The ball slapped into Lucas’s hands off the inbound.
His dribble was slow, rhythmic—like a ticking clock.
Eyes flicking, scanning, measuring.
Ahead stood Micah Vale.
Stance pristine. Arms low, wide. Knees bent just enough for balance but tight enough to strike.
(Strong base. Fast reaction time. Reads eyes, not shoulders.)
Lucas’s dribble slowed... then stopped altogether.
For a second, silence.
The same starting step.
The same deceptive misdirection with his eyes.
Micah’s expression flickered.
A microsecond too late.
Lucas exploded past him.
Crossover. Crisp and low.
Spin. Fluid, tight, never losing momentum.
Drive. Sharp, sudden, downhill.
Ayden Liu stepped in.
Chest out. Arms ready.
Lucas didn’t hesitate.
His body shifted in the air—
Kael’s explosive foot plant.
Elijah’s levitating hang-time.
Toby’s elbow elevation and protective shoulder dip.
And he slammed it in with a roar of steel and fury.
The sound of the dunk echoed long after the whistle.
Even the backboard groaned under the shock.
Forest’s players... paused.
Micah froze mid-turn.
Ayden stared at Lucas’s landing foot.
Toby blinked twice, as if recalibrating what he just saw.
Kael let out a sharp exhale—sharp and confused.
His smile twitched. The confident line curved... wavered... then dropped—just a little.
(He... copied all of us. In one move?)
Lucas didn’t celebrate.
Didn’t flex. Didn’t speak.
He just walked back to his side of the court, eyes forward, gaze fixed like a hawk.
Ayden’s arms dropped, slowly.
Toby exchanged a glance with Kael, unsettled.
Elijah rubbed the back of his neck, then smirked again—forced this time.
"So you really are that power, huh?"
Back on defense, sweat dripping down his temple, Evan slid beside Lucas.
"That was insane," he whispered, barely audible beneath the roaring crowd.
Lucas didn’t look at him. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist, gaze still locked forward.
"We’re not winning because of me," he murmured, voice calm.
"But we’re not losing without me, either."
Evan’s breath caught for a moment.
The ball came in for Forest’s possession.
Micah dribbled up the left, hips low, body dancing like liquid.
Kael darted behind him on a sharp cut—jab, dash, explode—and the pass zipped into his hands in one clean motion.
Lucas’s eyes moved fast—calculating the set, counting the frames.
Elijah—already airborne—lobbed it, elegant and effortless.
Ayden Liu rose like thunder in human form.
A one-handed alley-oop that shook the rim.
The arena detonated again.
Forest’s bench erupted. Fans pounded the glass.
On the other side of the court, Vorpal didn’t fold.
Josh clenched his fists, eyes blazing.
Brandon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, jaw set.
Because something had changed.
That slam didn’t bury them.
A flame had been lit.
Because if Forest was a monster...
And mirrors didn’t flinch.
Mirrors revealed everything—
Lucas crouched low in his stance as they reset. His fingers flexed.
(Let’s see how deep your training goes, Elijah...)
Across the court, Elijah caught that look again.
That same, unshaken calm.
Just the unnerving silence of someone already inside your head.
But it didn’t reach his eyes.
The Forest players jogged back like kings returning from conquest.
Elijah cracked his neck lazily.
Kael wiped sweat from his brow, exhaling like the game was beneath him.
Ayden slow-walked across the key, his expression as still as stone.
Like the war was already won.
He was already at half-court.
Eyes locked dead on Elijah.
The moment stretched.
Like something else entirely.
Like lightning in sneakers.
The crossover that followed—
The court seemed to bend around him.
The silhouette of Allen Iverson rippled through the motion.
(That angle... that hesitation—)
(That’s not just mimicry. That’s soul-theft.)
Micah lunged, arms wide—
But Lucas was already gone.
A blur in navy and white.
Lucas froze Ayden mid-step with a phantom hesitation.
Ayden twitched to react—
Lucas vanished past his blindside, slicing the angle like a surgeon.
The ball kissed glass—
Just the thud of the net and the echo of sneakers pivoting.
Elijah’s eyes followed him.
Micah clenched his jaw.
Lucas didn’t celebrate.
He turned. Calm. Composed.
Eyes still locked like a machine tracking a single target.
Elijah jogged forward... slower this time.
He dribbled casually, head half-turned—checking his flank.
Lucas was already there.
Elijah glanced back and chuckled.
"Hoh... you’re gonna chase me full-court now?"
Just existed in his space.
Elijah moved past a mid-screen from Ayden—
But Evan was waiting.
The gym lurched as the ball flew the other way.
Evan tore down the court.
Behind-the-back flick.
Lucas caught it in stride.
The Forest bench stood, expressions no longer amused.
(He’s catching rhythm...)
Micah inbounded—hurried now.
Kael pushed forward, trying to reset the tempo.
He was already moving.
Cut the passing lane—
Micah chased this time—sprinting. Desperate.
But Lucas wasn’t the same Lucas anymore.
He had copied everything.
Pause. Twitch. Glide.
Lucas stayed grounded.
Switched hands mid-air—
Forest Basket called it.
And the roar of the crowd fell—
A deep, haunted hush.
Micah leaned over, hands on knees.
Kael stared at the floor.
Elijah... turned to his bench, silent.
Lucas didn’t look at them.
He didn’t raise his fists.
Didn’t gesture to the crowd.
He walked back to his side, slow and steady.