warning light.

Vorpal 49 – Harbor 43.

The whistle shrieked, and Harbor’s timeout ended with a crack of tension. Players rose from the bench, their faces streaked with sweat and fury.

Mrs. Sora Nakamura didn’t flinch. She stood straight-backed, sharp eyes sweeping through her squad like blades slicing smoke. Her voice came cold and unforgiving, each word cracking over the roar of the gym:

"Starters, sit. Bench—this is your moment. Guyz... ISO."

Gasps rippled through the bleachers. Even Harbor’s own crowd stuttered in disbelief.

Jet blinked hard. "Coach... you’re benching us?"

Sora didn’t so much as glance at him. "You’ve been mirrored, stripped, and humiliated. Lucas Graves has stolen your game. Sit. Watch. Learn."

The words cut deeper than any loss. Dante cursed under his breath. Malik hurled his towel against the hardwood. Brick’s growl shook his chest. DeShawn shook his head like he’d been slapped. But none of them dared challenge her.

Instead, five fresh bodies stood. Hungry. Unproven. Their eyes gleamed like knives pulled from sheaths.

Andre "Slick" Vasquez spun the ball behind his back, smirking. "Finally. Showtime."

Corey "Rhythm" Banks rolled his shoulders, voice calm as thunder before rain. "Two dribbles. One pull-up. That’s all I need."

Isaiah "Clamps" Lee clenched his fists, gaze locked on Lucas like a predator marking prey. "That sunshine smile? I’ll smother it until it dies."

Dominic "Diesel" Brown slapped his chest twice, muscles bulging. "Board Crusher’s here. The paint is mine."

Khalil "Wave" Johnson twirled his wrist, grin wide as the tide. "Shoot near me, and I’ll send it back to the ocean."

Sora’s voice thundered over the storm of the crowd.

"Iso ball. Attack. Make them feel it. Show Vorpal the depth of Harbor."

The subs checked in. The gym shifted, atmosphere tilting heavy, like the air before a hurricane.

On the Vorpal bench, Ethan’s eyes narrowed. His heartbeat barely moved, but his thoughts hit sharp as a knife.

(She’s resetting the rhythm. Fresh legs. Chaos turned into killers. Iso play—deadly. They’ll pick us apart one by one.)

Beside him, Ayumi leaned in, her clipboard trembling in her grip. "Ethan... can Vorpal’s lineup hold against that?"

His jaw tightened. "They’ll have to. Lucas, especially. Clamps is coming for him."

The ball rolled in. Harbor’s second wave began.

Slick Vasquez strutted the ball upcourt, his dribble a hypnotic sway of hips and wrists. Louie squared him up, feet bouncing, voice loud as ever.

"Come on, snake boy! I got you! You ain’t slithering past me!"

Slick’s grin widened. "Cute. But you’ll be crawling in three seconds."

Then, venom. His Cobra Cross snapped out, hesitation into crossover so sharp it carved Louie’s balance in half. Louie stumbled, reaching at air. The crowd howled as Slick slipped into the lane.

Brandon rotated late, arms high, but too slow. Slick scooped it high, ball kissing the glass before dropping clean.

Swish.

Vorpal 49 – Harbor 45.

Louie slapped the hardwood, red-faced. "Dang it! He broke my ankles!"

From the bench, Ethan whispered, almost inaudible:

"Louie. Don’t panic. Stick to fundamentals. Slick feeds on overcommitment."

Next possession—Vorpal. The ball swung to Lucas on the wing. He caught it, dribbling once, twice.

And then he was there.

Clamps Lee slid into his space, chest firm, eyes unblinking.

"You’re not stealing me," Clamps muttered. "You’re not even moving."

Lucas’s sunshine grin flashed. "Then watch me move, big guy."

He jab-stepped, but Clamps mirrored, no space given. He spun cut off. He faked Dante’s flare—swallowed whole. Every breath was smothered, every dribble answered.

(What the—he’s reading me? No... he’s erasing me. I can’t breathe. Can’t move.) Sweat streaked his temple.

The clock bled down. 7... 6... 5...

Desperate, Lucas swung it to Josh. A contested jumper at the horn.

Clang.

