The scoreboard screamed it in neon:

Vorpal 115 – Harbor 80.

Thirty-five points.

The Harbor Kings, their bodies drenched in sweat and pride dangling by a thread, tightened their lips as they inbounded. The third quarter had already cracked them but this early fourth-quarter stretch was threatening to shatter them completely.

On Vorpal's side, Ethan's mismatched crew, Kai Mendoza, Ryan Taylor, Josh Turner, Coonie Smith, and himself looked like an accident waiting to happen. Yet the accident was happening to Harbor.

4:59 left.

Harbor ball.

Jet Robinson snarled, barking for a clear-out. He dribbled hard, shoulders rocking, the Jet Step coiled like a spring.

"I'm done playing with kids."

He shot forward, a blur past Kai's shaky stance. Kai stumbled, trying to slide, but Jet was gone straight at the rim.

Skyline cleared out space, roaring: "Take flight, Jet!"

But Ethan had been waiting. His system mapped Jet's line of attack three beats before it happened. He slid, cut the angle, and rose.

Jet elevated, eyes burning, but Ethan was already twisting midair, Jordan's vertical merged with Kobe's body control. Their arms clashed.

SMACK!

The ball ricocheted, bouncing loose.

Josh dived first, scraping his elbows raw, securing the rock. He popped up and rifled to Coonie, who was already waving his arms like a showman.

"Showtime, boys! Follow my lead!"

Coonie pulled up from half-court. The crowd gasped.

The ball spun, impossibly long in the air, then—

CLANG!

Miss.

Ryan snatched the offensive rebound like a hawk, grinning wide.

"Relax, it's all part of the play."

He faked a putback, waited for Skyline to bite, then slipped it to Kai slashing in. Kai gathered, body shaking, but somehow muscled it in off the glass.

"YEAAAH!" Kai screamed, fists pumping.

Vorpal 117 – Harbor 80.

The bench went wild. Louie almost toppled over the scorer's table laughing. Lucas clapped hard, golden eyes shining.

"That's it, Kai! Keep running!"

4:26 left.

Harbor reset, pride fuming. Dante Morales stepped up this time, teeth clenched. He jabbed right, rose for a pull-up three, his bread-and-butter Harbor Splash.

Coonie darted in front, voice dripping venom.

"Careful, sniper. Miss again and the highlight reels label you a fraud."

Dante's release shook, ever so slightly.

CLANK!

Ryan, again, bullied his way into the rebound. He didn't even dribble, he turned and fired a bullet full-court pass to Ethan, sprinting like a predator.

Ethan caught, rose in one stride. Brick lunged to block

But Ethan's system pulsed. His body bent, shifting into a midair counter.

Fadeaway.

Kobe's form.

The shot arced, over Brick's fingertips.

SWISH!

Vorpal 119 – Harbor 80.

The gym thundered.

On the sideline, Ayumi's pen stopped mid-scribble. She whispered under her breath, trembling.

"This isn't just Ethan running the game… he's commanding fate itself."

4:02 left.

The Harbor Kings gathered at the top. Jet's voice cut sharp.

"No more showboating! Play together! NOW!"

They swung the ball Jet to Dante, Dante to Malik "Spin" Carter. Malik hit the gas, euro-stepping through Ryan and Josh, spinning midair. His Brooklyn Spin flared, hanging in the air

And finally FINALLY the ball kissed the rim and dropped.

The crowd erupted, half Harbor fans standing.

Malik pounded his chest, snarling.

"We're not DEAD yet!"

Vorpal 119 – Harbor 82.

Ethan's eyes flickered. Not fear. Calculation.

He pointed forward, calm but sharp.

"Run it. Again."

3:45 left.

Josh dribbled up, steady, unshaken. He handed off to Ryan, who exaggerated a wink at a row of girls.

"This one's for you."

Ryan jabbed, lowered his shoulder, then exploded toward the rim. Brick collided, arms wide, body like a tank.

BAM!

The whistle blew. Blocking foul Brick too slow.

Ryan hit the ground, grinning through the sweat. He slapped the hardwood, then looked up at Brick.

"Nice try, big guy. But you're too stiff."

Two free throws.

Ryan knocked them both down.

Vorpal 121 – Harbor 82.

3:32 left.

Harbor tried to answer. Dante handled it this time, curling around a Skyline screen. The shot rose clean, quick, dagger-like.

BANG!

Finally, the Harbor Splash connected.

Vorpal 121 – Harbor 85.

Their bench roared, fists pounding. Coach Sora Nakamura stood, fire in her voice.

"Stack the stops! Don't let them breathe!"

Ethan jogged up, chest heaving, but eyes razor-sharp. He pointed to Josh, to Kai, to Coonie directing traffic like a general.

Josh swung left. Kai slashed baseline. Ryan set a hard pick.

Ethan backed down Dante on the wing, the post move textbook. His system flickered Magic Johnson's vision.

As Skyline rotated to trap, Ethan whipped a behind-the-back dime straight to Kai in the corner.

Kai hesitated just one breath.

Ethan's voice cut sharp.

"Shoot it!"

Kai pulled. Release shaky

SWISH!

