[Noah White's POV]
The gym was alive with energy—the sound of sneakers screeching against the hardwood, the deep echoes of the ball bouncing, the roaring crowd reacting to every play.
But
Noah White
barely heard any of it.
His eyes were glued to the court.
To
Vorpal Basket.
To his
little brother.
Or rather—the empty spot where
Aiden White
should have been standing.
Noah clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palm.
He tried to focus on the game. He tried to just watch. But the pain—
that old, familiar pain—never left him.
"(If only I didn't have this stupid injury back then... perhaps I could be like them.)"
A deep, aching regret swirled inside him.
Noah had once been
one of the best.
More of a prodigy than Alec Storm himself.
But fate didn't care about talent.
It didn't care about dreams.
The moment his
ACL snapped,
everything changed.
His entire basketball future—
gone.
And now?
Now, he could only
watch.
His gaze landed on
Ethan Albarado.
A player
he had never heard of.
Yet—
Noah's green eyes narrowed.
"This guy... he's different."
There was something about the way Ethan moved.
His ball-handling. His court vision. His
passes.
Noah had seen
elite
passers before. But this?
This wasn't ordinary.
This was
instinct.
Noah leaned forward slightly, eyes flicking toward the scoreboard.
[Score Update:]
Orlando Hoops – 76
Vorpal Basket – 62
[3rd Quarter – 1:00 Remaining]
He exhaled, gripping the railing in front of him.
"(Almost there...)"
He
wanted
this win.
Not for himself.
Not even for Vorpal Basket.
But for
Aiden.
His
little brother.
Noah may not have been able to continue his basketball dream.
But
Aiden could.
And if he couldn't be out there—
Then at the very least, he wanted
his brother to win.
Even if it was just
this one game.
.....
[Ethan Albarado's POV]
The ball bounced rhythmically against the polished hardwood as Ethan dribbled up the court.
His movements were smooth—controlled—but his mind was racing.
His blue eyes scanned the floor, taking everything in.
He didn't need to
look
at the scoreboard.
He already
knew.
"(We can't surpass their score. Not yet.)"
But winning
wasn't
the goal of this quarter.
"(We can stop them from scoring until the 4th. If I just play my cards right...)"
He sucked in a sharp breath.
The
five players
in front of him—Orlando's bench squad—
weren't weak.
Even their
reserves
were a level above most teams' starters.
They were quick. Strong.
Disciplined.
Ethan clicked his tongue.
"(Even their bench is strong...)"
He stole a quick glance at his own teammates.
Kai Mendoza.
Coonie Smith.
Jeremy Park.
Brandon Young.
They were
panting.
Sweat dripped from their brows.
Their jerseys clung to their bodies.
But—
They were
still standing.
Still
fighting.
Ethan exhaled slowly, his lips curling into a small smirk.
"(Well, it's not like we're not that good either...)"
He locked eyes with
Coonie Smith
, who was watching him with a confused expression.
Ethan just grinned.
He already had
a countermeasure.
He had been
waiting
for this moment.
One minute left in the third quarter.
The
perfect
time to
shut Orlando down.
And when the fourth quarter came—
They wouldn't just
defend.
They would
strike.
...
[3rd Quarter – 0:40 Remaining]
[Score Update:]
Orlando Hoops – 76
Vorpal Basket – 62
Coonie Smith felt his breath hitch for a second.
Ethan Albarado had just passed the ball to
Jeremy Park
, one of the lesser-used bench players.
Why?
Ethan wasn't the type to make random plays.
There was always a
reason.
Coonie narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything—
Ethan turned toward him.
And he
stared.
A
long, sharp stare.
Coonie frowned.
(What the hell? Why is he looking at me?)
His body tensed instinctively.
Did he do something wrong? Did Ethan expect him to move?
Before Coonie could figure it out, Ethan
walked up to him.
"
Coonie.
"
Coonie blinked. "
Yes? I mean—what?
"
Ethan's voice was steady,
calm
, but there was something in his tone.
Something
serious.
"I
have a plan... only you can do.
"
Coonie's brow furrowed.
"
Only me?
"
Ethan nodded, his blue eyes filled with confidence.
"
Yes. Only you.
"
Something about those words made Coonie feel
strange.
Not nervous.
Not pressured.
But...
seen.
Like, for the first time, someone
expected something from him.
Like someone actually
believed in him.
Ethan's gaze flickered slightly.
His system screen was up—
the translucent window only he could see.
And there it was.
A locked ability.
...
