CHAPTER 222: CHAPTER 209: GENIUS AND PRODIGY

The clinking of cutlery and the smell of sizzling food filled the small restaurant. Plates of steaming ramen, grilled meat, and fried chicken crowded the table, the team attacking their meals like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Lucas sat with his chopsticks resting in his hand, still in his warm-up jacket, eyes scanning the table more than the menu. Ethan was across from him, sipping his iced tea slowly.

"You’re quiet, Lucas," Brandon said between mouthfuls of rice. "That’s rare."

Lucas smile faintly, "I’m just thinking about that last shot Ethan made."

Louie nearly choked on his tempura, slamming his chopsticks down. "BRO—don’t remind me! I was right there, screaming my lungs out! You two were like—like Jordan vs Kobe or something!"

Ethan chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "More like Kobe vs Kobe, if you count his mimicry."

Lucas’s golden eyes narrowed slightly in amusement. "Flattery won’t make me go easy on you next time."

Kai, stirring his miso soup, added with a grin, "Next time? You two looked like you were ready to kill each other out there."

(He’s not wrong...), Ethan thought, watching Lucas from the corner of his eye. (But that’s exactly what we both wanted—a match where neither could hold back.)

Coonie leaned forward with her usual smirk. "So, Lucas, was that ’no more holding back’ line just for drama, or were you actually going easy before?"

Lucas smile with a wink. "I’ll let you believe whatever makes you sleep better."

"Ohhh, mysterious," Louie said dramatically, earning a laugh from Aiden.

Evan finally spoke up, his tone calm but firm. "What I saw was two of the smartest players I’ve ever met pushing each other’s limits. That’s rare."

Ryan sipped his tea, raising an eyebrow. "Translation: you guys are freaks, but talented freaks."

The table erupted in laughter, even Lucas cracking a real smile.

Ayumi, who had been quietly refilling water glasses, set one down in front of Lucas and one in front of Ethan. "Just don’t forget this was still a practice game. We’ve got bigger matches coming up."

(She’s right...), Lucas thought, glancing at Ethan. (But beating him—just once—might matter more to me than any championship.)

Charlotte, sitting at the end of the table with her arms crossed, smirked

Charlotte sat at the far end of the table, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded in that casual-but-commanding way that made her look like she owned the room. Her smirk was sharp enough to slice through the steam rising from the bowls between them.

"Honestly," she said, her tone half-amused, half-measuring, "when I heard about the match between you two and the video Ayumi recorded, I expected you to pull something off, Ethan... but I didn’t expect it to be that

close."

Ethan grinned, leaning back slightly in his seat, his chopsticks spinning idly between his fingers. "Guess I like surprising people."

Charlotte’s smirk didn’t fade. If anything, her eyes narrowed, studying him the way a hawk sizes up a rabbit that might just be carrying a knife. "Careful, Albarado. Surprise enough people, and you’ll have every star in the country gunning for you."

(Let them come,) Ethan thought, gripping his chopsticks again with a quiet determination. (Because I’m not stopping here.)

Louie broke the tension before it could thicken too much. He slapped his palm on the table, making the soy sauce bottle wobble dangerously.

"Alright! Kai! I’m challenging you to a food-eating contest right here, right now!"

Kai looked up from his plate of gyoza, unimpressed.

"You’re challenging me? You couldn’t even finish your lunch yesterday without looking like you were gonna pass out."

Louie pointed a dramatic finger at him.

"That was because the rice was heavy! And the sun was in my eyes! And—"

Coonie, leaning lazily in his seat, didn’t even glance up from his bowl.

"The sun? Indoors?" he deadpanned.

The table chuckled. Louie puffed his cheeks and muttered something about "unsupportive teammates," but he was already stacking up plates like a warrior preparing for battle.

Meanwhile, Josh, sitting across from Brandon, suddenly tilted his head as if something had clicked in his mind.

"Now that I think about it... that Coach Ron—no, Coach Fred—introduced to us... He was watching how Ethan played earlier." He leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly. "Damn, he must be thinking how to counter it."

Aiden, munching on a piece of karaage, smirked.

"Well, it’s Ethan. So probably."

Louie, mid-bite, spoke around a mouthful of noodles.

"Ethan won’t lose to them."

Brandon didn’t speak at first. He simply smiled—the kind of quiet, confident smile that didn’t need words—before finally adding in his calm tone:

"Well... if Ethan’s here, we won’t lose."

Ethan caught that and almost laughed. You guys... you really trust me that much, huh?

