Vorpal 110 – Harbor 80.

Thirty points of daylight.

The horn's echo was swallowed by the roar of the crowd. The bench rushed the floor—Louie pounding his chest, Ryan winking at the nearest group of fans like a showman, Brandon towering steady in the middle like a silent anchor.

And there, shoulder to shoulder, Ethan and Lucas—two suns burning in sync.

Ethan leaned close, voice low, meant for Lucas alone.

"Fourth quarter… I'll raise it higher. You ready?"

Lucas's golden eyes gleamed, feral grin flashing.

"I was born ready. Let's end them."

The huddle formed, Ayumi snapping her clipboard open, Coach Mason fumbling with his notes but nodding firmly. The gym wasn't just loud—it was seismic. And yet, inside Vorpal's circle, silence crackled with tension.

Ayumi's tone was sharp, precise.

"We've broken them. But don't lose focus. Thirty points means nothing if we get sloppy. Harbor's pride will swing, and they'll try to claw back fast."

Ethan placed a hand on the board, drawing eyes. His gaze was steady—serious, but alive with something darker.

"We've tested their wall. Now, let's crush their spirit. The first three minutes of this fourth quarter will decide the tempo of the finish. If we shut them down there, it's over."

Louie clapped, shouting:

"Then let's finish 'em! Put the nail in, Cap!"

But Ethan shook his head, surprising them. His next words cut through the huddle:

"Not you, Louie. Not yet. The lineup to start the fourth… will be different."

The bench blinked. Louie froze mid-celebration. Coonie raised a brow, smirk half-curved. Kai Mendoza, who'd been bouncing nervously at the back, nearly dropped his towel.

Ethan's voice was calm, but sharp with intent.

"Kai, Coonie, Josh, me, Ryan. Us five will play the early minutes."

The room jolted.

"Hah?!" Ryan leaned back, smirk tugging, but his tone curious. "You serious, Cap? That's… not exactly our 'A-team.'"

Josh Turner stiffened, eyes narrowing. "…Why me? Wouldn't Lucas or Louie give us a stronger start?"

Kai's hand shot to his chest, disbelief plain.

"Wait—me?! Ethan, I haven't even—"

Coonie cut in, voice dripping with sass.

"Finally. The genius recognizes raw talent." He tossed his head with mock pride, then glanced at Ethan with a sly grin. "…You got a damn good reason, right? Or are we just here for comic relief?"

The circle turned to Ethan, every eye pinning him.

Ethan inhaled slowly, gaze moving from face to face. Then he spoke:

"This isn't about strength. It's about pressure. Harbor is expecting Lucas, Louie, Brandon—the rhythm they've studied all game. We'll flip the table. We'll disrupt their preparation and force them to adapt on the fly."

Josh frowned, thinking it through. "…So we play unpredictable. A slower rhythm, weird spacing, unexpected rotations."

Ethan nodded. "Exactly. And while they scramble, we burn more clock. By the time Lucas and Brandon return, Harbor will already be bleeding."

Ryan whistled low, a grin curling. "Damn. Cold. I like it."

Kai's nervousness shifted into resolve. His eyes hardened, fists clenching.

"…If you believe I can do it, Ethan… then I'll give everything."

Coonie tilted his chin, smirk sly as ever.

"Guess the genius does see something in me. Fine. Let's give 'em a show."

Josh only adjusted his jersey, eyes sharp. "…Don't regret putting me in."

Ayumi's eyes widened, then softened. She exhaled, recognizing Ethan's gamble. "Risky… but brilliant. It's not just basketball—you're controlling the narrative of the game."

Lucas slapped Ethan's back with a grin.

"Then go burn 'em, brother. I'll be waiting."

The horn blared. The crowd surged back to life, ready for the storm.

Ethan stood, the weight of the team on his shoulders, but his eyes burned with fire.

This wasn't just the fourth quarter.

This was destiny being written play by play, heartbeat by heartbeat.

The horn split the air.

Fourth quarter.

Vorpal 110 – Harbor 80.

But the arena didn't feel settled. The Harbor Kings weren't dead—not yet. Their eyes, burning, still held a predator's gleam. And across from them, Vorpal's fresh five jogged onto the floor… a lineup nobody expected.

Ethan. Ryan. Josh. Coonie. Kai.

The bleachers erupted into murmurs, confusion swirling like smoke.

"What? No Lucas? No Brandon? Not even Louie?"

"Coach Mason lost his mind? Or is this… Ethan's call?"

On Harbor's bench, Jet Robinson squinted, jaw flexing.

(He's gambling. No Graves, no Young? He's daring us to pounce.)

Dante "The Sniper" Morales smirked, licking his lips.

"Easy prey. Let's cut it to twenty before they realize their mistake."

The ball checked in. Harbor possession.

Jet took it up the floor, electricity sparking in his step. Kai picked him up feet jittery but determined, arms wide. Jet's eyes narrowed.

"Rookie matchup? Thanks for the free highlight."

Jet's crossover snapped like a whip one, two, into a blur. He slid left, darted right, exploding past

But Ethan was there. A step ahead, shadowing the gap with surgical timing. His system blazed, Playmaker Vision firing pathways in his mind.

Jet's eyes flickered (He read me?!) and his layup angle vanished under Ethan's outstretched hand. Forced midair, Jet twisted into a bailout pass

SWAT!

Josh Turner jumped the line, intercepting with clean hands. He landed firm, chest heaving.

"Not today."

The bench roared. Ayumi slapped her clipboard in triumph.

Vorpal ball.

Josh swung to Ryan, who winked at the nearest row of girls before dribbling upcourt. Coonie trailed behind, muttering.