[Clutch Instinct] – (Locked Ability)
A hidden talent only activated under high-pressure situations.
Boosts reaction speed, decision-making, and shot accuracy in critical moments.
Ethan's eyes glowed with determination.
(Time to unlock his ability!)
He
needed
Coonie to step up.
Not Lucas.
Not Evan.
Not Ryan or Brandon.
Coonie.
Because right now,
only he could pull this off.
Ethan inhaled sharply, looking at the game clock.
0:40 seconds left.
Not much time.
He clenched his fists.
They had one last chance
before the fourth quarter.
And he was
going to make it count.
....
[3rd Quarter – 0:35 Remaining]
[Score Update:]
Orlando Hoops – 76
Vorpal Basket – 62
Jeremy Park—
Vorpal Basket's Power Forward, number 42
—dribbled up the court.
His eyes locked onto his defender.
A
tall, muscular
power forward standing in front of him.
Dark skin, sharp eyes, an intimidating presence.
And on his jersey—
#42 –Freeman.
Jeremy's fingers gripped the ball tighter.
He exhaled slowly.
"(42 like me, huh.)"
But before he could even process the thought—
Ralph smirked.
"
But talented than you.
"
Jeremy's body stiffened.
"(Tch.)"
He didn't react outwardly, but inside?
He felt a
spark
of irritation.
Ralph wasn't just talking.
He meant it.
Jeremy could
see it
in his eyes.
That
superiority.
That
confidence.
Like he was already convinced that he was
better.
That this wasn't even a competition.
Jeremy's jaw tightened.
He wanted to say something.
To throw something back at Ralph.
But—
fuck that.
He let his actions talk instead.
Jeremy
lowered his stance,
dribbling aggressively with his left hand.
A hard pound dribble.
The ball bounced off the polished floor with a sharp
thud,
the sound echoing in the gym.
Ralph Freeman didn't move.
He just watched.
Waiting.
"(Tsk. He's testing me.)"
Jeremy took a quick jab step forward, selling the drive—
Ralph didn't bite.
Jeremy's eyes flickered.
"(He's patient... but I'm not stopping here.)"
A
quick crossover.
Left to right.
Jeremy shifted his weight, pushing off his right foot—
driving hard to the basket.
But—
Ralph
reacted instantly.
His body moved before Jeremy even took his second step.
His footwork was
sharp.
His lateral movement?
Perfect.
He
cut off the drive effortlessly.
Jeremy nearly stumbled.
(Shit—he read me?)
Ralph smirked again, his voice
low and taunting.
"
That all you got, number 42?
"
Jeremy
gritted his teeth.
He wasn't done.
He faked a spin—
Then pivoted back toward the baseline, trying to shake Ralph off.
But Ralph?
He didn't even flinch.
He stayed locked in,
arms wide, stance strong.
Jeremy suddenly felt
suffocated.
Like no matter what move he made,
Ralph had an answer.
Like he was
trapped.
Jeremy's heart pounded.
"(Fuck... he's strong.)"
His teammates were
shouting for him to pass.
But he didn't want to.
Not yet.
Not against
him.
Not against
this arrogant bastard.
He clenched his teeth, switching the ball back to his right hand.
He had
one more move left.
A
desperate move.
A
fadeaway.
Jeremy
planted his feet
Jumped—
Flicked his wrist—
The ball
soared
through the air.
For a second—just a second—Jeremy thought it might go in.
But then—
SMACK.
A
massive hand slapped the ball mid-air.
A
clean block.
Ralph Freeman had anticipated it.
Had read it
perfectly.
The ball flew toward the sidelines.
Out of bounds.
Jeremy landed hard, his breath
ragged.
He
stared
at Ralph, disbelief in his eyes.
Ralph?
He didn't even look surprised.
He just
stood there.
Tall. Unshaken.
Then—he smirked.
"
You're not on my level.
"
The gym
buzzed
with murmurs.
The Orlando bench clapped.
Coach Corson gave a satisfied nod.
Jeremy?
He
gritted his teeth.
He felt like shit.
But more than that—
He felt
pissed.
Ethan Albarado watched the whole thing from the three-point line.
He
exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
(Damn it. That was rough.)
Brandon, standing beside him ,
clicked his tongue.
"
That guy... he's on another level.
"
Ethan didn't disagree.
But—
He looked at Jeremy.
At the way his fists clenched.
At the way his eyes burned with frustration.
And Ethan smirked.
(Good. Get mad, Jeremy. Use that anger.)
Because the game wasn't over yet.
