Extra Basket-Chapter 188 - 175: The Day of the Storm

The lights dimmed.

A heavy bass rumbled through the arena floor. The crowd’s chatter faded as the spotlight beams crisscrossed the hardwood court.

A booming voice echoed through the arena speakers—deep, sharp, and electrifying.

"Welcome... to the NATIONAL MIDDLE SCHOOL TOURNAMENT— KNOCKOUT STAGE!"

Cheers erupted. The sound was overwhelming—thousands of voices colliding, clapping, chanting. Banners waved. Camera flashes popped like sparks.

"This is a single-elimination tournament. You lose once—you’re out!"

"Win four games... and you’re crowned NATIONAL CHAMPIONS!"

A drumbeat kicked in. The lights spiraled toward the court’s left tunnel.

"Now introducing... from Mouth of Wilson, Virginia — the rising challengers — give it up for... VORPAL BASKET!"

Smoke poured from the tunnel gate.

Out walked Lucas Graves (#10), head held high, eyes glowing gold under the arena lights.

"Number 10 — Lucas Graves! Small Forward— ’The Phantom Copy or The Mimic Prodigy"

He raised a fist. The crowd roared.

"Number 9 — Evan Cooper! Point Guard

"Number 8 — Josh Turner! Shooting Guard

"Number 11 — Ryan Taylor! Power Forward

"Number 15 — Brandon Young! Center

"Off the bench — Aiden White! Louie Gee Davas! Kai Mendoza! Coonie Smith! Jeremy Park!"

The entire Vorpal Bench erupted from the side, shouting and clapping.

They stood in a line, fire in their eyes.

No Ethan Albarado among them. But a storm of willpower still burned behind their shoulders.

Then, the spotlight snapped right.

"And now... from the Pacific Northwest... the reigning regional champions... EVERGREEN MIDDLE — FOREST BASKET!"

The cheers shifted. A wave of green flags and pine-cone emblems waved in the stands.

"Number 7 — Elijah Rainn! Point Guard — ’The Forest Watcher!’"

Elijah stepped out slowly, calm as a mountain breeze—yet fierce as a forest fire.

"Number 4 — Mason Lee! Shooting Guard — ’The Silent Arrow!’"

"Number 13 — Julian Kim! Small Forward — ’The Whispering Gale!’"

"Number 12 — Thomas Webb! Power Forward — ’The Iron Trunk!’"

"Number 25 — Noah Sinclair! Center — ’The Evergreen Wall!’"

They stood tall, arms crossed, like protectors of a kingdom carved in bark and stone.

And from the upper bench, Coach Nguyen watched silently, arms folded. His eyes scanned Lucas... then flicked toward the empty spot Ethan once filled.

(No Ethan Albarado. Good.)

The spotlight faded. The drums halted.

Only the hum of the air and the squeak of shoes remained.

The referee stepped forward, holding the ball like a sacred artifact.

"Both teams to center court."

As the ten starters stepped in, fans leaned forward.

Across the nation, TVs flickered on.

Phones record

Eyes watched.

This... was the National Stage.

Round of 16. One loss—and you’re done.

The referee stepped into the center circle, holding the ball with both hands as if it weighed more than it should.

He raised it high.

Twenty thousand eyes watched.

The two centers moved forward Brandon Young for Vorpal Basket and Noah Sinclair for Forest Basket.

Both boys took their positions, crouched low like beasts ready to pounce.

Their eyes locked. Their legs coiled.

The polished floor reflected their shadows tall, tense, and still.

The air in the arena thickened.

Not a cheer. Not a word. Just a heartbeat in the chest of every player.

Across the court, Lucas Graves inhaled slowly through his nose, his fingers twitching in anticipation.

(This is it. The national stage. First move sets the tone.)

Beside him, Evan Cooper rolled his neck, eyes flicking toward the Forest point guard.

(Elijah Rainn... Let’s see if the rumors are true.)

And on the other side, Elijah didn’t even blink.

(Focus. Breathe. Don’t think about the cameras. Don’t think about the crowd. Just... win the jump.)

The referee’s fingers loosened.

The ball soared into the air.

Like a slow-motion bullet, it spun upward hovering between destiny and decision.

WHAM!

Noah Sinclair leapt first clean, powerful.

But Brandon Young exploded from the ground a split-second later, arm stretching to full extension.

(NOW!)

SLAP!

Fingertips struck leather. The ball tipped backward Brandon won it.

The crowd erupted.

Evan Cooper caught it mid-stride, instantly scanning the court as if every defender were outlined in light.

"Let’s run 3!" he barked, voice cutting through the thunder of the arena.

The Vorpal offense spread.

Josh darted to the right corner. Aiden, not starting but on the bench, leaned forward.

Lucas Graves sprinted to the wing.

Elijah’s eyes tracked him like a hawk.

(Lucas is moving left. That’s his right-handed side... But he’s baiting.)

Evan passed the ball to Lucas just as he reached the arc.

Hands touched the ball.

It was warm. Alive.

The crowd noise faded in Lucas’s mind as his footwork settled into rhythm.

He glanced at Elijah charging toward him eyes burning, arms wide.

(Fast.)

He jab-stepped right, the exact move he’d seen Elijah counter in three past games.

(Let’s see what you do with this.)

Instead of retreating, Elijah smothered him.

"You don’t scare me, Mimic," Elijah growled under his breath.

"You should," Lucas replied calmly, his golden eyes gleaming.

"You haven’t seen what I can really do yet."

He dropped low, spun left, and whipped a bounce pass to Evan, who caught it on the move and rocketed toward the baseline.

