Chapter 28: Chapter 28

[4th Quarter – 10:00 Remaining]

Ethan Albarado stood at the center of the court, staring down the enemy.

Across from him—Orlando Hoops' best five.

Alec Storm. Mason Hayes. Julian Cross. Ethan Blake. Jaxon Wells.

Ethan clenched his fists, his heart hammering against his chest.

Lucas Graves, standing beside him, rolled his shoulders.

Ryan Taylor wiped the sweat from his brow.

Brandon Young exhaled deeply, locking his gaze on Jaxon Wells.

This was the quarter that would decide everything.

On the sidelines, the bench players watched with burning intensity.

Coonie Smith sat on the edge of his seat, fingers curled into fists.

His black eyes locked onto Ethan, burning with unfiltered determination.

(Crush those fuckers.)

Jeremy Park, arms crossed, let out a slow breath.

Kai Mendoza leaned forward, gripping his knees.

None of them had any doubts.

They had done their part.

Now, it was time for the starters to finish it.

Meanwhile, on Orlando Hoops' bench, Coach Corson observed his players carefully.

His cold eyes traced over Alec Storm, Mason Hayes, Julian Cross, Ethan Blake, and Jaxon Wells.

The players he had trained.

The ones who didn't lose.

Slowly, Corson nodded.

He didn't have to say anything.

The five players already knew what they had to do.

"(Stick to the plan... If you all stick to the plan, we will win.)"

Alec Storm, standing at the center of the court, smirked.

His sharp eyes flickered with anticipation.

"(Let's finish this.)"

The referee stepped forward, raising his whistle.

Both teams took their positions.

The crowd held its breath.

The final quarter was about to begin.

The gym pulsed with tension.

Every single pair of eyes in the crowd was locked onto the court.

The final quarter had begun, and both teams had sent out their best five.

No more holding back.

No more testing the waters.

This was the final stretch.

The game that would decide everything.

Alec Storm dribbled up the court with an icy confidence, his movements sharp, controlled.

His jersey clung to his skin, drenched in sweat, but his steps were as light as ever.

He didn't look tired.

He didn't feel tired.

He was fully locked in.

Mason Hayes, running beside him, glanced his way and gave a subtle nod.

Alec didn't react, but he understood the signal.

Their time to dominate.

Across from him, Evan Cooper stood low in a defensive stance, his breaths heavy, his hands twitching slightly.

His arms felt like lead.

But his focus never wavered.

Nothing else mattered.

Alec met Evan's gaze and smirked.

"(He's really determined, huh?)"

But determination alone wouldn't be enough.

Alec took a sharp step forward—then suddenly spun, pulling off a Half-Spin Dribble.

Evan tracked him closely, his instincts screaming for him to stay put.

"(But can you keep up with this?)"

His left foot pivoted backward—

Then, in a flash, he flicked the ball behind his back while moving away.

Behind-the-Back Escape Dribble.

A signature move that made space instantly.

Evan stumbled forward slightly.

That was all Alec needed.

Alec burst forward, his dribble smooth, controlled.

Lucas Graves reacted instantly.

He dashed in front of Alec, eyes glowing with intensity.

Because the moment Lucas stepped up—

Julian Cross was left open.

And Alec wasn't about to miss that opportunity.

Without even hesitating, he whipped a perfect pass left.

Right into Julian's hands.

"You shouldn't leave him wide open."

Lucas' face twisted in frustration.

Julian planted his feet, ready to launch the shot.

Everything was going perfectly—

The ball never made it to Julian.

A blur of white and gold shot in between them.

Alec's eyes snapped wide open.

Julian stumbled forward, his arms now completely empty.

The entire gym fell into a stunned silence.

Ethan Albarado stood at the top of the key, the ball firmly in his grasp.

Alec's breathing hitched.

He had never expected it.

He had never even considered it.

Ethan had been there, waiting.

Like he had known exactly where the pass was going to go.

Alec gritted his teeth.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

Ethan twirled the ball lazily between his fingers, tilting his head slightly.

Then, his lips curled into a smirk.

Lucas, watching from the side, grinned slightly.

"(He's messing with them. Nice.)"

Gasps, cheers, and murmurs filled the air.

Even the Orlando Hoops bench players were left speechless.

Evan Cooper nearly laughed.

Ryan Taylor shook his head in disbelief.

"(That was smooth as hell.)"

Alec clenched his jaw.

He knew it wasn't a fluke.

Ethan had seen that play.

He was about to punish him for it.

The ball was in Ethan Albarado's hands.

Alec Storm's fingers twitched.

He hated this feeling.

He had been dictating the pace since the beginning.

Ethan Albarado had thrown off the rhythm.

Alec clenched his fists.

"(Tch. Fine. Let's see what you do now, Albarado.)"

The moment Ethan turned and sprinted up the court, the entire gym felt like it shifted.

Lucas Graves saw it instantly.

That one play—that one steal—had shifted the momentum.

Lucas dashed up the left wing.

Ryan Taylor ran toward the right.

Brandon Young sprinted to the paint, fighting for position against Jaxon Wells.

Ethan dribbled forward, eyes locked onto Alec Storm.

Alec rushed to cut him off, his expression sharp.

"(We'll see about that.)"

Right as Alec lunged in for a steal—

Ethan snapped the ball behind his back, switching hands instantly.