[3rd Quarter – 0:17 Remaining]
[Score Update:]
Orlando Hoops – 76
Vorpal Basket – 62
The gym was electric. The atmosphere
tense.
Every second on the clock felt
heavier.
Ethan Albarado's sharp
blue eyes
flickered toward the scoreboard.
"(Seventeen seconds left.)"
Just
one more possession.
One last shot before the quarter ended.
Ethan turned his gaze toward
Coonie Smith.
Coonie was
panting, tense.
His fingers
twitched.
But Ethan?
He
grinned.
(I'm counting on you, Coonie.)
Coonie's heart pounded
hard in his chest.
The weight of the moment crashed down on him.
He wasn't
the star player.
He wasn't
the go-to scorer.
But—
Right now?
The ball was going to come to
him.
And he had to make it.
He had to.
He
remembered
Ethan's words.
....
"Coonie, if I pass you the ball, you need to shoot it. No hesitation. No overthinking. Just shoot."
Coonie had scoffed at first.
"So that's your plan?"
Ethan had nodded, his voice steady.
"Yes. Just leave it to me. I guarantee you can shoot it without fail."
...
Coonie's fingers curled into a
fist.
Back in the
present,
he swallowed hard.
He glanced at the
game clock.
0:17.
(No more doubting myself.)
Ethan
dribbled up the court,
eyes scanning the floor.
Lucas Graves was on the bench now, he loves to stand and watch the game. A basketball addict.
Evan Cooper? Resting for the fourth quarter.
The starters were
out.
This was
on him.
The Orlando Hoops bench unit
wasn't weak.
They still had
athletic, capable players.
But they weren't
Alec Storm, Mason Hayes, or Julian Cross.
Which meant—
They could be
exploited.
Ethan kept his dribble steady as he moved toward the right wing.
His defender,
Terrance Woods,
a long-armed shooting guard from Orlando's bench,
shadowed him tightly.
Ethan
bounced the ball low,
waiting.
Reading.
The defense was
overcommitting.
They were
anticipating a drive.
"(Perfect.)"
With
0:12 seconds left—
Ethan made his move.
A sudden
explosive first step
toward the left, forcing Terrance to shift.
Then—
a quick spin back to the right.
Terrance's body tensed—
he was half a step too late.
Ethan had created just
enough
space.
Now—he just needed to draw them in.
With
0:08 seconds left—
He
drove hard into the paint.
Orlando's backup center,
Darnell Fox,
a bulky 6'6" player,
stepped up to contest.
(Gotcha.)
Ethan
jumped—
But he didn't go for the layup.
He whipped a
no-look pass
behind his back.
The ball shot straight toward the
left wing.
Right into
Coonie Smith's hands.
Coonie's
eyes widened.
The ball was
there.
In his hands.
The clock
ticked down.
0:05...
He could hear the crowd. The footsteps. The shouting.
His mind screamed at him—
Shoot. Now.
Coonie sucked in a sharp breath.
And then—
He
rose up.
0:03...
Orlando's defenders
lunged toward him.
Jared Wallace,
a scrappy defensive forward, was
closing in fast.
0:02...
Coonie
released the shot.
The ball
soared through the air.
The gym fell into a
hushed silence.
0:01...
Every eye was locked onto the spinning ball.
The buzzer
blared.
And then—
SWISH.
Nothing but net.
The crowd
EXPLODED.
Coonie
froze.
For a split second, he didn't move.
He just
stared
at the rim.
The ball had gone
in.
He had made it.
His shot.
He hit the buzzer-beater.
Ethan, still standing at the top of the key,
grinned.
(Told you, Coonie.)
Lucas punched the air from the bench.
Kai Mendoza grabbed Coonie's shoulders, shaking him.
"
Holy shit, you hit that!!
"
Brandon Young rushed over,
grinning.
Coonie
staggered back, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
Then—
A sharp
exhale.
And a grin.
He pumped his fist in the air.
"
Fuck yeah!
"
The bench
erupted.
Even
the Orlando Hoops players
were caught off guard.
Jared Wallace clenched his jaw.
"
Tch. That was lucky.
"
But deep down—he knew.
It
wasn't.
Coach Corson's lips pressed into a thin line.
"
Instinct...
"
Meanwhile, Ethan Albarado?
He just wiped the sweat from his chin.
And smirked.
"(I told you I'd guarantee it.)"
The scoreboard
updated.
[End of 3rd Quarter – Score Update:]
Orlando Hoops – 76
Vorpal Basket – 65
And just like that—
Vorpal Basket was
back in the game.
To be continue