CHAPTER 211: CHAPTER 198: FOREST VS VORPAL (23)

Score: Forest 80 – Vorpal 78

Final Possession. No timeouts.

The gym didn’t make a sound.

Not even the creak of sneakers or the scrape of a bench.

Just air held hostage by tension.

All breath paused.

Lucas Graves took the inbound.

No call from the sideline.

No hand signs.

No glance toward Coach Ethan.

No Jason Williams.

No Steve Nash.

No mimicry.

Just Lucas.

(This is mine.)

He walked it up.

Smooth. Calm. Almost cold.

Like ice hiding fire.

Each step—calculated. Measured.

But those eyes—

They burned.

Evan slid left, fast and slashing.

Josh ghosted to the right, dragging a defender with him.

Brandon anchored the baseline shoulders square, like a tank waiting for impact.

Ryan lingered high, watching.

And yet—

Every eye. Every breath. Every heartbeat in the gym—

Locked on him.

Lucas Graves.

Even Elijah Rainn, standing at the free throw line, upright and unreadable—

His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, followed Lucas like prey.

(So what now, Graves?)

Lucas didn’t flinch.

Didn’t speed up.

He wanted Elijah to watch.

He wanted everyone to.

He dribbled once—

Then exploded left.

A burst. A blur.

Elijah moved.

Micah slid over.

Defenders shadowed close.

It looked like a drive—

But it wasn’t.

Because Lucas—

—Stopped. On a dime.

Skid of sneakers.

Echo of silence.

And behind his back—

A pass.

Clean.

Sharp.

Disrespectful.

Evan caught it already mid-cut on the weak side.

Pass.

Swing.

Motion.

Josh!

Ball in hand—fake shot.

Two defenders bit. Jumped like fish at bait.

Josh didn’t hesitate.

Dished it to Ryan

And Ryan?

He never even looked.

One-touch bounce pass.

Instinct. Muscle memory.

Straight to Brandon under the basket.

Crowd held its breath.

Dunk?

No.

Because Kael rotated.

One giant step.

One giant shadow.

He went for the block.

But Brandon?

He didn’t force it.

He trusted the chaos.

Kicked it out—

Back to the top.

Back to—

Lucas.

Top of the arc.

Wide open.

But not alone.

Elijah was already mid-air.

He knew.

He always knew.

Lucas’s eyes locked with his.

Time slowed.

Elijah flying.

Lucas...

Smiled.

Just a twitch. Not cocky certain.

(You always see everything... but not this.)

Pump fake → Elijah overcommitted.

Lucas—

Step through.

Pivot.

Sidestep.

Rise.

Mid-range.

Not flashy.

Just his shot.

The shot of someone who knew exactly who he was.

The shot of Lucas Graves.

Buzzer.

Swish.

Net kissed the ball like a final whisper.

Vorpal 81 – Forest 80.

For a moment—

Stillness.

Then—

Chaos.

The gym exploded.

Ryan roared, fists to the sky.

Josh dropped to his knees, pounding the floor.

Brandon screamed like a dam had broken inside him.

Evan ran up, arms around Lucas, spinning him.

Charlotte Graves in the stands stood slowly, hand over her chest, eyes brimming.

"He did it..."

And far above

Jalen "Flash" Carter, in his Chicago Raptors warm-up, grinned as he leaned against the railing.

Back on the court

Lucas stood.

Still breathing hard.

Still burning.

But smiling.

Not for glory.

Not for applause.

Just because... this time—

It was his win.

The buzzer still rang.

The net snapped like a shot.

And then—

Explosion.

The Vorpal Basket bench erupted like a volcano finally breaking loose.

"#5 – LOUUUUIE GEE!!"

"KAI, HE HIT IT! HE HIT THAT SHOT!!"

"JEREMY, THAT’S GAME!"

"YOOOO, LUCAS!"

#6 – Coonie Smith flung his towel in the air and sprinted full speed into the court.

#7 – Aiden White leapt onto the bench, waving both arms like a conductor commanding an orchestra of madness.

#31 – Kai Mendoza had fallen to his knees, fists in the air, eyes wide with the kind of disbelief that only victory can bring.

#42 – Jeremy Park grabbed the nearest player in a bear hug, screaming his lungs raw.

And #5 – Louie Gee Davas stood still for just a second longer than the rest.

Chest rising.

Eyes locked on Lucas, who stood at the top of the key, arms spread, bathed in the glow of the scoreboard:

VORPAL 81 – FOREST 80.

The crowd roared like a wave hitting the shore.

But for Louie—

There was only silence.

And then...

(We did it... Ethan. We kept the promise.)

His fists clenched.

His eyes burned.

He let the tears fall.

(You told us not to give up. Not to break. Not to let the game slip away again.)

(You said this time... this time we win.)

He sprinted into the celebration with the others—but in his heart, he was running toward someone else entirely.

Meanwhile...

A cold, sterile hospital room.

The lights hummed.

The monitors blinked.

Ethan Albarado, still comatose, lay motionless. Tubes. Wires. Silence.

