CHAPTER 224: CHAPTER 211: VORPAL VS PIEDMONT

The gym’s air felt heavier than the polished hardwood beneath their sneakers—humid, pressing, alive with expectation. Every shuffle, every creak of the backboard echoed like a warning.

The referee stepped into the center circle, whistle hanging between his lips. Brandon Young and Piedmont’s Brandon "Brick" Thompson strode forward, towering over everyone else, their shadows cutting long, dark lines across the floor.

The whistle cut the air sharp, absolute.

The ball went up.

Ethan’s mind locked in. (Timing... don’t meet him in the air, Brandon. Let him reach first—now!)

Brandon Young followed the signal in Ethan’s eyes, delaying his jump by a half-second. His arm shot up, meeting the ball clean and redirecting it toward Evan Cooper in a perfect swat.

Evan caught it in stride, voice already steady. "We’ve got possession, let’s set up."

Ethan moved to the left wing immediately, Lucas drifting toward the opposite arc. Louie ambled up the court with a swagger that didn’t match the tense opening, spinning the ball on his finger as if the scoreboard didn’t matter yet.

"Louie, space out," Ethan said, tone flat but loaded with command. "I’ll bait Skywalker."

Louie grinned sideways. "Gotcha, Cap."

On the other end, Darius "Steady D" Coleman lowered his stance, eyes locked on Evan’s hips. (Cooper’s smart... no blind drives. But if I push him toward the sideline, I can choke the lane.)

Evan tested the right-hand dribble before snapping a pass to Lucas on the wing.

The moment Lucas caught it, Ethan saw the shift—pupils sharp, body low, arms loose in a perfect triple-threat. (Ray Allen... 2010 Finals tape. He’s already locked in.)

Malik "Flash" Johnson’s eyes widened a fraction. "Oh, crap—"

Lucas jabbed left like he meant it, making Malik slide. In one seamless motion, he rose, elbows tight, wrist snapping forward.

The ball cut through the air pure, unbroken. Swish.

Vorpal Basket – 2 | Piedmont – 0

Ethan allowed himself the smallest smirk. (Absolute Mimicry... and he’s starting hot. This is going to be fun.)

Piedmont inbounded, Darius bringing the ball up like a chess master taking his opening move.

"Flash curl in. Skywalker, be ready on the cut."

Malik burst along the baseline, receiving Darius’s bounce pass in stride. Louie rotated across the paint, but Malik’s acceleration was a knife through paper—one soft step inside and the ball floated off the glass.

Vorpal Basket – 2 | Piedmont – 2

"Louie—baseline cuts," Ethan warned, voice firm. "They’re not rushing the clock; they’re making us stretch."

Louie pouted. "Yeah, yeah... I slipped. Won’t happen again."

Next trip, Evan called for a high screen. Brandon set it like a wall, freeing Lucas on the move but now Tyler "Skywalker" Brooks was in front of him, longer, lighter on his feet.

Lucas’s eyes narrowed. (Alright... 2010 Kobe footwork. Let’s see how you handle this.)

He backed into the mid-post, pivoted twice, spun baseline for a silky fadeaway—perfect angle, perfect arc.

Clang.

Skywalker rose high, grabbing the rebound like it belonged to him. "Not bad... but you’re not the only one with hops."

The ball was already in Darius’s hands.

"Tank—seal him!"

Cody "Tank" Wilson buried Brandon Young under the rim, caught the lob, and kissed it in.

Vorpal Basket – 2 | Piedmont – 4

Ethan’s system fed him streams of data behind the pounding of his pulse. (Tempo shift depending on their finisher. Darius slows, Malik accelerates, Tank dominates the post. Lucas can handle Flash, but Skywalker’s vertical gives them an out.)

The next possession, Ethan took the ball himself.

"Clear out—give me the right."

Louie stepped aside, eyebrows up. "Showtime?"

"Always."

Ethan’s first step was a blade. Tyler stumbled, Cody rotated over exactly on cue—and exactly where Ethan wanted him. One glance at the rim sold the layup before his hands flicked a no-look bounce pass behind Cody. Brandon caught and detonated with a two-handed slam.

Vorpal Basket – 4 | Piedmont – 4

Louie whistled. "Dang, Ethan! I almost missed that pass!"

"Then don’t blink."

For the next three minutes, the game became a study in contrast.

Piedmont tight sets, relentless screens, timed drives. Darius’s passes carved seams in the defense, Tank and Brick feasting in the paint.

Vorpal flair and precision. Lucas shapeshifting into legends: Dirk’s one-legged fade, Wade’s eurostep, Chris Paul’s snake dribble. Ethan the conductor, eyes two steps ahead, cutting passing lanes in his mind before the ball even moved. Louie sprinkling streetball chaos behind-the-backs, no-looks, trash talk sharp enough to make Malik smirk while trying harder.

Halfway through the first, the scoreboard read: 14–12, Vorpal.

During a dead ball, Ethan called them in. His voice was low but carried weight.

