Elijah dribbled up, signaling a horns set — Kael and Micah rose to the elbows. Jeremy Park switched stances, reading the formation.
Louie crouched low on defense, eyes locked on Elijah’s hips.
Kael darted down for a back screen Elijah used it, curling wide.
But Louie didn’t chase the ball...
He jumped the passing lane.
Kael turned too late.
Louie’s right hand deflected the pass then in one motion, he snagged it out of midair, flicking it behind his back to himself while turning.
The gym cracked open with cheers.
Louie sprinted, two steps ahead of the pack.
A defender cut him off at the wing.
Louie slowed dragged his right foot behind the left in a smooth gather ste then hard step-back dribble to the corner.
The crowd held its breath.
No jump. Just rhythm.
Forest tried to inbound fast.
But Louie was already there.
Micah caught the ball and Louie pressed full-court.
Micah jabbed, then spun but Louie didn’t bite.
Clean steal. Two hands.
He skipped backward in rhythm, dribbling between his legs left to right, left to right. Then with a sudden jolt:
One step inside the arc defender rotated.
Pump fake defender bit.
Louie tucked the ball, shifted mid-air.
Scoop layup with English off glass.
Ayumi nearly dropped her clipboard.
They tried to switch it up give it to Kael at the wing.
Kael faked a jab, tried to ISO.
Coonie slid in to hedge just a flash.
Kael panicked kicked it out to Elijah.
But Louie leapt like a panther intercepted the pass mid-air.
Kai ran left. Aiden right.
Louie snapped a no-look behind-the-back bounce pass to Aiden.
Aiden caught immediately tossed a soft lob back to Louie near the baseline.
🎙️ Jamie (commentator):
"LOUIE DAVAS IS TURNING THIS GYM INTO A STREETBALL ARENA!"
🎙️ Coach Doyle (analyst):
"That’s not just flash, Jamie. That’s fundamentals layered under instinct. That scoop layup? That’s years of timing. That bounce pass? Textbook... just with sauce."
Forest called timeout.
Their bench looked rattled.
Elijah stared across the court...
Louie spun the ball on one finger, grinning like a kid on asphalt.
(You wanna play basketball? Then play with fire.)
Elijah Rainn’s shoes scraped against the hardwood as he came to a slow stop at the top of the key.
Louie had just drained another shot a ridiculous, off-balance floater from the right elbow and the crowd was losing its mind. Forest was down 35–30. Momentum? Shifted. Rhythm? Broken.
But Elijah didn’t scowl.
Small. Calm. Focused.
He let the noise roll past him like ocean waves, then turned his head — slowly — to his teammates.
"Mason," he said first, glancing at the thick-shouldered forward jogging toward him. "You’re not chasing Louie anymore."
"You’re baiting him."
Mason furrowed his brow, confused. Elijah didn’t wait.
"Thomas," he called next, eyes sharp. "He’s not running plays. He’s making reads. So don’t guard his movement—guard his habits."
Thomas blinked. "Meaning...?"
"He likes the left-to-right cross after a hesitation. And that weird spin move before the jumper?" Elijah mimicked it with his fingers in mid-air, like sketching patterns only he could see. "He resets his footing during the spin. Cut off that reset. Step in—don’t wait."
Mason tilted his head. "That’s risky. If we’re off by a second—"
"Then we fall. But if we don’t try, we burn anyway."
The two teammates looked at him. Elijah’s voice didn’t waver.
"Louie Davas is playing jazz. We counter with classical. Structure. Deliberation. Control the tempo."
Coach Nguyen, arms crossed at the sideline, didn’t need to call a timeout.
He just nodded once and Elijah returned it with a subtle tilt of his chin.
(We’ll bring silence.)
Forest returned to the court not like men chasing a lead
But like hunters stalking through still air.
Just footsteps. Calm. Collected.
The center of that stillness.
He strolled to halfcourt, eyes fixed on Louie, who stood near the arc, casually spinning the ball on his fingertip like he was still in a streetball dream.
"You done stretching, pretty boy?"
Then his voice calm, smooth as falling snow.
"I’m just starting to play."
The gym held its breath.
(Control the rhythm. Reclaim the tempo. Anchor the storm.)
Forest’s inbound was surgical.
Thomas didn’t rush the pass.
He waited. Counted beats like a conductor.
One. Two. Three—snap.
Dribbled with his head up, eyes surveying
Each bounce hitting like a metronome.
(Louie’s still riding instinct. No help defense behind him. Good.)
He passed right to Mason at the elbow.
Louie twitched—bit on it
But Mason didn’t shoot.
Quick reverse hand-off back to Elijah, looping to the left wing.
Elijah stopped short.
Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees bent. Elbow in.
Louie recovered arms up
Elijah planted, pivoted bounce pass under the arm threading the needle to Thomas cutting baseline.
Layup. Clean. Textbook. Two points.
Just surgical silence.
Vorpal’s bench stopped clapping.
Forest wasn’t playing harder.
They were playing smarter.
He was just warming up.
The moment the ball was inbounded, he snatched it from the air like it was a grenade, already in motion before most players had even turned.
A behind-the-back cross—
A gliding spin off his left foot—
He was a blur of limbs and swagger, the very embodiment of streetball chaos.
(Fast. Stay fast. Don’t let ’em breathe.)
He tore through the center like a wildfire unleashed—
Elijah Rainn was already there.
Not guarding him directly. Not lunging.
Cool. Silent. Rooted.
His eyes weren’t even locked on Louie—
They were ahead of him.
(No way he read that. He ain’t that fast... is he?)
Fake behind-the-back bounce.
He flicked his wrist as if the ball was going to Jeremy, who had just broken off the baseline—
Thomas cut the line like a hawk diving through fog. A perfect read.
Louie’s momentum threw him off-balance.
Forest was already gone.
(Shit. That wasn’t luck. That was... pattern reading?)
Mason caught the outlet pass on the left wing.
Hand in his face, defender late—
Flick. Follow-through. Clean.
Not just because of the points.
But because they felt it.
Like the oxygen being drained from the fire.
Vorpal’s momentum flickered.
It cracked for just a second.
Backpedaling, Elijah said nothing.
Didn’t shout. Didn’t smirk.
He just looked at Louie across the court.
Still smiling. Still composed.
And he whispered to himself just loud enough that maybe... just maybe, Louie could read his lips.
"But in the forest..."
"...fire gets smothered."