Until—

Beep.

A soft spike on the heart monitor.

Just one.

Almost nothing.

But it was there.

A flicker.

As if far, far away...

He heard the roar of the court.

He heard the promise fulfilled.

He felt the win.

At center court, the crowd still roaring behind them, the ten starters from Vorpal and Forest stood face to face.

They had just pushed each other past every limit physical, mental, emotional.

Sweat clung to their skin. Breaths were sharp. Muscles ached.

But none of that mattered.

Because they had just lived through a game they’d never forget.

Elijah Rainn, Forest’s genius floor general, stepped forward first. His usually sharp eyes softened not with defeat, but understanding. His jersey was soaked, his chest rising and falling in exhaustion, but he stood tall.

He extended a hand toward Lucas.

"This is the best game I’ve ever fought in my life," Elijah said, his voice steady despite the storm that had just passed.

Lucas Graves didn’t hesitate. He took Elijah’s hand and shook it.

"I’m honored," Lucas replied, calm but sincere.

Then came silence... a rare stillness as the other players gathered slowly around the two leaders, forming a circle. Even the crowd seemed to sense it. The noise faded. What remained was respect.

Coach Nguyen, Forest’s head coach, stepped forward with a microphone offering a closing statement to the spectators, the press, and the legacy being written.

But someone beat him to it.

"How did you do it?" Elijah asked, turning not to Lucas... but to Evan Cooper.

"That last play... that rhythm. That chaos. Where did that come from?"

Evan’s face lit with tired pride.

"It’s because of him," he said, glancing toward the sideline... toward the empty chair reserved for Ethan Albarado.

"Ethan?" Kael Moreno, Forest’s ghostlike forward, asked next—his arms crossed, sweat still dripping. "You’re telling me that style... the unpredictability... came from him?"

Josh Turner nodded. His voice cracked slightly, from both exhaustion and emotion.

"He taught us how to feel the game again. To move without fear. To trust each other’s chaos."

Micah Vale, Forest’s calm flame, tilted his head, curious.

"But none of that was textbook. Not even genius-level predictive systems could map your flow. How?"

Brandon Young answered this time, his deep voice quiet but certain.

"Because Ethan never taught us plays. He taught us courage."

Ayden Liu, ever the quiet one, finally stepped forward.

"...Who is Ethan Albarado, really?" he asked softly.

Ryan – Vorpal’s high-post playmaker – finally responded.

"He’s the reason we’re not scared of guys like you anymore."

Tobias Grey, Forest’s immovable center, chuckled.

"So, it’s not just talent... it’s belief."

Lucas looked down for a moment thinking of the boy in the hospital bed. Then raised his head high.

"Ethan Albarado taught us that belief is more powerful than talent."

The gym went still.

Even Coach Mason’s voice cracked slightly as he whispered from the bench:

"We all owe him."

Then the players moved shaking hands, exchanging brief smiles, words of gratitude and disbelief.

Ayden nodded toward Louie Gee Davas on the bench.

"That crossover... that stepback... that wasn’t just streetball. That was art. Who taught you that?"

Louie grinned wide, eyes watery.

"Ethan. We promised him we’d win.

Every player Forest or Vorpal turned their gaze toward the sidelines.

The empty chair.

The one with Ethan’s name on the backrest.

And for a brief, sacred second... it felt like he was there with them.

Watching.

Smiling.

Proud.

The buzzer had barely finished echoing before the crowd erupted a storm of cheers, tears, and disbelief. But on the higher bleachers, near the exit gate, a group remained quiet.

The Eastgate Wildcats.

Miho Park didn’t move.

Neither did Jamie Lin, who clutched the railing with both hands.

Beside them, Silas, Rico, and Anwar exchanged wide-eyed glances. No one said it, but they were all thinking the same thing:

"They won. Without him."

Rico finally broke the silence.

"How the hell... do you win without Ethan?"

Jamie shook his head, mouth slightly agape.

"Lucas Graves..." he whispered.

"That wasn’t luck. That was belief."

Silas scoffed.

"He was a benchwarmer like, what? A months ago? Now he’s leading comebacks against Forest?"

Anwar leaned forward, arms resting on his knees.

"He wasn’t leading alone. That whole team..."

He trailed off, then added,

"They weren’t playing for the win. They were playing for someone."

Miho finally stood.

Straight-backed, eyes narrowed focused, calculating.

The prodigy, the captain, the one who’d already circled Vorpal as "beatable" on his mental scouting report.

Now?

He wasn’t so sure.

"They won without their Leader," Miho said flatly.

"But they didn’t win with talent. They won with trust."

He turned toward the hallway exit.

The others followed, slowly.

But just before walking out, Miho stopped and looked over his shoulder—back to the court, where Lucas was being mobbed by teammates.

"Vorpal’s not a team of stars..." he muttered.

"...they’re a starless constellation. Every light counts."

He didn’t say it out loud, but everyone felt it in the silence that followed:

If Ethan ever wakes up... and joins them again...

They won’t just be dangerous.

They’ll be unstoppable.

To be continue