CHAPTER 220: CHAPTER 207: ETHAN VS LUCAS (2)

Score: 8–7, Ethan’s lead.

From the sideline, Aiden muttered, "He’s reading Lucas’ steps... that’s new."

Ryan nodded slowly, "Yeah... he’s baiting him into over-committing."

Lucas caught the ball for the inbound, bouncing it twice before surging forward with explosive speed. His dribble was tight, the ball barely leaving his palm as he used a sudden hesitation step a stop so quick it almost looked like he froze in place. Ethan shifted forward to contest, but Lucas’ foot jabbed forward, pushing off with a burst and leaving Ethan a half-step behind.

Layup. Easy finish.

Score: 8–8.

"Tch, too quick," Ethan muttered under his breath, jogging back.

"You’ll need more than that spin of yours to stop me," Lucas said, a glint in his eye.

Ethan smirked. "Oh, don’t worry... I’ve got more."

They went back and forth — Ethan hitting a long step-back jumper after faking a drive, Lucas retaliating with a powerful drive into a floater that banked off the glass.

The court felt smaller now, the sound of each dribble bouncing off the gym walls. Sweat rolled down Ethan’s temple, but his focus never wavered.

Lucas dribbled at the top, shifting his weight left and right like a predator circling. Ethan’s knees bent lower, his righthand flickering in and out to test for a steal. Lucas suddenly crossed over so fast the ball was a blur, Ethan bit on the fake, but recovered instantly, shadowing him into the paint. Lucas pulled up from a tight angle, releasing the shot with almost no space... net.

Score: 10–10.

From the bench, Brandon leaned forward, muttering, "It’s like watching two different styles clash... Lucas with speed and precision, Ethan with unpredictability."

Louie grinned wide, pumping his fist. "Nah, Ethan’s just warming up."

The ball was back in Ethan’s hands. The score was tied 10–10. The air in the gym felt charged

, as if every breath was infused with electricity. Sweat glistened under the fluorescent lights, each droplet running down their faces like molten steel.

Ethan thought, (Alright... no more holding back. Let’s see if the protagonist can handle this.)

Lucas crouched low, his golden eyes locked on Ethan, reading his every twitch like a book. His stance was textbook perfect knees bent, arms out, body balanced.

Lucas smirked. "Come on... make your move."

Ethan jab-stepped left BANG! His sneaker squeaked, Lucas shifted, but Ethan immediately spun to the right. Lucas reacted instantly, cutting him off, but Ethan’s dribble was razor sharp. He lowered his center of gravity, kept the ball tight, and burst forward with an explosive first step.

Louie leaned forward in the background, fists clenched.

"Let’s go Ethan! Cook him up!"

Jeremy’s eyes narrowed, following every motion.

"His footwork... that’s not the same Ethan from before."

Lucas slid alongside, cutting off the lane. Ethan didn’t panic, he slowed, stopped dead, and hit a lightning-fast between-the-legs into a behind-the-back crossover. Lucas staggered for half a step.

Ethan thought, (Gotcha.)

He rose for a step-back jumper, the arc high and perfect—SWISH! The net sang as the ball dropped clean.

11–10.

Lucas caught the inbound, spinning the ball once in his hands. His golden eyes sharpened. "Not bad... but watch this."

He came forward with a controlled dribble, then without warning pulled off a hesitation fake so smooth it was like watching liquid gold flow. Ethan bit for a fraction of a second—enough for Lucas to explode forward.

Kai whispered, "That’s... silky."

Lucas pushed the pace, used a reverse spin into a crossover, then drove baseline. Ethan was still there, sliding, but Lucas leapt, twisted his body midair, and threw a reverse layup off the glass. The ball kissed the rim and fell in.

11–11.

Ethan’s turn. He walked the ball up, eyes fixed on Lucas, then dribbled low, quick taps against the hardwood. He pushed left, Lucas stayed on him, so Ethan abruptly changed speed, going from slow to blistering fast.

Jeremy muttered under his breath, "He’s changing tempo like a pro."

Lucas anticipated the drive, so Ethan whipped out a hang dribble into a snatch-back three-pointer. The release was lightning—his wrist snapping with surgical precision.

SWOOSH! The net bent backward.

12–11.

Lucas didn’t waste time. He took the ball, charged forward with a rhythm dribble, then hit Ethan with a double crossover so fast the ball blurred. Ethan stayed glued, so Lucas used a spin move into a fadeaway jumper.

Ethan thought,(This... this is why he’s the protagonist.)

The ball soared—perfect mechanics—SWISH!

12–12.

Now the gym was electric. The rest of the team was fully engaged, eyes bouncing between the two. Even the sound of sneakers squeaking felt sharper, like the court was amplifying every step.

Ethan took the ball, no hesitation behind-the-back into a drive, but when Lucas cut him off, Ethan switched the ball to his left, used a Euro-step, and floated it high off the glass. It hit, rolled IN.

13–12.

Lucas attacked right after, exploding forward like a sprinter out of the blocks—fast break speed, even though the game was half-court rules. His sneakers screeched across the floor as he dropped his shoulder, cutting a sharp lane through the defense.

The power in his drive was undeniable—legs pumping, arms shielding, eyes locked on the rim.

He launched himself for a dunk, the ball cocked back in one hand.

But Ethan was already in the air.

The timing was perfect.

BANG!

The slap of palm to ball cracked through the gym like a gunshot. Lucas’s arm jerked mid-flight as Ethan sent the ball spiraling away.

Ethan landed light on his feet, scooping the ball before it even touched the wood. Lucas was still descending when Ethan stepped back one, two before rising into a deep three.

The release was smooth. Effortless.

The ball seemed to float longer than physics allowed, spinning in slow motion above the rim.

SWISH!

Nothing but net.

14–12.

The gym erupted.

Louie was already in the air, arms flailing like a hype man at a rap battle.

"Let’s goooo! This is the Ethan I’m talking about!"

Lucas landed and turned, sweat dripping from his chin, a grin curling at the edges of his lips.

"Alright... now it’s getting fun."

On the other end, Evan’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Brandon.

(How much... would you want to become, Ethan...?)

Brandon’s gaze didn’t move from the court. His voice was quiet in his mind, but heavy.

(Even Lucas is struggling... Damn it, Ethan... you’re a genius. More than any of us.)

On the sidelines, Aiden and Josh stood shoulder-to-shoulder, eyes locked on the duel. They didn’t cheer. They didn’t speak. Every muscle in their faces was still but their eyes tracked everything. Every pivot, every fake, every twitch in Ethan’s wrist.

Lucas wiped his brow again, still grinning.

"Not bad... but I’m not losing to you."

Ethan’s smirk was sharp, almost daring.

"Good. Don’t hold back."

The air between them was tight, electric like the court itself knew the real battle was just beginning.

To be continue