CHAPTER 208: CHAPTER 195: FOREST VS VORPAL (20)

Evan stepped up to the free-throw line.

His hands trembled—not from fear.

From adrenaline.

His heart pounded like a drum in his ears. The kind of rhythm that usually meant go, run, fight. But now, he had to stand still. One shot. One point.

He’d practiced this shot more times than he could count.

(Hundreds...)

(No—thousands.)

The repetition was muscle memory. The form etched into his bones. But this wasn’t practice. This was war. The air was heavy, thick with breathless silence. A thousand eyes bore into him from the stands. Teammates held their breath. Opponents watched like predators in still grass.

And somewhere in that forest of noise and light, the weight of an entire quarter rested on the rim.

Behind him, just outside the arc, Lucas stood tall.

He didn’t shift.

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even glance at Evan.

His eyes were locked forward—focused solely on him.

Elijah Rainn.

Number 5. The shadow walker. The tempo thief.

Elijah hadn’t moved since the foul was called. Hands on his hips, eyes like coiled wires. Calm, unreadable. A statue—except this one crackled with hidden voltage. You could feel it, even if you weren’t looking. Like the tension before lightning struck.

And yet...

That cocky grin he wore earlier?

Gone.

What lingered now was something older.

Heavier.

Not mockery.

But respect.

Hard-earned. Grit-forged. The kind that only came when you met someone willing to bleed to keep up.

Evan closed his eyes briefly.

Bounce.

Bounce.

Spin.

(Just one.)

He sucked in a full breath. Then exhaled.

Then shot.

The ball arced clean through the air.

It kissed the front of the rim.

Clink

and for a second, time stopped.

Then—

Drop.

Swish off the backboard.

68–67. Vorpal leads.

The bench erupted.

Ayumi shot up, fists pumping.

Coach Fred let out a single, quiet exhale.

The crowd exploded like thunder in a bottle—cheers, stomps, chants.

But Lucas?

He didn’t even blink.

He simply turned.

Deliberate.

Measured.

His sneakers scraped against the floor with quiet defiance as he turned to face the Forest side of the court. As if he were walking into enemy territory, step by step, with no fear in his bones.

He was no longer reacting to Elijah.

No longer trailing a genius.

He was becoming the pace.

(You’ve led long enough.)

(Now it’s my turn.)

And as the final seconds of the third quarter ticked away, something shifted.

The battle wasn’t about pressure anymore.

It was about tempo.

And Lucas Graves had taken the baton.

Elijah caught the inbound.

No rush.

Dribbled up—

But this time, Lucas stepped forward early.

Not to press.

To read.

To invite.

(You test me? I test back.)

Elijah stopped just past halfcourt. Calm.

Kael motioned to screen—

Elijah waved him off with a flick of the wrist.

He wanted this pure.

"Clear out."

(He wants isolation.)

(Good.)

(So do I.)

They circled each other.

Not like kids.

Like predators.

A falcon and a tiger.

One soaring, reading from above.

One grounded, waiting in the tall grass.

Both dangerous.

Both calculating.

Lucas shifted his stance—lower now.

Ready.

(What’s it gonna be, Rainn?)

Then Elijah struck.

Left cross. Push step back.

Sharp.

Explosive.

Lucas mirrored.

Perfectly.

No panic. No overreach.

(I see you.)

(You’re fast. But not faster than focus.)

Motion stirred behind them.

Micah darted baseline.

Ayden curled up top.

Kael slid to the opposite wing.

The court was moving—but they weren’t watching.

This wasn’t five-on-five anymore.

This was personal.

A duel.

Elijah rose.

Pull-up jumper.

Smooth. Elevation perfect.

Lucas jumped with him.

Hand up.

Eyes locked.

(You’re taking this shot—)

But Elijah didn’t shoot.

He passed.

Last second.

Bullet.

Corner.

Ayden.

Open.

Release.

Swish.

Forest 70 – Vorpal 68.

Lucas landed, turned—eyes trailing the arc of the ball as it sank.

Silent.

(He got me.)

(...No. He respected me enough to pass. Even now... he’s not playing for glory.)

Elijah didn’t celebrate.

Just nodded once.

A soldier acknowledging another.

Coach Fred didn’t say a word.

Coach Nguyen didn’t either.

No whiteboard.

No clipboard.

No timeout.

No subs.

No subs needed

Because now—

This wasn’t just Quarter 4.

This was it.

The final test.

Not of talent.

Not of strength.

But of something deeper.

Of pace.

Of IQ.

Of courage.

Of who would blink last.

The gym wasn’t loud anymore.

Not really.

Voices were muffled behind adrenaline. The world narrowed to sneakers, sweat, and breath.

As Lucas jogged back to the top of the key...

He exhaled once—

Controlled.

Measured.

(This is it.)

(Just basketball.)

(Just me... and the fire left in my chest.)

He planted his feet.

Bent slightly at the knees.

Hands relaxed.

Eyes forward.

(Let’s finish this right.)

Ready.

Forest: 70 – Vorpal: 68

The ball was inbounded to Evan.

His hands caught it clean—muscle memory smooth as silk.

Fast hands.

Faster brain.

But he didn’t sprint.

