Chapter 206: Chapter 206

Lucas turned, sweat clinging to his brow, eyes already flicking toward the sideline.

He raised one hand—calm, commanding.

"Set it up," he said, voice low but unmistakably firm.

Evan blinked, then his eyes lit up like he’d just been handed a loaded weapon.

"Triangle Shift. That method?"

Lucas nodded once, sharp and cool.

"Version Three. The one Ethan taught us."

For a half-second, Evan didn’t move.

Then, sucked in a sharp breath—like the gravity of the play finally clicked in.

Ryan, still catching his own breath from the last sequence, turned, brow furrowing.

Because in that razor-thin moment between Elijah’s perfect no-look pass and Micah’s emotionless swish from the corner, a message had been sent.

A blueprint disguised as a basket.

Lucas was writing the reply.

29 seconds left in the 3rd.

The gym felt like it was holding its breath.

Evan brought the ball up, his dribble low and compact, chest leaning forward, eyes

scanning like a sniper.

Lucas darted to the right wing, brushing against Ryan’s shoulder just enough to subtly pull

Elijah’s stance off-center.

A whisper of misdirection.

The kind only a player like Ethan would’ve noticed—and Lucas had memorized.

The triangle began to form.

Each movement timed to the beat of an invisible metronome.

Forest’s defenders hesitated.

That was all it took.

Their bench suddenly stood—chaotic energy replacing their earlier poise.

"ZONE ROTATE! ZONE ROTATE—!" Tobias’s voice cracked over the crowd.

Evan sent a bounce pass to Ryan, who caught it like second nature.

He immediately flipped it back to Lucas—who had now slipped free at the top of the arc, just behind the three-point line.

Elijah read the danger and broke toward him—fast, surgical, zero wasted movement.

He was already ahead.

Lucas stepped inside the arc—just enough to sell the pull-up jumper.

The defender lunged to recover.

Behind-the-back dish.

Who had knifed into the lane at the exact moment.

Cheers cracked like thunder through the gym.

The whistle came next—shrill and final.

Score: 64 – 63. Vorpal retakes the lead.

Evan flexed and roared, face flushed with emotion.

The Forest bench slumped.

Defenders stared at each other in stunned silence.

Tobias punched the air in frustration, pacing the sideline.

Ayumi dropped her clipboard, hand over her mouth, awe glittering in her eyes.

Even Coach Fred—a man of few expressions—raised his brows.

The play was surgical.

Elijah slowly turned his head, eyes narrowing.

He didn’t watch the scoreboard.

He didn’t follow the ball.

He watched Lucas—walking past him now. No words. No smile.

Just that same quiet fire burning behind his eyes.

The kind that didn’t scream.

The arena buzzed like a wire stretched too tight.

Evan stepped up to the free-throw line, the ball handed to him like it weighed the outcome of the entire game.

He didn’t blink. Just breathed.

Then a single bounce.

Behind him, Ryan’s voice pierced the moment.

Evan didn’t nod. Didn’t turn.

He just bent his knees, aligned the seams with practiced rhythm, and let it fly.

A whisper through nylon.

The gym erupted. But it wasn’t the same kind of cheer from earlier. It wasn’t wild. It was electric.

Controlled. Tense. Like people understood what they were witnessing.

Ayumi clenched her clipboard so hard the corner cracked.

Coach Fred didn’t even sit—just muttered under his breath:

"He hit it. Damn kid hit it."

But this wasn’t over.

The scoreboard ticked.

Forest had one more possession.

He wasn’t walking to the inbound line.

A shadow in motion, sweat glistening under the stadium lights, face unreadable.

Lucas glanced at him as he passed by midcourt.

He took the ball from the referee with one hand.

Not wide. Not for the crowd.

(They think they answered... but that was only my first question.)

From the bench, Tobias was already yelling orders.

Forest’s formation spread like a net.

Ayumi stepped forward, hand over her heart.

Evan jogged back into position.

Lucas stood dead center, eyes narrowing.

The court wasn’t just hardwood now.

He had one more piece to move before the third quarter was over.

The storm hadn’t passed.

It was circling back.

3rd Quarter — 14.6 seconds remaining.

The ball was in Ayden’s hands.

He stood at the sideline, fingers twitching, sweat running down his temple as he scanned the court. The crowd hummed low, expectant.

Straight to Elijah Rainn.

But this time, Elijah didn’t sprint.

He didn’t explode off the dribble or drop his shoulders with speed.

Every step sounded louder than it should have, like the court itself was watching him move, holding its breath.

Across the floor, Lucas stood just past the arc.

His feet bounced with controlled rhythm, eyes narrowing like a sniper lining up his shot.

(Left side. He’ll test me first with a hesitation. Then he’ll drop low. I’ll catch him mid-drop, snatch the ball, and—)

But Elijah... didn’t even look at him.

His eyes weren’t fixed on Lucas at all.

They were looking somewhere else.

Past the wall of defense.

Kael, who hadn’t attempted a single shot all quarter.

Kael, who had stayed invisible.

Kael... who now crept along the weak side baseline like a ghost.

Elijah crossed halfcourt.

Lucas adjusted, stance lowered, knees bent just right.

Coach Fred shouted from the sideline:

But Elijah didn’t break his pace.

Ayden’s eyes lit up—he knew the cue.

Without hesitation, he sprinted hard to the right wing.

Evan followed instantly.

Micah stepped out with a bone-clean screen. Shoulder angled. Perfect timing. No whistle.

Ryan hit the wall of Micah’s chest and staggered.

A sharp cut inside from the baseline.

Lucas’s eyes widened—

Elijah made his move.

He drove left hard like the play was his.

But Elijah wasn’t even looking at the basket.

His hand flicked behind him.

A smooth, effortless snap.

Straight into the hands of Kael—

Cutting behind the defense like a shadow slicing open light.

A two-handed slam that rattled the rim and tore the breath from the gym.

This was a shockwave.

A silence-breaking boom.

The buzzer sounded just after the ball hit the ground.

Elijah Rainn just walked back with the same slow steps.

Expression unchanged.

Kael slapped his chest once and pointed at him.

Elijah didn’t even respond.

He just looked at Lucas.

(That... wasn’t his move.)

(That was their move.)

The slam still echoed in the rafters, but Lucas barely heard it.

Across the court, Forest didn’t even celebrate.

No fist pumps. No screams. No taunts.

Just controlled movement.

The buzzer sounded signaling the end of the third quarter but for Lucas, it felt like something else had ended too.

The crowd’s noise dims not from volume, but from weight.

The kind of hush that only happens before something unforgettable.

Lucas stood near halfcourt.

Sweat dripping into the collar of his jersey.

His fingers curled and uncurled once.

But his mind was sharpening to a razor’s edge.

But something deeper.

Of what this was becoming.

Of what they were dragging out of each other.

Lucas took one slow breath through his nose.

(You’re not just a player anymore.)

(You’re the wall I have to break.)

(Because if I don’t...)

(I’ll never grow beyond this.)

Elijah’s gaze didn’t flinch.

(You forced me to change.)

(...but I respect it.)

The horn blared again.

Crowd noise returned.

But they still didn’t move.

Elijah gave the faintest nod.

But it spoke more than words.

Lucas answered with the same.

Jogged back to the bench.