CHAPTER 250: CHAPTER 237: VORPAL VS HARBOR KINGS (4)

The whistle blew, and Brandon slapped the ball to inbound.

Instantly Harbor swarmed. Jet crouched low in front of Aiden, arms twitching like a coiled spring. Spin Carter floated near half-court, waiting to pounce. Dante shadowed Lucas, Brick muscled Brandon, Skyline loomed like a skyscraper in the lane.

The trap was alive.

"Here we go again..." Aiden muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. (Don’t freeze. Trust the pass.)

Brandon lobbed it to him.

Jet pounced.

"Caught you slippin’, rookie!" Jet’s hand flashed, slapping at the ball.

Aiden twisted, protecting it with his body. He shoved a quick bounce pass to Louie—only for Malik’s hand to snake in, nearly poking it away. The crowd screamed.

Louie barely caught it, spinning wildly.

"Whoa! Too close! Don’t scare me like that!"

He bolted forward, but Slick Vasquez slid into his lane, hesitation dribble ready.

"Dance with me, kid."

Louie gulped. (Don’t fall... don’t fall... Ethan’s watching!)

He stutter-stepped past half-court and tossed it to Lucas before Slick’s Cobra Cross could snap him in two.

Lucas caught, pivoted, and rose for another jumper. Dante was already in the air.

"Not again!" Dante shouted, hand over Lucas’s eyes.

Lucas smirked mid-air. "Too late."

The ball flicked... bounced off the rim.

Brandon muscled inside, sealing Brick with every ounce of his strength. "This board is mine." He rose only to meet Skyline’s hand swatting down like thunder.

"NOT IN MY CITY!" Skyline roared, batting the rebound into Jet’s hands.

Harbor ignited the break.

Jet tore down the middle, defense scrambling. Aiden sprinted after him, Louie panting on his heels.

"Don’t let him through!" Aiden yelled.

Jet laughed. "Too slow!" He faked right, snapped left—the Jet Step—and blasted past both.

But Lucas read it this time. He cut the angle, planting in front of Jet.

"Got you now."

Jet grinned. "Nah. Got YOU."

He euro-stepped, floating sideways, slipping the ball under Lucas’s arm. Malik streaked in, catching midair, spinning Brooklyn Spin! He laid it in off the glass.

Harbor’s bench erupted.

Scoreboard: Vorpal 34 – Harbor 33.

On the sideline, Coach Nakamura pumped her fist.

"That’s it! Faster! Keep the pressure—Vorpal will crack!"

Ethan exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving the floor.

(If we keep trading plays, we’ll lose. They thrive in chaos. I need my team to bend the tempo... slow it, control it...)

Scoreboard: Vorpal 37 – Harbor 33.

But Harbor wasted no time.

Jet accelerated, feeding Skyline at the rim. Skyline rose for a lob—Brandon met him chest-to-chest.

"Not today!" Brandon bellowed, shoving Skyline midair. The ball ricocheted, loose.

Malik dove, flipping it back to Dante.

"Harbor Splash!" Dante yelled, launching instantly.

The ball zipped through the net.

Scoreboard: Vorpal 37 – Harbor 36.

The gym thundered. Every possession was a war, every cut a gamble, every rebound a collision.

And on the bench, Ethan’s fists tightened on his knees.

"Three minutes into the quarter... and it’s already slipping into their rhythm." His eyes sharpened like blades.

The gym roared as Harbor tightened the press, their traps snapping like jaws around every dribble.

Louie darted across half court, barely saving a turnover with a desperate bounce to Aiden. Lucas cut hard, but Jet shadowed him step for step, his grin wicked.

"Too slow, sunshine!" Jet barked, stripping the ball only for Brandon to muscle in, snatching it back with brute strength.

The crowd exploded.

On the bench, Ethan didn’t flinch. His teammates expected his voice, a sudden adjustment, maybe even a trick from his system. But instead, Ethan sat perfectly still, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the floor.

(I can’t burn everything here, he thought, pulse steady. They’re watching. The monsters... they’ll dissect every move I reveal. If I use the Fadeaway, if I show the Vision, they’ll prepare for it in the finals. No. Not yet.)

Ayumi glanced at him nervously. "Ethan, they’re struggling—shouldn’t you...?"

He shook his head slowly.

"This isn’t the time to play savior. They need to bleed first. Only then will the plan matter."

His gaze tracked every cut, every screen, every defensive rotation. To the crowd, it looked like Vorpal was just surviving. But in Ethan’s mind, the blueprint was forming every Harbor habit, every Jet misstep, every tiny hesitation.

For now, he’d let the chaos burn itself out.

Ayumi whispered, voice tight. "They’re hanging in... but it feels like we’re just reacting."

Ethan’s gaze didn’t waver.

"That’s fine. Let Harbor show everything first. Every trap, every rotation, every greedy gamble Jet makes—I’ll carve it apart when it matters."

Back on the court, Harbor struck again. Jet snatched a steal, bolting coast to coast. Lucas chased him stride for stride. Jet leapt cocked the ball back only for Lucas to mirror, swatting it clean against the glass.

The gym detonated.

Aiden scooped the rebound, flung it downcourt. Louie caught it, stumbled, then fired a wild behind-the-back pass straight into Josh’s hands. Corner three.

Bang.

Vorpal 42 – Harbor 36.

Ethan exhaled softly. His teammates grinned, the bench roared, but he only narrowed his eyes.

(Good. Keep fighting. Keep surviving. The second half is mine.)

The gym was shaking stomps on the bleachers, chants rising, sneakers squealing with every pivot.

Lucas wiped sweat from his forehead, breathing hard, but his grin cut through exhaustion.

