Extra Basket-Chapter 194 - 181: Forest vs Vorpal (6)
Lucas dribbled. Fast. Loose. Wild.
The ball didn’t bounce — it snapped.
No pattern. No signal.
He didn’t even look at the coach.
He just moved.
Like fire in the wind.
Lucas didn’t wait.
He ignored the screen, slicing past it like smoke.
(No more patterns.)
(Just rhythm.)
He drove hard, heel barely grazing the hardwood—
Eyes forward. Hands calm.
Then, without looking—
Flick.
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.
Layup.
23 – 22. Vorpal back in front.
The crowd gasped. A few even stood up.
But the bench?
The Forest bench?
They were quiet. Eyes wide.
Ayumi whispered:
"...They’re... vibing now."
...
Next play.
Forest came in tight with a press trapping the inbound, hands everywhere.
But Lucas?
He didn’t touch the ball.
(Not yet.)
He drifted.
Then cut wide to the left like a decoy.
All eyes followed him.
But Evan initiated.
Quick step. Quick read.
He passed to Josh Turner at the top.
Pump fake.
Defender jumped.
One dribble in.
Mid-range pull-up.
SPLASH.
25 – 22.
Clean.
Smooth.
Effortless.
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—
And grinned.
(This isn’t chaos.)
(This is jazz.)
(This... is Vorpal Ball.)
And he was just getting started.
..
Elijah Rainn brought it up.
But there was no stomp of the foot.
No call.
No fingers in the air.
Just...
Dribble.
Flow.
Feel.
His body moved like water —
Shoulder lean, head sway, cross to the right—
Lucas stepped in.
But Elijah didn’t react.
Didn’t force.
Didn’t challenge.
(He’s not attacking me...)
(He’s reading me.)
Suddenly, a spin—
WHIP! —a one-handed bullet pass to Mason, who was already curling around the wing.
Mason didn’t even look surprised.
One-dribble stop.
Kick to Thomas.
Thomas caught it high, didn’t even square his feet—
Just jumped—
"That’s a bad shot!" someone yelled.
But it wasn’t.
Swish.
25 – 24.
The gym murmured.
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.
Eyes narrowed.
(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?"
Lucas didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
He just tapped his chest once—
Boom. Boom. Boom.
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.
Then—
A quick flick.
He passed toward Ryan on the wing.
But—
Elijah moved.
He didn’t look.
Didn’t peek.
(How—?!)
Elijah read it like a melody on sheet music.
One step.
Intercepted.
The crowd gasped.
"He jumped it before Lucas even passed!"
(No—he knew it was coming.)
Elijah didn’t hesitate.
He pivoted, like a dancer mid-spin.
Fast break.
He didn’t blaze down the court—he glided.
Then—
Tap.
A single bounce pass to the corner.
Noah Sinclair.
The "Evergreen Wall" didn’t charge in.
Didn’t force contact.
He caught it with grace.
One head fake.
One step inside.
Layup.
27 – 24. Forest.
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."
Lucas didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
He was too focused on Elijah, who was already jogging back on defense — calm as still water.
No trash talk.
No smirk.
No pride.
Just... focus.
(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.
Out of bounce
Forest’s ball.
Elijah strolled up the court with it.
No urgency. Just... poise.
He dribbled slow.
Let the moment breathe.
Lucas stepped forward.
Hands low. Shoulders relaxed.
Waiting.
Elijah glanced over.
Then turned his back.
A slow, smooth pivot.
He dribbled low tight to his foot like the ball was tied to his palm.
Lucas slid in
(Now.)
He reached.
Whoosh.
Too late.
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.
Set his feet.
Rose.
Josh lunged, but—
Splash. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺
Three-pointer.
30 – 24.
The gym roared. But Elijah didn’t even pump his fist.
He just turned.
Jogged back.
Still calm.
Still focused.
Lucas stared at him.
(He’s not the fastest.)
(Not the flashiest.)
(But right now... he’s everything.)
The crowd didn’t cheer.
They just stared.
Spellbound.
Because it wasn’t dominance—
It was grace.
Lucas stood in the middle of the court.
Sweat on his chin.
Eyes locked on Elijah.
(You’re not a point guard...)
(You’re a maestro.)
And still—
Lucas smiled.
Just a little.
Barely there.
But enough to shift the air.
(Then let’s change the genre.)
He stepped forward.
Thump.
He slapped his chest once.
Thump.
Again.
His voice rang out through the gym like a battle cry.
"I won’t let you win."
A declaration.
Not of hate.
Not of panic.
But of conviction.
The gym snapped awake.
Players turned.
Fans leaned forward.
And Elijah?
He finally looked at Lucas.
Just for a second.
No words.
But a new rhythm began.
To be continue
