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.
He ignored the screen, slicing past it like smoke.
He drove hard, heel barely grazing the hardwood—
Eyes forward. Hands calm.
Then, without looking—
A no-look dump-off behind his back, right into Evan’s waiting hands.
Perfect timing. Perfect pace.
Evan didn’t hesitate.
Sharp as ever, he saw the defense rotating late.
(They’re ball-watching.)
He bounced a low, slicing pass between the big man’s legs—
Right to Ryan, cutting like a phantom behind the baseline.
23 – 22. Vorpal back in front.
The crowd gasped. A few even stood up.
They were quiet. Eyes wide.
"...They’re... vibing now."
Forest came in tight with a press trapping the inbound, hands everywhere.
He didn’t touch the ball.
Then cut wide to the left like a decoy.
All eyes followed him.
Quick step. Quick read.
He passed to Josh Turner at the top.
The announcers lost it.
"THEY’RE PLAYING STREET NOW!"
"NO SIGNALS! NO SETUP!"
"HOW DO YOU EVEN GUARD THIS?!"
Lucas jogged back, sweat glistening, eyes alive.
He glanced over at the stunned Forest players—
(This... is Vorpal Ball.)
And he was just getting started.
Elijah Rainn brought it up.
But there was no stomp of the foot.
No fingers in the air.
His body moved like water —
Shoulder lean, head sway, cross to the right—
But Elijah didn’t react.
(He’s not attacking me...)
WHIP! —a one-handed bullet pass to Mason, who was already curling around the wing.
Mason didn’t even look surprised.
Thomas caught it high, didn’t even square his feet—
"That’s a bad shot!" someone yelled.
It wasn’t just the bucket.
It was how it happened.
Like Elijah played a different sport.
Like he wasn’t thinking basketball anymore—
He was conducting it.
Lucas clenched his jaw.
(They’re not reacting anymore...)
(They’re... anticipating. Like it’s music.)
Elijah jogged past him, calm as ever.
And with the faintest smirk, said:
"You feel it now, right?"
He just tapped his chest once—
The beat was in his blood too.
Evan inbounded the ball to Lucas.
Lucas, eyes low, walked it up slow—
Like a boxer entering the ring.
He passed toward Ryan on the wing.
Elijah read it like a melody on sheet music.
"He jumped it before Lucas even passed!"
(No—he knew it was coming.)
Elijah didn’t hesitate.
He pivoted, like a dancer mid-spin.
He didn’t blaze down the court—he glided.
A single bounce pass to the corner.
The "Evergreen Wall" didn’t charge in.
Didn’t force contact.
He caught it with grace.
Lucas stood frozen for a second.
His fingers twitched.
(They stole the rhythm.)
Ayumi covered her mouth on the bench.
Her eyes trembled, lips parted not from fear, but awe.
As if she was watching something unnatural unfold.
Coach Fred, arms crossed, had stopped coaching.
He just... blinked. Once. Twice.
Brandon gritted his teeth.
"Sh*t," he muttered under his breath.
"We’re not playing a team," Ryan said quietly, backpedaling beside Lucas, eyes wide.
"We’re playing a current."
He was too focused on Elijah, who was already jogging back on defense — calm as still water.
(He’s not trying to beat us...)
(He’s trying to move us.)
Lucas’s gaze swept the court.
His teammates were scrambling.
Josh got caught on another screen again.
Brandon rotated late.
Evan’s reads, normally instant, were delayed just one beat off.
Only he and Ryan still had their balance.
But it wasn’t enough.
Because Elijah wasn’t staying in one place anymore.
He was flowing shifting skipping between roles like a conductor of chaos.
Elijah strolled up the court with it.
No urgency. Just... poise.
Let the moment breathe.
Lucas stepped forward.
Hands low. Shoulders relaxed.
Then turned his back.
A slow, smooth pivot.
He dribbled low tight to his foot like the ball was tied to his palm.
Elijah spun and with a flick of his wrist, slung a behind-the-back pass.
Right into Julian’s hands in the corner.
"Corner! Corner!" Josh shouted too late.
Julian caught in rhythm.
The gym roared. But Elijah didn’t even pump his fist.
(He’s not the fastest.)
(But right now... he’s everything.)
The crowd didn’t cheer.
Because it wasn’t dominance—
Lucas stood in the middle of the court.
Eyes locked on Elijah.
(You’re not a point guard...)
But enough to shift the air.
(Then let’s change the genre.)
He slapped his chest once.
His voice rang out through the gym like a battle cry.
"I won’t let you win."
The gym snapped awake.
He finally looked at Lucas.
But a new rhythm began.