The scoreboard flashed 29–21, glowing red like a challenge. The ball found its way back into Ethan Albarado's hands as the Wildcats jogged back on defense. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his breathing sharp and rhythmic, but his eyes those calm, focused blue eyes didn't waver.

"Eight-point lead isn't enough," he thought. "Not against Miho."

Across the court, Miho stood still, almost motionless, his hands in his pockets and that same bored smile curving on his lips. The rest of his team spread out like a web, eyes locked onto Ethan.

The crowd had grown louder now chants of "Vorpal! Vorpal!" echoing through the stands but underneath that noise, the tension was razor-thin.

Ethan raised his hand and called, "Formation Delta."

Ryan Taylor shifted from the paint to the left block, setting a hard screen. Brandon Young rotated up top for the potential handoff. Evan Cooper motioned weakly to the wing, a decoy, while Lucas Graves crouched low on the opposite side, ready to cut.

Miho's eyes flicked over every player. He wasn't just watching he was reading the rhythm.

Ethan started his dribble.

Left.

Right.

He changed pace slow… then sudden acceleration.

The ball snapped off the hardwood, echoing like thunder as he drove toward Ryan's screen. But Miho's small forward, a wiry, sharp-eyed defender, slipped under it perfectly.

"He anticipated it," Ethan realized, his heart tightening.

Miho's voice drifted through the noise soft but cutting through everything.

"Predictable patterns."

Ethan feinted with his right hand, then spun, crossing back left. The defender reached too early.

Ethan planted, then jumped. His body leaned backward, perfect form

but at that moment, Miho appeared.

It was like he teleported, gliding from the weak side, his hand snapping up

"Tch—!"

Ethan twisted midair, releasing a behind-the-head pass. The ball arced beautifully to Lucas, who had just slipped behind the corner.

Lucas caught it, squared up instantly

"Let it fly!" Evan yelled from the sideline.

Lucas exhaled and released perfect rotation, perfect form.

The ball sliced through the air

Swish!

32–21.

The crowd erupted.

Vorpal's bench leaped to their feet.

Even Coach Ayumi clenched her fist.

But Miho didn't flinch. He glanced up at the scoreboard, then at Ethan, and smiled faintly.

"Nice reaction. But let's see if you can keep your rhythm."

He motioned slightly with his fingers one signal.

The Wildcats' power forward sprinted upcourt, setting a misdirect screen. Miho moved like silk, sliding into the open lane. Ryan tried to cut him off, too late.

Miho caught the pass mid-stride, went airborne then stopped midair, almost floating.

"Anti-gravity…" Lucas whispered, eyes wide.

Miho adjusted mid-flight, switching the ball to his left hand and flipping it in off the glass with impossible control.

32–23.

Ethan caught the inbound, jaw tight. He dribbled past half-court.

Ryan moved to set a pick, but Ethan waved him off.

"No screens. Let me feel his tempo."

Miho crouched slightly, that same lazy smile gone. His yellow eyes shimmeredcalculated.

Ethan began slow dribbles, eyes locked on Miho. Each bounce sounded heavier.

Then, suddenly he burst forward.

One crossover.

Two.

Then a heavy behind-the-back.

Miho followed perfectly, like a reflection.

But Ethan had read him too.

He stopped short.

Miho slid half a step too far.

Ethan shifted balance, leaned right, then exploded left. The move was clean, crisp—a stepback three.

The release was fast, almost instinctive

Bang!

The ball splashed through.

35–23.

The crowd went wild.

Lucas grinned, bumping Ethan's shoulder.

"That's the shot I've been waiting for."

Ethan smirked, catching his breath.

"Keep running the court. We're not done yet."

On defense, Vorpal spread into formation Evan pressing the guard, Lucas and Ryan covering the wings, Brandon anchoring the middle.

Miho's team tried to rotate passing fast, sharp but Vorpal matched their pace.

Every dribble, every motion felt like a test of control.

Miho finally got the ball again. He looked up at Ethan and said softly,

"Let's see if you can protect this court."

He drove

Lightning quick.

Ethan shifted, sliding into his path.

Their eyes locked.

Impact.

The gym erupted as both collided mid-lane, the ball spinning free

Lucas dove for it

Snatched it

Passed to Evan

Evan sprinted downcourt, tossing an alley-oop to Ryan.

Ryan roared as he slammed it down.

37–23.

The crowd exploded into a standing ovation.

Ayumi smiled from the bench. "They're syncing… finally."

Charlotte, analyzing beside her, nodded. "Ethan's tempo is controlling everything. Miho's rhythm is breaking."

But Miho only smiled faintly as he stood back up, brushing dust from his uniform.

He looked across the court at Ethan.

"Not bad… Ethan Albarado. You really plan to protect this place?"

Ethan's blue eyes narrowed.

His hand clenched into a fist.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "Because this court… belongs to us."

Score: Vorpal 37 – Wildcats 23.

The ball was in Miho's hands again.