Alec bit hard on the fake—

Ethan had already moved past him.

Alec cursed under his breath.

"(Shit! He baited me!)"

Mason Hayes was next.

He slid in, arms wide, eyes sharp.

"You're not getting through!"

Ethan didn't even slow down.

He planted his left foot—

Then exploded sideways with a quick Euro step.

Smooth. Effortless. Perfect.

Mason lunged—too late.

Ethan was already past him.

Julian Cross was in the paint.

Ethan read the positioning instantly.

Jaxon Wells was guarding Brandon.

Julian was about to rotate—but he hesitated.

Ethan's eyes flicked up—faking like he was going to shoot.

"(Damn it! It's a pass!)"

The moment Julian's hands rose, Ethan flicked a no-look pass behind his back.

The ball zipped past Julian—right into Lucas Graves' hands.

Lucas caught it in perfect rhythm.

He didn't second-guess.

Because Ethan had set it up perfectly.

A clean, controlled shooting form.

The ball left his fingertips—

Coach Corson's eyes narrowed.

"(...That's not normal court vision.)"

Lucas pumped his fist as he jogged back on defense.

Julian Cross shook his head, already sprinting up the court.

[4th Quarter – 9:10 Remaining]

Alec Storm dribbled past half-court, his expression unreadable.

But inside—he was fuming.

"(First possession of the fourth quarter, and we let them score? Tch... That's bad.)"

He scanned the court quickly.

Mason Hayes ran beside him, his face tight with frustration.

"Alec. We need to kill their momentum. Now."

Alec didn't respond immediately.

Lucas Graves' shot wasn't just three points.

Vorpal Basket wasn't rolling over and dying.

They were fighting back.

Alec clicked his tongue.

(We can't let this spiral.)

He turned his gaze to Julian Cross, who nodded in return.

They had to score on this possession.

Not just to maintain the lead—but to break Vorpal's rhythm before it even started.

Alec picked up his pace.

Lucas stayed in front of him, his golden eyes focused.

Ethan Albarado hovered nearby, waiting to pounce.

Alec knew what that meant.

"(Tch. He's reading me again.)"

He needed to throw them off.

Alec planted his foot and faked a hard drive to the left.

Lucas reacted—just a half-step.

Alec pulled the ball back with a smooth hesitation dribble—then exploded forward with his signature "Alec Escape Dribble."

Lucas chased—but Alec had already gained half a step.

Ryan Taylor shifted over to help.

With a quick flick of his wrist—a bullet pass shot toward Julian Cross.

Julian caught it in stride, already moving toward the hoop.

Ethan Albarado was there.

Reading it. Anticipating it.

Julian froze for a half-second.

"(Shit! He baited us again?!)"

Julian had no choice.

He kicked the ball out—straight to Mason Hayes at the top of the key.

Mason didn't hesitate.

He rose for the three.

Brandon Young lunged to contest.

The shot bounced off the rim.

Lucas Graves skyrocketed for the rebound, grabbing it over Jaxon Wells.

Because that wasn't just a missed shot.

That was another stolen opportunity.

And Vorpal Basket wasn't stopping.

The arena exploded with cheers.

Lucas Graves sprinted down the court, dribbling at full speed.

Jaxon Wells, Orlando's defensive anchor, chased behind him.

But Lucas was already ahead.

Ethan Albarado trailed behind, watching the play unfold.

Vorpal Basket was gaining ground.

Lucas took his final step, gathering the ball.

Jaxon lunged from behind, arms outstretched—

Lucas adjusted in mid-air, twisting his body away from Jaxon's reach.

The ball kissed off the glass.

"(That's it. Keep pushing.)"

Alec Storm, standing near half-court, gritted his teeth.

"(Shit. We're losing grip of this game.)"

He turned toward his coach.

Coach Corson was silent.

His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable.

But his sharp eyes flickered between Lucas and Ethan.

Ethan noticed it instantly.

Coach Corson wasn't just watching them.

He was evaluating. Calculating.

"(He's planning something.)"

Coach Corson finally exhaled.

His lips curled into a knowing smirk.

Then—he raised his hand.

"(A time-out? Now?!)"

Ethan and Lucas exchanged glances.

Coach Corson gathered his players near the bench.

His voice was low. Cold.

"It looks like Plan A isn't working."

His players remained silent.

They knew what that meant.

Coach Corson's eyes darkened.

He turned toward Alec, Mason, Julian, Ethan Blake, and Jaxon.

"We're moving to Plan B."

Mason Hayes clenched his fists.

Julian Cross exhaled sharply.

Even Jaxon Wells—their silent defensive wall—nodded grimly.

Alec narrowed his eyes.

"(Plan B... we didn't want to use this, but... we have no choice.)"

Coach Corson's voice cut through the tension.

"They only have two weapons. Two." He pointed toward the opposite side of the court.

"One who can mimic." His gaze lingered on Lucas.

Then—his eyes locked onto Ethan.

"And one who has insane court vision and passing. A high-IQ playmaker. A genius."

Ethan watched from a distance, his sharp blue eyes reading every movement.

The way Orlando's players straightened their backs.

The way they locked eyes with one another.

The way Coach Corson's expression shifted from calm to deadly focused.

Ethan narrowed his eyes.

"(They're about to change their entire approach.)"