The net snapped.

Kai froze, stunned then pumped both fists, yelling to the rafters.

Vorpal 124 – Harbor 85.

The bench mobbed the sideline. Louie screamed, voice cracking.

"KAI MENDOZA IS ALIVE!!"

Even Lucas laughed, golden eyes blazing.

(This is what Ethan does. He doesn't just play. He makes everyone believe.)

3:00 left.

The whistle blew a timeout.

Both teams trudged to their benches, lungs burning, sweat pouring. The arena was shaking like an earthquake.

Vorpal's bench swarmed their oddball five, slapping backs, shouting in their ears.

Ayumi grabbed Ethan by the wrist, voice trembling.

"You bought them time. You bought Lucas, Louie, Brandon the perfect window."

Ethan's chest rose, eyes still locked on Harbor's bench, where Jet slammed his fist into the chair, Dante scowled into his jersey, Skyline leaned over gasping.

He finally exhaled, whispering, low but sharp.

"Good. Now… the real storm comes back in."

The scoreboard glared the truth:

Vorpal 124 – Harbor 85.

The horn blared.

The substitution came with three minutes left. Harbor's five Jet, Dante, Skyline, Brick, and Malik looked up to see Vorpal's real storm return. Faces paled. Shoulders sagged.

Ethan slapped Kai's shoulder.

"You held the line. Now rest."

Kai grinned, drenched in sweat but proud.

"Go finish it, cap."

Coonie tossed his towel dramatically, voice sharp and sassy.

"You better end this, because my mascara's already ruined."

Laughter sparked across the bench, even through the exhaustion.

Then Ethan turned—eyes locked on Lucas, Louie, and Brandon.

"This is it. We don't coast. We don't burn clock. We kill their spirit. They think they've survived? No."

He raised his hand like a commander carving orders into stone.

"Lucas, mirror Jet. Don't let him breathe."

Lucas's grin spread wide, feral.

"Copy that."

"Louie—off-ball chaos. Drag Dante into every screen. Run him ragged."

Louie pounded his chest.

"Let's cook."

"And Brandon—anchor the paint. Malik wants to muscle in? Shut him down. No second chances."

Brandon only nodded, eyes calm, immovable as ever

Ayumi's voice broke in, half-whisper, half-prayer.

"What about you, Ethan?"

Ethan's eyes gleamed, sharp as blades.

"I'll set the trap. They're desperate…they'll chase me. When they do, the floor opens. That's when we strike."

The whistle blew. The substitutions were official.

The real Vorpal was back.

Harbor possession.

Jet stormed up the court, jaw clenched, dribble snapping like thunder. He'd been smothered all night by Ethan's rotating schemes but this time, Lucas slid into his path.

Step for step.

Breath for breath.

Every twitch, every feint mirrored.

Jet growled, teeth bared.

"You again?!"

Lucas's golden eyes blazed.

"Not just me. You."

Jet drove left Lucas drove left.

Jet spun Lucas spun.

Jet stopped for a pull-up Lucas's hand was already there.

CLANG. Ball ricocheted. Brandon vacuumed the rebound.

Ethan clapped once.

"Go!"

The break erupted. Louie streaked up the sideline, waving his arms, hollering like a madman. Lucas cut middle, Brandon trailing.

Harbor scrambled, but too slow.

Ethan tossed a no-look to Louie

Louie didn't even glance at the rim. He lobbed high, perfect arc.

Brandon thundered down, both hands

BOOM. The rim rattled. The arena erupted.

Vorpal 126 – Harbor 85.

The dagger twisted deeper.

Next possession. Harbor forced the ball to Dante. He tried to break free, but Louie was a hornet, buzzing, bumping, never letting him breathe. Screens set, Louie crashed through them. Dante's shoulders sagged.

Ethan barked

"Trap left!"

The second Dante put the ball on the floor, Ethan and Lucas collapsed—two wolves closing in.

Swipe. Steal. Fast break.

Ethan darted forward, Dante trailing helplessly. But instead of taking it himself, Ethan flipped it behind his back

straight into Lucas's stride.

Lucas rose.

Pulled up.

Three in rhythm, smooth as silk.

Splash.

Vorpal 129 – Harbor 85.

The storm was suffocating.

Timeout Harbor.

Their huddle was broken players slumped, heads down. Jet slammed his towel, furious, but no one lifted their eyes. Even Brick's shoulders hung heavy.

Across the court, Vorpal's huddle burned bright.

Ethan leaned in, voice sharp, every word carved like gospel.

"Listen. They're cracked. This is the final push. Don't just beat them, bury them."

He drew quick lines on his palm, sketching invisible plays.

"Lucas, Brandon inside-out punch. Force them to collapse, then kick wide. Louie, be the release. Evan, control the tempo."

His eyes swept the circle.

"This isn't just about winning. It's about sending a message to the whole league. We don't survive. We dominate."

Ayumi felt her chest tighten. She'd seen Ethan scheme before, guide before. But this wasn't just leadership.

This was prophecy.

The horn blew again.

Three minutes to destiny.

Vorpal wasn't walking back onto the court.

They were marching to execution.

To be continue

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