"Focus, lover boy. Try not to collapse under your own ego."

Ryan only smirked. "Relax. Watch and learn."

He fed Ethan at the wing. The defense tightened instantly Brick lumbered up, Skyline's shadow looming.

Ethan's eyes burned.

He shifted, Jordan's Shooting Form blending with Kobe's footwork, a fusion of eras. But instead of pulling, he slipped the ball behind his back… straight to Kai, cutting baseline like lightning.

Kai's eyes widened mid-stride.

(Me?!)

He caught, launched into the air Skyline rising to crush him

But Ryan slipped in, sealing Skyline with his shoulder just long enough.

Kai finished off the glass.

The gym erupted.

Vorpal 112 – Harbor 80.

Ayumi leapt, nearly dropping her clipboard. Louie howled from the bench:

"KAI MENDOZA, BABY! WRITE THAT DOWN!"

Kai landed, chest heaving, disbelief painted on his face then it cracked into a grin. Ethan jogged past, tapping his shoulder.

"Good cut. Believe in it."

Harbor inbounded fast, furious.

Dante Morales snatched the ball, rising for his quick-trigger three. That lethal Harbor Splash.

But Coonie was on him, hands waving, mouth running like a blade.

"Careful, hotshot. You miss this, your fans are switching sides."

Dante flinched, chucking slightly off-rhythm—CLANG! Off the rim.

Josh swallowed the rebound, snapping to Ethan. Ethan's eyes glowed.

Transition.

He pushed the tempo, chest low, defenders scattering. Ryan streaked right. Kai sprinted left. Josh trailed middle. Coonie somehow waved like he was ordering food.

Ethan dissected it all in real-time.

(Brick overcommitting. Jet late on recovery. Skyline lagging.)

He stabbed forward then launched a bullet pass… not to Ryan, not to Kai, but to Coonie, chilling at the arc.

Coonie blinked. "The hell—?!"

The ball slapped his hands. Reflex. He rose, form rough but unafraid, and released.

The net whispered.

SWISH.

The gym detonated.

Vorpal 115 – Harbor 80.

Coonie spread his arms, smirk widening, sass dripping.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is called range. Write it down."

The bench howled. Even Lucas stood, laughing hard, clapping like thunder.

"Coonie! You legend!"

Harbor's huddle called for composure. But their eyes wavered. Jet barked, Dante cursed under his breath, Skyline slammed his chest. Pride burning, but cracks widening.

And across the court, Ethan stood at the center of his oddball unit steady, calculating, burning.

Three minutes into the fourth. The gamble had landed.

The scoreboard blared the truth:

Vorpal 115 – Harbor 80.

Ethan's whisper cut through the chaos, low but sharp enough for his team to hear.

"Keep pressing. Break their will. The stars will return soon, but this—this is our dagger."

And his eyes said the rest.

This wasn't just the fourth quarter.

This was destiny, still being carved into the hardwood.

The gym trembled under Vorpal's storm, chants rattling the rafters.

But in the bleachers, two figures didn't move with the crowd. They weren't clapping, weren't cheering. Their eyes cut sharper than knives.

Alec Storm, Orlando Hoops' prodigy, Orlando's crowned terror leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His icy stare never left Ethan, a faint smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Heh. He hasn't changed. Still pulling strings like a chessmaster, even when he's not at full tilt."

Beside him, Jalen "Flash" Carter of the Chicago Raptors tilted his head back, laughter low and sharp. The Chicago lightning bolt. The man who'd once gone toe-to-toe with Ethan, speed for speed.

"Nah, Alec. You're wrong. He has changed. Look at him—he's not even fighting Harbor straight-up. He's testing pieces. Setting traps three possessions ahead. That's not the Ethan I fought."

Alec's jaw flexed, the smirk fading into something colder.

"So what—you think he's holding back? Against a team like Harbor?"

Flash leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes glowing with mischief.

"Of course he is. That's Ethan Albarado. The bastard doesn't waste his arsenal unless it's against someone who can match him. Harbor? They're tough, but not his mountain. We were."

Alec chuckled darkly, rubbing his temple.

"Tch. Don't remind me. The way he dissected me in Orlando… every time I thought I had him pinned, he already had the counter loaded. And now—" he nodded toward the hardwood, where Ethan directed Kai, Coonie, and Josh with surgical precision, "—he's turning rookies into weapons. That's… dangerous."

Flash's grin widened, flashing his teeth.

"Dangerous? It's genius. He doesn't just want to win—he wants to prove that he doesn't need stars around him to control the game. That no matter who's on the floor, if Ethan's there, the tide is his."

The crowd's roar swallowed their voices for a moment as Coonie drilled another shot from deep, arms spread wide like a king.

But Flash didn't even blink. His eyes stayed locked on Ethan.

"I'll tell you what's scarier, Alec. That's only fifty percent. Maybe less. When he decides to unleash everything—that system of his, those moves, that cold brain—Harbor won't even look like they belonged on the same court."

Alec's smirk returned, sharper now, like steel glinting under lightning.

"Good. Because that's the Ethan I want to crush the next time we meet. The one who doesn't hide behind strategy or pace. The one who comes at me with everything."

Flash laughed again, leaning back, arms crossed.

"Careful what you wish for, Storm. Ethan Albarado isn't a storm. He's the eye inside it. Calm, calculating… and when the silence breaks? Everyone else drowns."

The bleachers shook with chants of "VOR-PAL! VOR-PAL!"

But Alec Storm and Jalen Carter weren't chanting.

They were watching destiny unfold.

And silently, both admitted the same truth

Ethan wasn't just winning. He was evolving.

To be continue

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