Elijah Rainn took the inbound.
He dribbled slowly, calmly, his back straight, scanning the floor like a king moving chess pieces. His fingers flicked three raised.
Forest shifted on cue.
Noah Sinclair sank back, anchoring the paint like a lurking leviathan.
Julian Kim drifted high, faking a handoff angle.
He ghosted away sliding deep into the right corner. No theatrics. No signal.
Lucas tracked Julian, staying tight. Chest to shoulder. He didn’t overreact.
But something prickled at the back of his mind.
(Wait... they’re spreading too wide.)
(This isn’t for Julian.)
(It’s not him they want...)
Then Elijah snapped into motion exploding left with a violent first step.
Evan jumped to cut him off.
He stopped just as fast as he started, sending the ball zipping backward to Thomas Webb.
Thomas didn’t even look.
Straight to Noah Sinclair, who caught and, without turning, slung a looping pass to the right corner.
Mason Lee was already there.
Forest’s bench jumped up. A few fans clapped rhythmically.
No screams. No roars.
A team that had just taken a punch—and responded in rhythm.
Ayumi gritted her teeth on the bench.
"Mason Lee... he’s not a decoy anymore."
Coach Fred scribbled notes, muttering to himself.
"They’re unpeeling us. Bit by bit."
He stared at the net.
Then slowly walked back to take the inbound.
His eyes never blinked.
His fingers didn’t twitch.
Calmer than he had any right to be.
(Good. You’re trying now.)
(Then I’ll try harder.)
Josh passed him the ball.
Louie Gee grinned from the sideline.
He walked to the other end.
Instead, he just glanced at Evan—
Then lifted his chin.
One finger. One message.
The gym hushed, sensing the challenge in the air.
(You want a chess match?)
Lucas dribbled up like a storm gathering.
He wasn’t the flashiest.
Not the most explosive.
Every twitch Elijah made earlier—the way his foot planted, the way his shoulder dipped before the crossover...
Lucas didn’t just see it.
Because Absolute Mimicry was deconstruction.
Same tempo. Same posture. Same grace.
Elijah’s brow furrowed slightly as he dropped into stance.
Lucas spun out of the crossover—
One beat faster than Elijah’s version.
The net snapped crisply, like it was saluting.
The gym erupted not in cheers but in a low, collective gasp.
Even Coach Fred staggered, catching his clipboard before it fell.
Ayumi’s voice cracked.
"He... he’s doing exactly what Elijah did..."
Forest’s bench stilled.
He stayed standing during the dead ball.
Didn’t look to the bench.
He just looked at Lucas—
(You’re not just a mirror anymore...)
In the stands, Jalen smile widened.
His fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"Yes... yes... that’s it, Lucas."
"Steal from them all."
"Surpass your limits."
And down on the court, Lucas adjusted his wristband.
Eyes locked on Elijah.
Elijah Rainn passed midcourt.
Just the rhythm of the ball.
But Lucas didn’t bite.
His eyes locked in, body tense.
(You were a machine before. Now you’re... jazz.)
Elijah drifted sideways—
Shoulders relaxed, head tilted slightly, like he was listening to a beat only he could hear.
He threw the ball off the glass.
From the left corner, Julian Kim came flying in.
The rim shook violently.
Ayumi shot up from the bench, hand covering her mouth.
Coach Fred’s eyes nearly fell out of his head.
"What the hell was that play?!"
"It... wasn’t a play," she said.
Forest... was changing.
They weren’t just running sets anymore.
They were moving as one.
Structure into rhythm.
And that was terrifying.
Lucas wiped his sweat, watching Elijah retreat with a calm, almost amused smile.
Micah, usually silent, suddenly stood up from the Forest bench—his voice slicing through the noise:
"JUST MOVE! FLOW! DON’T THINK—FEEL!"
And Forest responded.
Like electricity surging through a wire.
Like jazz musicians in perfect sync.
Noah, the Evergreen Wall, spun smoothly at the top of the key—
(Spin. Vision. Read.)
—then dished to Mason on the wing.
He twisted mid-air, fading away—
Then slung a no-look pass behind his head.
Right into the cutting lane.
22 – 21. Forest leads again.
Lucas stared in stunned silence.
Eyes scanning, heartbeat calm but confused.
(That wasn’t basketball anymore...)
(That was choreography.)
(They’re not playing...)
He clapped his hands once.
Turned to Evan with fire in his eyes—
"NO MORE SYSTEM!" he yelled.
Vorpal Ball... unlocked.
Lucas Graves is beginning to awaken just like those players they faced back then.
(But this time... it feels different.)
(More controlled. More dangerous.)
Lucas dribbled. Fast. Loose. Wild.
The ball didn’t bounce — it snapped.
No pattern. No signal.
He didn’t even look at the coach.
Like fire in the wind.