The rebound never stood a chance. Diesel Brown rose like a hammer, palming it with one hand. He slammed his chest with the other. "MY HOUSE!"

The Harbor crowd detonated, chanting his name.

Diesel ripped it out to Corey "Rhythm" Banks. The gym hushed like it knew.

One dribble. Smooth.

Second dribble. Calm.

Rise. Midrange pull-up, silky as a whisper.

Swish.

Vorpal 49 – Harbor 47.

Ayumi’s knuckles whitened around her clipboard. "They’re... already closing the gap."

Ethan didn’t blink. (Sora replaced chaos with killers. Lockdown defense, muscle, iso scorers. Lucas can’t mirror them all—not yet. And Clamps? He’s built to choke him out. This is Harbor’s real adjustment. This is war.)

Vorpal pressed again. Evan pushed pace, hitting Aiden on the wing. Aiden drove strong, but Wave Johnson slid across. His timing? Perfect.

BANG! The block echoed like thunder. Wave swatted the layup into the bleachers, ball sailing like driftwood.

The Harbor bench exploded: "WAVE!! WAVE!!"

Wave pointed to the crowd, grin wide, hand surfing the air. "Tide’s rising, baby!"

Lucas clenched his fists, golden eyes glimmering. His grin faltered for the first time, replaced by grit.

(No. I won’t break. I can’t break. You think I’m done? Fine. I’ll find the cracks. I’ll copy every last one of you, until the chains snap. No matter how tight you hold me, I’ll shine through.)

He slapped the floor, calling for the ball again. Clamps was already there, chest-to-chest, breath hot, eyes merciless.

The gym screamed as the duel reset.

Now, it wasn’t just Harbor vs Vorpal.

It was Harbor’s second wave against Vorpal’s very soul.

As Lucas dribbled at the top of the arc, golden eyes locked in, sweat glistening.

In front of him, Clamps Lee crouched low, arms wide, face stone-cold.

"Go ahead. Try me. I’ll take everything you’ve got."

Lucas smirked, bouncing the ball harder, testing angles.

(Fine. You want me head-on? Then I’ll break you. I’ll break you and steal your soul.)

He jabbed right, Clamps slid. He crossed left, Clamps mirrored. The gym echoed with squeaks, a duel of wills.

The crowd rose with each movement.

"DEFENSE! DEFENSE!" Harbor’s side roared.

Shot clock: 10... 9...

Lucas spun, sharp, channeling Malik’s Brooklyn Spin. For a heartbeat, he thought he was free—

But Clamps was already there, chest slammed into him, knocking him off rhythm.

"Not yours," Clamps hissed.

Lucas staggered, teeth grit. (Damn it! He’s not just copying—he’s reading me before I move!)

Shot clock: 5... 4...

Josh yelled, hands up. "Ball! Ball, Lucas!"

Lucas fired a desperate pass—Slick jumped it, intercepting clean. The crowd erupted.

"SLICK! SLICK! SLICK!"

Harbor countered.

Slick danced up the court, dribbling so low the ball was a blur. Louie was there, red-faced from the earlier humiliation.

He barked, pointing at Slick. "Not this time, snake boy! You won’t break me twice!"

Slick grinned, shoulders rolling loose. "You sure? Watch closely."

He snapped into his Cobra Cross, hesitation, then sudden crossover. Louie staggered back—

But this time, Louie slammed his right foot into the floor, recovering.

"I grew up on the streets too, man! That move ain’t new to me!" Louie roared, sticking like glue.

Slick blinked, surprised. (What the, he read it?)

The gym gasped.

Louie pressed tighter, chest to Slick’s arm, forcing him wide. The shot clock drained as Slick scrambled. He launched a contested floater...

CLANG! Off the rim.

Brandon bulldozed in, ripping down the rebound. "Got it!"

Vorpal surged the other way. Evan controlled tempo, sliding the ball to Louie.

The crowd leaned in. Louie dribbled once, staring Slick down.

"You think you’re the only street king here? Lemme show you how we do it in Vorpal!"

He dropped into a wild freestyle rhythm, crossover, behind-the-back, spin-back dribble.

His feet danced like chaos.

The crowd ooohed. Slick’s eyes widened, caught in the rhythm.