He dribbled past half-court with a lazy rhythm, each bounce echoing like a metronome. His teammates fanned out spreading the floor, silent and fluid. The Wildcats' formation had changed.

Ayumi narrowed her eyes from the bench.

"That's… new."

Charlotte adjusted her glasses, tension rising in her voice.

"Spacing pattern shift… left and right wings pulling out wide, corners inverted, baseline empty."

She exhaled, realization flashing.

"Wait, this isn't standard motion offense. They're about to run it."

Miho's lips curled into a faint grin.

"Mirage Play."

On the court, Ethan called out, "Stay tight! Communication!"

Evan Cooper pressed Miho from the top, sweat dripping down his chin. Lucas and Ryan adjusted their stances, ready for any cut. Brandon held anchor beneath the rim, heavy steps echoing.

But then—

Miho's teammates began to move.

Not one… not two… all four.

They moved in perfect sync — same stride, same hand motion, same angle of cut.

It was impossible to track who had the ball.

"Wh—what the hell!?" Lucas gasped, eyes darting back and forth.

The Wildcats' wings crossed paths, twisting their bodies in identical rhythm, while their shooting guard mimicked Miho's dribble timing.

To the naked eye, it looked like five Miho Kisaragis moving in unison.

Ethan's voice cut through the confusion.

"Focus on sound! Don't trust your eyes!"

The real Miho smirked.

"Smart… but too late."

He accelerated fast, low, slithering between Ryan and Evan before either could react.

The ball flickered like light in a mirror maze.

Ryan lunged at a decoy.

Evan reached for air.

Then—

Zip!

Miho appeared on the weak side corner, somehow already receiving a pass from across the court.

Ethan's instincts screamed.

"He teleported? No, fake rotation timing."

He sprinted, closing the gap

Miho jumped.

But instead of shooting, he tossed a lob behind his head.

The ball soared in an impossible angle.

The Wildcats' small forward materialized midair, slamming it home with a thunderous dunk.

37–25.

The crowd roared.

Even Vorpal's bench went silent.

Charlotte's hand trembled.

"That wasn't just illusion. That was… synchronized momentum decoy."

Ayumi leaned forward. "Mirage Play… It's a rhythm technique. Five players mirroring Miho's tempo to distort perception."

Ethan caught the inbound, eyes locked on Miho.

Miho wiped his sweat, calm as ever.

"Now it's your turn to chase ghosts, Albarado."

Ethan dribbled past half-court, pace steady but eyes sharp.

"They used rhythm sync. Five identical motion cues."

He glanced around.

Lucas was marking Miho's shooting guard, Ryan calling out from the paint.

Evan adjusted at the perimeter.

Ethan tapped his temple. "We can't beat illusion with vision."

He turned to his teammates.

"Don't follow the ball follow the silence. The fake ones don't breathe."

Lucas blinked, realization hitting.

He closed his eyes briefly, tuning out the crowd.

He could hear three distinct breath patterns one shallow, one steady, one sharp and uneven.

That's him.

Ethan raised a hand. "Cut right, Lucas!"

Lucas slashed across the lane. Miho's defender followed but Ethan didn't pass. He went for a direct drive.

Miho stepped up, gliding like smoke.

Ethan stopped mid-step, spun, and pulled up.

Swish!

39–25.

Miho smiled faintly.

"You're learning quickly."

He clapped once, and his teammates repositioned again faster this time.

The floor shifted, Wildcats forming a diamond motion.

"Mirage Play – Second Sequence."

The motion became even harder to track. Their shadows overlapped like layered film. Every cut left a blur; every pass disguised by mirrored movement.

Vorpal's defense faltered for half a second— and that was enough.

The Wildcats' point guard dropped a no-look pass through a wall of bodies.

Another dunk.

39–27.

Ethan clenched his jaw.

"They're adapting midplay…"

Lucas turned to him, breathing hard.

"What do we do? They're everywhere!"

Ethan exhaled, calm but burning inside.

"Then we'll out-sync them."

He looked at his team.

"Lucas. Evan. Ryan. Brandon. You trust me?"

They all nodded.

Ethan's voice dropped to a low, confident tone.

"Then listen to my rhythm."

He began tapping the ball deliberately three fast, one slow.

Thud-thud-thud—pause.

It echoed through the court, like a heartbeat.

Vorpal adjusted subconsciously their breathing aligned with Ethan's tempo.

Charlotte gasped.

"Wait, he's building counter-synchronization… He's creating a rhythm wall to disrupt Mirage Play!"

Ayumi smiled.

"Now this is real basketball intelligence."

Miho narrowed his eyes, intrigued.

"Oh? Counter-rhythm? Interesting…"

Ethan dribbled, staring right into Miho's gaze.

"Let's see whose tempo breaks first."

The buzzer ticked down.

Two minutes.

The court trembled with sound, motion, and overlapping rhythm a battle not just of skill, but of tempo and will.

Score: Vorpal 39 – Wildcats 27

before halftime.

The Duel of Rhythms had begun.

To be continue

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