No rush. No recklessness.

He scanned.

Measured.

His eyes flicked over the defense like a general reading the battlefield.

(They’re adjusting.)

Elijah Rainn waited at the top of Forest’s zone.

No bouncing on his heels.

No dramatic stares.

Just stillness.

A coiled storm.

His arms hung loose, but his fingers twitched faintly with each movement Vorpal made.

Every step of the offense.

Every switch of the wings.

Every staggered dribble.

It all sent pulses through him.

Not as chaos—

But calculation.

(Lucas is at the three. Not slashing.)

(Evan’s slower this time. Not penetrating.)

(They’re spreading the floor wider. Creating pockets.)

Elijah didn’t need to shout.

Didn’t need a signal.

Like flipping a switch inside his mind.

Like syncing his rhythm to theirs—

To beat them before they even moved.

From the bench, Ayumi Brooks didn’t cheer.

Didn’t clap. Didn’t blink.

She just narrowed her eyes.

Calm. Calculating.

A cold draft flipped a page of her notebook.

She didn’t even look down.

Just clicked her pen—

And started writing.

Lucas stood near the left wing.

Silent.

Still.

Eyes locked—not on the ball.

But on Elijah Rainn.

Like a hawk watching a storm cloud churn over open skies.

From the sideline, Ayumi Brooks didn’t blink.

She felt it.

The weight of it.

This wasn’t just basketball anymore.

This was chess played at full speed.

No calls.

No coaching.

No chatter.

Only thought versus thought.

Mind versus mind.

Ryan stepped up, body low, hands angled perfectly

A screen.

Josh sliced along the baseline.

Fake.

Elijah’s eyes twitched toward the movement

But his body never shifted.

He didn’t bite.

Didn’t flinch.

Stayed locked on Lucas like a compass pointing north.

(He knows the cut’s a decoy.)

Lucas moved.

A sharp pivot.

A darting flash inside the arc.

Evan spotted it.

Threw a bounce pass, just a little slow.

Too slow.

Elijah sprang.

A blur of limbs

Swipe!

Fingers grazed air missed by an inch.

Lucas caught.

One dribble.

Two.

Ayden rotated to help.

Fast.

Too fast.

Lucas stepped back—

But didn’t shoot.

He felt Brandon sealing hard inside.

A mismatch.

Elijah noticed too.

Lucas glanced.

Faked the feed.

Elijah read the fake, anticipated the kickout to the top.

(He’ll swing it to Evan.)

But Lucas didn’t.

He spun—

Snap.

Behind-the-back dish to Josh—

Mid-run.

Josh caught it in rhythm—

Fadeaway from the elbow.

Clean release.

But short.

Clank.

Front iron.

Rebound?

Ryan leapt—got hands on it—

Stripped.

Forest ball.

Transition.

Fast.

Elijah pushing the tempo.

Ayumi’s pen froze.

Eyes sharp.

Lips barely moved.

"He’s testing what they’ll do out of sync..."

Elijah crossed half-court solo.

No pass.

No call.

Just him.

And Lucas.

Lucas caught up.

Shuffled low.

Elbows wide.

Elijah didn’t pass.

Didn’t screen.

Just stared at him.

Waited.

One beat.

Then another.

Then—

Drive.

Hard left.

One dribble.

Pull back.

Lucas stayed with it.

Didn’t fall for the pace change.

Mirror.

They were moving as one now.

Like shadows in the same body.

But then—

Elijah did something odd.

He looked away.

To the bench.

To Kael.

Then back at Lucas.

His eyes glinted.

Something had clicked.

"I see it now."

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

"See what?"

Elijah took one step forward.

Calm.

Controlled.

Dangerous.

"You’re not copying me."

He tilted his head slightly.

"You’re copying the whole game."

Ayumi’s breath caught.

Her eyes widened.

She scribbled two words in her notebook:

"Lucas is becoming the court."

Lucas blinked.

Didn’t respond.

He just turned.

Jogged back on offense.

Evan was ready.

Josh was ready.

Ryan was ready.

Brandon was ready.

So was the storm.

Ayumi stood up.

No one told her to.

Coach Fred didn’t say a word.

Because he saw it too.

The game was tilting.

This was Lucas’s territory now.

Even Elijah knew it.

And yet—

He smiled again.

"Then let’s both become the court."

Evan took the inbound, but this time—

Lucas didn’t speak.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t point.

He just moved.

And they followed.

Josh shifted to the weak side corner.

Ryan cut high, then veered off like a decoy.

Evan paused, eyes scanning—

But something strange happened.

He didn’t look for the open man.

He looked for Lucas.

To be continue

Lucas Graves – Basketball Snapshot

Position: Wing / Guard

Special Ability:Absolute Mimicry — copies styles, rhythms, and plays in real-time

IQ: Exceptionally high; reads defenses and tempo like a seasoned coach

Playstyle: Adaptive, unselfish, rhythm-based

Defense: Mirrors opponents perfectly, elite on-ball discipline

Offense: Precise passer, deceptive scorer, master of spacing

X-Factor: Can "become the court" — influences game flow without scoring

Noted By: Ayumi Brooks and Elijah Rainn as a unique, game-shaping player