But Louie wasn’t done with his theatrics. He slammed down an empty plate.

"One down!" he declared, gesturing for the waitress to bring more dumplings.

"Kai, you’re going down!"

Kai smirked, delicately finishing his bite before answering.

"Louie, I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back."

"Then do it!" Louie shot back instantly.

Without missing a beat, Coonie mumbled, "And then maybe tie your mouth shut too, just to be safe."

The table erupted in laughter, Ethan nearly choking on his ramen.

The waitress came by, juggling an armful of steaming plates. The table cheered as the dishes landed tempura, fresh sushi rolls, and more bowls of ramen. Louie immediately reached for a shrimp tempura, but Charlotte smacked his hand with her chopsticks.

"Let other people eat first, glutton."

"Hey!" Louie rubbed his hand, feigning injury. "That’s assault with chopsticks! I could sue!"

Charlotte smirked. "Go ahead. I’ll win."

This team is ridiculous, Ethan thought, a small smile tugging at his lips. But as the conversation swirled around him, his mind was still replaying Charlotte’s earlier warning. (Every star in the country gunning for me... huh?)

He took another bite of ramen, the broth rich and comforting, but the flavor couldn’t fully distract him. In the back of his mind, the sound of bouncing basketballs and squeaking sneakers was already there, waiting.

The laughter grew louder when Louie, in his attempt to prove he could eat faster, tried to stuff an entire sushi roll in his mouth and nearly choked. Brandon had to thump him on the back while Coonie muttered something about "natural selection."

"You alright there, champ?" Kai said, smirking.

Louie, eyes watering, gave a thumbs-up.

"Still... winning..." he croaked.

Even Charlotte had to laugh at that one.

The night stretched on with more food, more teasing, and the kind of camaraderie that could only be forged through sweat, shared victories, and mutual embarrassment. But under it all beneath the jokes, beneath the noise Ethan and Lucas were both quietly sharpening themselves.

The meal might have been about friendship tonight, but the court was coming. And when it did, there would be no chopsticks, no ramen, and no laughter.

Just the game.

....

Meanwhile the dimly lit meeting room hummed faintly with the low buzz of fluorescent lights. A long, polished oak table dominated the center, its surface littered with scattered dossiers, coffee mugs, and a single crystal ashtray where smoke curled lazily from a half-finished cigar.

Ron stood near the far end, his gray blazer hanging perfectly over his shoulders. His calm demeanor belied the quiet tension in the air—a dangerous kind of calm, the kind that made even the most reckless men think twice before testing him.

Around the table sat the heads of the organization.

The Bald Old Man, the group’s leader, sat at the head of the table. Deep wrinkles carved into his face gave him an almost statuesque presence, his pale eyes unblinking as they settled on Ron.

Beside him lounged Drew, the loud, chaotic man in a maroon suit, tapping a gold ring against his coffee mug with an impatient rhythm. Across from Drew was Madame Vena, her black hair pulled into a severe bun, eyes sharp as a hawk’s as she leafed through a folder without looking up. Next to her sat Jerry, whose glasses caught the light and hid his eyes, leaving only the thin, unsettling curve of his grin visible.

Finally, leaning casually in the shadows at the far end, was the Masked Man, platinum-blonde hair catching the faint light. His mask covered half his face, hiding his expression but not the quiet air of danger that radiated from him.

They were all watching Ron.

"Yes," the Bald Old Man said finally, his voice a slow rasp. "It was you. Coach Ron."

Ron’s lips curved into a faint smirk.

"How’s the Vorpal Basket?" the old man asked.

Ron’s eyes flicked briefly toward Madame Vena’s open dossier before he answered. "I admit, they’re strong... but the players except for Lucas Graves, Ethan Albarado, that streetball prodigy, and Evan Cooper are... ordinary. Skilled, yes, but predictable. The kind of talent you can dismantle with the right pressure. The rest... they’re a potential thorn in the side of our investments."

Drew chuckled darkly, leaning forward. "And the exceptions?"

Ron’s voice lost all hint of casualness. "Lucas is the prodigy—raw, instinctive, dangerous without even knowing how much. Ethan... is the genius. His mind for the game is sharper than any I’ve seen. Together... they could upset far more than a single game. If they figure out how to work as one..."

He let the implication hang in the air.

The Bald Old Man steepled his fingers, eyes narrowing. "Then we make sure to counter it"

From the shadows, the Masked Man shifted ever so slightly, as if he’d been waiting to hear exactly that.

To be continue