Louie faked left, then launched a step-back three, body leaning.

Swish!

The Vorpal bench exploded.

"LOUIE!!" Ryan hollered, pointing from the bench.

"That’s my boy!"

Ethan on the bench allowed himself the faintest smirk. (Good, Louie. That’s the resolve I wanted to see. Not fear—fire. Show them your streetball.)

Scoreboard: Vorpal 52 – Harbor 47.

Harbor came back swinging. Corey "Rhythm" Banks caught the ball at the elbow.

One dribble. Two dribbles. Rise. Pull-up.

Swish. Automatic.

"TOO CLEAN!!" the Harbor bench screamed.

Vorpal 52 – Harbor 49.

Lucas clenched his fists, frustration boiling. Clamps smirked, still shadowing.

"See? You’re not a thief. You’re just a wannabe."

Lucas glared, fire flashing. (No... I’ll break you. I’ll own you.)

He called for the ball again, this time slowing down, analyzing. He watched Clamps’ stance, how he bit slightly left every time.

(There. That’s your crack. You read me? Fine. I’ll read you too.)

He faked a crossover right. Clamps slid early predictable. Lucas snapped it back left, bursting into space.

"Finally." His voice cut through the air like a spark.

Wave Johnson surged from the paint, grin sharp, hand cocked high. "Not today, sunshine!"

But Lucas had already read it.

In mid-stride, he snapped the ball behind his back, slipping it into Brandon’s hands like lightning changing course.

Diesel Brown turned just in time, too late. Brandon hammered the ball off the glass and in.

Vorpal 54 – Harbor 49.

The gym rattled with cheers from Vorpal’s bench, drowning out Harbor’s chants. Lucas threw his fist high, teeth flashing in that sunshine grin that refused to fade.

"C’mon, Harbor! You’re not shutting me down that easy!"

Clamps’ jaw tightened, unreadable. But in his chest, something flared, irritation. (He found me... so fast? No. I’ll choke him out again. I’ll erase that smile if it kills me.)

Harbor inbounded. Rhythm Banks brought the ball up, calm as ever. One dribble. Two dribbles. His pull-up looked inevitable—

But Evan shaded him, arms wide, eyes sharp.

"Not free this time!" Evan barked.

Rhythm hesitated, pivoting to swing it. Slick caught, Louie right in his grill again.

"You ain’t snaking past me twice!" Louie hollered.

Slick smirked, whipping into another Cobra Cross. But Louie’s body cut him off, forcing him baseline. He flung a desperate scoop CLANG.

Wave rose for the rebound until Diesel and Brandon smashed together midair, both hands clawing. The ball popped loose.

Bodies scrambled. Shoes squealed. The gym roared.

Lucas dove, sliding across the hardwood, fingers snatching the ball. He sprang up, chest heaving, ball already in motion.

Fast break.

Clamps sprinted after him, hawk eyes locked.

"Not escaping!" Clamps snarled.

Lucas laughed, breathless but bright. "Then chase me, big guy!"

He drove the lane, Clamps glued to his hip. At the rim, Wave leapt, arms stretched to the sky.

Lucas soared but instead of finishing, he twisted midair, body bending in impossible angles, and whipped the pass out to the corner.

Josh Turner, wide open.

Catch. Release.

Swish!

Vorpal 57 – Harbor 49.

The Vorpal bench erupted. Ryan pounded the scorer’s table. Aiden threw both arms high.

Ayumi nearly dropped her clipboard, eyes wide. "He’s... adapting. Piece by piece. He’s reading them now."

Ethan’s lips curled into the faintest smirk, a glint sparking in his gaze. (That’s it, Lucas. Sunshine doesn’t fade—it burns through. You’re not just copying anymore... you’re evolving.)

Across the court, Clamps’ nostrils flared as he wiped sweat from his brow. For the first time, his stone mask cracked into a scowl.

Lucas jogged backward, still smiling, sweat dripping but eyes glowing bright. He pointed at Clamps with two fingers, golden gaze unshaken.

"You can read me all you want... but I’ll still shine right through you."

The gym thundered.

And Harbor’s bench unit realized, Vorpal’s fire wasn’t breaking. It was growing hotter.

To be continue