(This is it. This is why I play. This pressure, this heat. Every move they throw at me—it’s mine to steal.)

He crouched low on defense, eyes locked on Jamal "Jet" Robinson. Jet dribbled loose, shoulders swaying, rhythm dripping with arrogance.

"Boy, you’re light work," Jet smirked, snapping the ball between his legs. "I’ll smoke you again."

Lucas tilted his head, smile flashing. "Then go ahead and try. I’ll take whatever you give me."

Jet’s eyes narrowed. One hard cross left to right and Jet exploded, slicing into the lane.

But Lucas’s body snapped with him, perfectly mirrored. His sneakers screamed against the hardwood.

Jet’s grin faltered. "No way..."

Another burst. Jet hit his patented Jet Step, a lightning crossover into a darting layup. The move that left defenders in dust, that broke ankles across Brooklyn playgrounds.

Lucas’s pupils burned gold for a flicker. His footwork copied frame for frame, a mirror moving beside him.

(Jet Step? ...Mine now.)

Jet rose to finish but Lucas rose with him, palm swatting the ball mid-air. The smack cracked like thunder.

"WHAT?!" Jet stumbled, staring at Lucas.

Lucas landed, spinning into transition before Jet even recovered. The ball zipped into his dribble, his body gliding forward with the same burst of speed he just stole.

(So this is how it feels... no, not just speed, his rhythm, his timing. I can flow with it perfectly!)

He rocketed upcourt. Malik tried to cut him off, but Lucas snapped into Jet’s exact move: a hard hesitation, then a crossover into a burst layup. The exact same Jet Step stolen, perfected.

Malik froze, too slow. Lucas banked it in.

Swish.

Vorpal 44 – Harbor 36.

The crowd went insane. Students leapt from the bleachers, waving their arms, screaming his name.

Ayumi, standing at the bench, clutched her clipboard. Her voice shook but her eyes shone. "Lucas... he copied it. Perfectly."

Back on defense, Jet was seething, lips curled. "You little thief..."

Lucas smirked, bouncing on his toes. "Nah. I just borrow. Then I make it better."

Harbor regrouped. Coach Sora barked from the sideline, her sharp voice slicing through the noise: "Dante, flare high! Malik, ISO! Jet, move the rock!"

The Harbor machine churned. Malik got the ball top of the key, swagger in his handle. He spun left, shoulder dipped, then twisted back right with his signature Brooklyn Spin.

Lucas slid with him watching, recording, dissecting. The ball kissed glass, Malik finishing with a reverse at the rim.

(Brooklyn Spin... tricky, but predictable. Let’s try that on for size.)

Lucas inbounded quick, demanding the ball on the return. He dribbled up against Malik, eyes gleaming.

Malik sneered. "Don’t think you can copy me, sunshine."

Lucas chuckled, shoulders loose. "Watch close then."

One step then he snapped into Malik’s own spin. Sharp, fluid, waist low, body twisting around contact. Malik’s eyes went wide.

Lucas finished with the same reverse, except cleaner, faster.

The crowd gasped then erupted in unison:

"LUCAS! LUCAS! LUCAS!"

Vorpal 46 – Harbor 38.

Josh jogged over, laughing, slapping Lucas’s back. "Bro, you’re unreal. Copycat king!"

Lucas grinned wider, hands raised. "Not copycat. Mirror."

Evan, running back on defense, added with a smirk: "More like nightmare. They’re not ready for you."

But Harbor didn’t back down. Dante Morales, the Sniper lifted off a curl, catching Jet’s feed. Quick release, high arc

.

Bang. Three-pointer, clean.

Vorpal 46 – Harbor 41.

Lucas squinted. (That shot... fast. No wasted motion. If I can mimic it—then I can stretch the floor like him.)

Next possession, Evan swung the ball to Lucas at the wing. Malik closed out, arms wide.

Lucas raised the ball, Dante’s form replaying in his head, the set feet, the catch, the quick flick.

(Harbor Splash... mine.)

He fired. The ball zipped off his fingers, arc clean, rhythm pure.

Swish. Nothing but net.

The bench erupted. Louie nearly fell out of his seat, screaming: "HE STOLE THE THREE TOO! MY BOY! THAT’S MY BOY!"

Vorpal 49 – Harbor 41.

Lucas backpedaled, smirk broadening, hand cupped to his ear. "Can you hear it, Harbor? Your tricks are mine now."

Jet snarled, charging back with fire. He split Evan and Ryan with a double-cross, lobbing to DeShawn "Skyline" Rivers.

BOOM! Skyline slammed it home with fury.

The gym shook. Harbor’s bench roared.

Vorpal 49 – Harbor 43.

Lucas wiped his lips with his jersey, eyes fixed on DeShawn’s soaring frame. (That dunk... no. Not yet. His vertical is insane. My body’s not there—yet.)

He steadied his breathing. (Patience, Lucas. You can’t steal what your body can’t handle. For now, pick your moments.)

Timeout was called. Both squads gathered.

Vorpal’s huddle buzzed with adrenaline. Josh was laughing. "Lucas is cooking these dudes! Jet looks like he saw a ghost!"

Ryan leaned forward, sweat dripping, playful smirk flashing. "Copycat turned killer. Harbor’s shaking."

Lucas just grinned, breathing steady. "I’m not even done."

As the players broke the huddle, Lucas bounced the ball once, golden eyes gleaming with fire.

(Every move they throw at me is another weapon. Jet’s step, Malik’s spin, Dante’s splash. One by one, they’re mine. By the end of this game... I’ll own Harbor’s soul.)

The whistle blew. The quarter pressed on.

And Lucas smiling, fearless, unstoppable was just getting started.

To be continue