Forest scrambled to rotate.

(We got them moving. Time to strike.)

Evan leapt defender closing in and dished a bullet pass backward.

Lucas caught it again wide open at the top of the key.

(Shoot? No. They’re baiting a block. Float pass, back screen—NOW!)

He faked a shot, then lobbed the ball over his shoulder like a magician tossing a coin.

Brandon Young caught it in midair.

SLAM!

The rim rattled. The net snapped.

2–0. Vorpal scores first.

The arena exploded.

But Elijah... didn’t flinch.

He calmly retrieved the ball, passed it in to Mason Lee, and jogged up the court.

(Alright, Lucas Graves. Let’s play chess.)

Mason passed to Elijah

Elijah Rainn moved like a general—composed, eyes sharp, the ball in his control as he jogged past half-court.

Behind him, Forest snapped into formation like a machine:

Mason Lee to the corner.

Kaito Shimizu flared to the wing.

Noah Sinclair rolled near the elbow, flexing his shoulders.

Darius Jones, the sixth man and known sniper, trailed behind.

Across the court, Lucas adjusted his stance.

(Eyes on Elijah. His posture changed... he’s calling a misdirection play. That shoulder dip—he’s done that before. Backdoor cut to Kaito?)

But Elijah didn’t look toward Kaito.

Instead, he dribbled once, hard—BOUNCE—BOUNCE—

Then stopped.

Suddenly, the court felt... quiet again.

His eyes locked onto Lucas Graves.

"Let’s see what your eyes can really do," Elijah whispered.

Then he moved.

A flash.

Two steps forward, one spin. Lucas mirrored him exactly.

But Elijah was baiting.

The real pass, a no-look dish was fired behind him, right into the hands of Kaito, who had ghosted behind Ryan Taylor.

(I read it wrong?!) Lucas’s eyes widened.

Kaito drove baseline—clean, smooth, no hesitation.

Brandon rotated to help—

Too late.

LAYUP.

2 – 2.

The crowd erupted again—but this time, for Forest.

Lucas gritted his teeth as he ran back.

(His patterns changed... he’s improvising. He’s adjusting every time I copy him. Like he wants me to follow.)

On the next possession, Evan passed to Josh, who tried to muscle through a screen—

STRIP!

Elijah’s hand snatched the ball with perfect timing.

Fast break.

He flew down the court.

Lucas gave chase, his body low, speed precise.

(He’s going to pass it left—no, Eurostep!)

Lucas jumped.

Elijah reversed it mid-air.

Lucas turned mid-leap, contorting to mirror it—

But Elijah passed behind his back.

Noah caught. Slammed.

4 – 2. Forest.

The Forest bench jumped to their feet, yelling.

From the Vorpal sideline, Coach Reed stood up, shouting, "REGROUP!"

Lucas landed, panting hard.

(He’s using me against myself... feeding me just enough data to trap me.)

On the next play, Lucas tried to push the pace, drawing defenders, mimicking Evan’s pass form, sending a skip pass to Josh in the corner.

Josh caught. Pulled up.

CLANK.

Missed.

Elijah instantly grabbed the rebound, already sprinting.

This time, he didn’t attack himself—he let Mason run the offense.

Mason dribbled left. Lucas switched to cover.

(Let’s try again. Read. Copy. Analyze.)

But Forest moved like one body.

Pass to Kaito.

Then Darius.

Then Elijah again, now standing at the top of the key, unguarded.

He pulled up.

THREE—

SWISH.

7 – 2. Forest.

Lucas exhaled slowly.

The arena roared around him.

He looked up, just in time to catch Elijah’s gaze again.

Elijah didn’t speak.

He just pointed at his own temple.

(Use your mind. Not just your eyes.)

Lucas clenched his jaw.

(If mimicry alone isn’t enough... then I’ll evolve it.)

But already... Forest Basket had landed a blow.

One that said:

This isn’t your highlight reel.

This is war.

To be continue

Note:

In their previous game, the team’s strength was boosted significantly by the special ability cards provided by Ethan’s Basketball System. His presence was a game-changer—each card enhancing attributes, unlocking new skills, and empowering his teammates beyond their natural limits. With Ethan on the court, their plays were sharper, their defense impenetrable, and their offense explosive.

But now... Ethan isn’t here.

With his absence, the team no longer has access to those powerful boosts. The artificial edge they once held is gone, and reality crashes back like a cold wave.

Only a few still stand tall against the looming threat of the opposing teams and players known as monsters for good reason.

Lucas, fueled by his Absolute Mimicry, remains a tactical weapon. He can adapt, copy, and counter, but without Ethan’s buffs, even his edge feels dulled under pressure.

Louie, the streetball prodigy, thrives in chaos. Raised on blacktop courts and concrete games, he brings a wild, unpredictable rhythm to the match, flashy handles, creative finishes, and fearless confidence. System or not, Louie has always danced to his own beat. And in the absence of structure, he might be the key to disrupting the opponent’s ironclad formation.

Evan, the Former Captain, can play like a seasoned veteran. But that alone may not be enough when facing overwhelming physical superiority.

And Brandon, the team’s anchor at center, will have to protect the paint with raw grit and instinct, knowing he doesn’t have any defensive boosts or enhanced blocking to rely on this time.

They are outnumbered in power, outclassed in raw stats but not in heart.

Now, more than ever, they must depend on their natural skill, trust in one another, and the will to keep fighting even if the odds are stacked against them.

This isn’t just a match anymore.

It’s a test of who they truly are without the system.