"They’ve got our wing reads now. Lucas, you’re point for the next two plays. Evan—spot up off-ball."

Lucas tilted his head. "Role swap? Bold."

"You have mimicry. Use Rondo’s 2010 playoff vision. Hit cutters. Make them guess."

Louie’s grin widened. "Guess I’m about to look real good."

The whistle blew. Lucas brought it up, stance low, scanning like a natural point. Malik hesitated half a second too long.

That was all it took.

A laser pass cut behind the defense to Louie, who twisted mid-air for a reverse layup.

(Perfect. Let them scramble, then switch back.) Ethan thought, already jogging back.

Piedmont tried to reset Darius handing off to Skywalker but Ethan’s system flashed the read. He jumped the lane, snatching the ball clean.

Fast break. Malik in pursuit.

Ethan faked the layup, lobbed instead, Brandon flushed it down, the rim shaking under his weight.

The crowd roared.

Louie shouted over the noise. "Two highlights in a row! You trying to make me jealous?"

"Focus, Louie."

Score: 18–12, Vorpal.

But "Steady D" didn’t get rattled. He slowed everything, drained the clock, dragged Brandon out of the paint. Malik splashed a corner three, Tank bullied in a rebound putback.

Ten seconds left. Ethan held the ball at the top.

"Last shot. Spread."

Skywalker crouched low, anticipating the drive. Ethan faked right, crossed left—hit Lucas in the corner. Lucas’s body snapped into Ray Allen’s perfect form. Rise. Release.

Buzzer. Swish.

End of First Quarter: Vorpal 21 – Piedmont 17

(They’re disciplined... but they’re not unbreakable. Keep the tempo ours, and they’ll crack.) Ethan’s eyes stayed cold as he walked to the bench.

..

As The buzzer’s echo hadn’t even faded before Vorpal Basket’s bench was on their feet.

Ryan Taylor was the first to clap hard, voice carrying over the crowd. "That’s what I’m talking about! Keep smashing that paint, Brandon!" His big grin showed he was itching to get in there and throw his own weight around.

Josh Turner gave a sharp nod, arms folded. "Good quarter, but don’t get sloppy. Skywalker’s starting to read Lucas’s first step." His tone was serious as ever—Josh never celebrated too early.

Aiden White leaned forward from his seat, eyes scanning the Piedmont lineup as they walked to their bench. (They’re not rattled... they’re calculating. We can’t give them even one opening.) Out loud, he muttered, "I’ll be ready to plug in anywhere if they try to switch matchups."

Coonie Smith, ever the energy spark from the sideline, pumped both fists in the air. "Lucas! That Ray Allen jumper is sweet! Keep draining ’em!" He nearly tripped over his own feet as he tried to chest-bump Ryan in celebration.

Jeremy Park adjusted his hair, his voice calm but his words sharp. "They’re running a stagger screen on the left side more than 60% of the time. Ethan’s already countering, but someone should mention it before they adapt."

Kai Mendoza, lounging with one leg up on the seat in front of him, smirked. "Man, if I was out there, I’d make ’Flash’ trip over his own laces. Keep the tempo, boys."

Ayumi Brooke stood near the scorer’s table with her clipboard, scribbling quick notes while glancing toward Lucas and Ethan. Her smile was small but full of pride. (They’re in sync again... after everything that happened. Just don’t overdo it, Ethan.) She caught Lucas’s eye and mouthed, Nice shot, before stepping back toward the bench.

Lucas walked by, smirking. "Told you I was warmed up."

Ethan just gave a quiet nod, his mind already in the second quarter. (We’ve got the lead. Now... let’s break their rhythm before they break ours.)

On the other side of the court, the Piedmont Spartans bench gathered in tight, their expressions a mix of frustration and determination.

Cody "Tank" Wilson slammed down on the bench, sweat dripping from his hairline. "We’re getting rebounds, but we’re letting their shooters breathe too much."

Tyler "Skywalker" Brooks leaned against the Gatorade cooler, shaking his head. "Lucas is reading me too fast. I take one step and he’s already there... it’s like he’s inside my head."

Malik "Flash" Johnson sat forward, bouncing his leg rapidly. "And don’t get me started on Ethan, guy’s got some freaky court sense. I went for a backdoor cut, and somehow he was waiting before I even moved."

On the far end of the bench, Brandon "Brick" Thompson stayed silent, just sipping water and staring at Vorpal’s big man, Brandon Young. (That dude’s got weight. This is gonna be a war in the paint.)

Coach Ron stood in front of them, his gray blazer open, calm but firm. "You’re not outplayed, you’re out-read. Their genius and their prodigy, Ethan and Lucas are setting the pace. So... change the rhythm."

Darius "Steady D" Coleman, towel draped around his neck, looked each teammate in the eye. "Second quarter, we slow it down. Make them chase us. If they want to play fast, we drag them into mud. Got it?"

A couple of the bench players junior varsity fill-ins nodded quickly, though their nervous glances toward Vorpal’s bench showed they felt the pressure.

To be continue