Location: Lucas Graves' Private Gym

The sunlight poured through the tall windows, slicing golden rectangles across the polished hardwood floor. The gym smelled faintly of sweat, leather, and the faint tang of ozone from the ventilation. Sneakers squeaked rhythmically against the court, the hollow echo of a ball bouncing, and the occasional laughter of teammates filled the air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, the space felt almost normal, a fragile bubble of ordinary life. Ethan wiped sweat from his brow, dribbling the ball slowly as he scanned his teammates moving around him. Ryan flexed for no one in particular, Louie trash-talked the air with exaggerated gestures, and Brandon quietly boxed out imaginary opponents beneath the hoop.

"Alright, reset! Let's run the motion again!" Ethan barked, passing the ball sharply to Lucas.

Lucas caught it smoothly, spinning into a perfect jumper that swished through the net. A grin lit his face, bright and easy. "Feels good to focus on basketball again, huh?"

Ethan nodded, a small, rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah… feels clear."

But the clarity was fleeting. His mind refused to rest. Shadows lingered, intangible yet suffocating. Somewhere beyond these walls, unseen hands were moving pieces he hadn't even seen yet.

As the team gathered near the benches for a water break, Ethan's gaze shifted to Coonie. The stocky guard lounged with one leg crossed over the other, towel draped over his shoulders like a cape, sipping water with exaggerated slowness.

"Hey, Coonie," Ethan began, eyes narrowing slightly. "How's your mom holding up? I mean… after everything with Delrio."

Coonie clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes with his usual flair. "Mother is fine. That bastard Delrio hasn't shown his ugly face since we yoinked his little ledger. Keke."

Louie burst out laughing. "Yoinked! Bro, you make it sound like we robbed a cookie jar."

Coonie smirked. "Well, technically, we robbed a cult's secret underground operation. But sure, call it a cookie jar if that makes you sleep better."

Ryan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a bemused smirk on his face. "Man's talking like it's nothing. You literally sprinted through a death chamber with a book under your arm like some Indiana Jones knockoff."

"Correction," Coonie replied smoothly, "I outplayed a bunch of cult weirdos while your pretty ass was probably flirting with the team manager through the comms."

Ryan pointed at him. "…Okay, fair."

Evan, calm and methodical as ever, adjusted his sleeves and spoke up. "Delrio disappearing doesn't mean he's gone. He's probably recalculating his next move. People like him don't just stop."

Ethan's tactical mind churned, already plotting three steps ahead. "Exactly. That's why I'm asking. Any sudden changes with your mom? Behavior? Visitors? Anything out of the ordinary?"

Coonie tilted his head, expression darkening slightly. "She's… oddly cheerful. Like, even more than usual. But no one's visited. No strange letters. No shadowy men in robes in the kitchen. It's… quiet. Too quiet."

Lucas threw him a basketball, breaking the tension with a light-hearted bounce. "Then we keep eyes open but keep training. Semifinals are next. Can't let anyone mess with our rhythm."

Energy returned to the gym. Louie began exaggerated warm-ups, shouting over the court. "Semifinals, baby! Time to show these fools the Vorpal highlight reel!"

Aiden smirked, dribbling around him. "Just try not to airball again, Louie."

"THAT WAS ONE TIME!" Louie yelled, chasing him down the court.

Jeremy sat at the edge, quiet but with a fire burning behind his eyes, hands tightening on his knee pads. Even in silence, he radiated intensity.

Ethan leaned against the padded wall, staring at the ceiling, thoughts whispering beneath the laughter of his teammates. (Delrio's silent. Cloud's moving in the shadows. Romanov's watching the board.) (And we… we're stuck in the middle. Playing basketball like nothing's happening.)

Lucas bumped shoulders with him, breaking his reverie. "Hey. You're thinking too much again."

"When am I not?" Ethan replied, smirking faintly.

Lucas chuckled. "True. But that's why we follow you. You think three steps ahead so we don't have to."

Ethan exhaled slowly. "Let's just say… this quiet feels like a timeout before the final quarter. Something's coming."

Lucas's yellow eyes sharpened, his usual brightness dimming to focus. "Then we'll face it. Together. Like always."

Across the court, Coonie called out dramatically. "Oi, lovebirds! Save the deep talk for after practice. We've got plays to run!"

Ryan smirked. "For once, Baldy's right."

Louie fired a shot from half-court that swished perfectly. "LET'S GOOOOO, TEAM VORPAL!" The gym erupted in cheers and laughter. For a fleeting moment, the weight of ledgers, cults, and shadows faded. They were just a team.

But Ethan's eyes narrowed. Somewhere beyond these walls, the next move was already being prepared.

…..

On the other side…

Delrio's hand curled into a fist. "Prepare the counterattack. Mobilize the sleepers, the infiltrators, everyone still breathing. We strike at every lead. If Cloud wants to play shadow games—fine. I'll burn the shadows down."

Uneasy glances passed between his lieutenants. A woman stepped forward cautiously. "Pastor… with all due respect… Cloud's network is beyond anything we've seen. He's always two moves ahead. If we attack blindly, we'll—"

Her words were cut short by Delrio's icy glare. "I don't care if he's a goddamn ghost. I built this empire from ashes. No spoiled, platinum-haired pretty boy is taking it from me."

Far away, in a derelict building filled with quiet power, Cloud's hidden command hub thrummed with life. Streams of data flowed across walls of glowing screens. Surveillance feeds, encrypted communications, and digital maps overlapped like the layers of a living organism.

Cloud sat in a sleek black chair, platinum hair glinting in the ghostly light. Calm. Detached. Every movement deliberate. One screen showed Delrio's chapel, the pastor raging, captured through a hacked security line.

"Predictable, Pastor," Cloud murmured, the faintest curl of amusement at the corner of his lips.

His fingers danced across the keyboard, rerouting signals, planting false intel, orchestrating chaos as if conducting an orchestra in complete silence. Delrio's counterattack had been anticipated long before the first command left the man's lips.

(You think you're preparing to strike back… but you're already surrounded. I'm not fighting you head-on. I'm rewriting the battlefield.)

A voice crackled through his earpiece. "Target Alpha's network is moving. Delrio's calling in his sleeper cells."

"Good," Cloud replied smoothly. "Let them gather. The more they move, the more I see. Set the trap. We'll dismantle his counterattack before it begins."

Back in the underground chapel, Delrio stood at the center of his war room like a general before battle. Maps were spread across tables, encrypted drives stacked high, weapons laid out in meticulous rows. His voice rang with authority as he issued orders, unwavering.

(Cloud… you thought you could erase me. But I've survived worse than you. I'll drag you out of the shadows, and when I do… you'll wish I had killed you first.)

Beyond the stone walls, invisible drones hovered silently, lenses watching every movement. Cloud's eyes were already there, tracking each gesture, each command.

In the hub, Cloud leaned back, watching Delrio's plans unfold on his screens. Calm. Calculating. Already several moves ahead. Each of the pastor's commands fell neatly into his calculations, predictable and disposable.

He tapped the side of his mask lightly, almost playfully.

(I won't let you touch Ethan. You're not the only one who can build an empire… I just build mine smarter.)

A faint smirk curved his lips. "Game on, Pastor."

To be continue

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