3:00 minutes left on the clock
Scoreboard:
Orlando Hoops – 99
Vorpal Basket – 92
(This guy… this damn guy…)
(He thinks he can beat me?)
(He's not supposed to be here. He's not supposed to make me feel like this.)
His jaw tightened as that calm look on Lucas's face—focused, unreadable—burned into his skull like a curse.
He snapped the ball to the ground.
Thud.
(I refuse—)
Thud.
(I refuse to lose to him.)
Then—he moved.
Fast. Precise. Dangerous.
Alec spun tightly, his feet moving smoothly across the court, the ball completely under control. He slipped past Lucas like he was gliding through chaos.
Lucas shadowed him step for step.
But Alec was just getting started.
Shamgod.
He pulled a Shamgod—a slick move where he faked a pass with one hand, luring Lucas in. The crowd gasped.
Lucas flinched, falling for the bait.
Alec's fingers twitched, ready to pull the ball back—
SWIPE.
A blue-and-yellow blur crashed into the scene.
"This fucker—!" Alec shouted as the ball vanished from his fingertips.
Ethan Albarado.
Number 20.
The kid with a mind like a battlefield general.
He didn't even glance at Alec—he was already sprinting full-speed down the court, the stolen ball bouncing rhythmically in front of him. The momentum flipped instantly.
Alec froze for a moment. His hands were tight fists. His jaw was locked. He'd just been cleanly robbed of the ball.
"That shit read my whole move like a book," Alec thought bitterly.
Meanwhile, Lucas watched it unfold from the side, wide-eyed.
Ethan's body leaned forward as he sprinted, completely dialed in. There was no celebration. No words. Just action.
A play like that wasn't luck, it was studied, planned, executed.
On the bench, Coach Corson stood with his arms crossed, eyebrows twitching. His eyes narrowed on Ethan like he was solving a puzzle mid-game.
"He didn't even fall for the Shamgod…" the coach muttered under his breath. "He's too damn smart."
Back on the court, Ethan reached half-court. Lucas was trailing slightly behind him, reading the floor just like Ethan was.
Ethan glanced over his shoulder, seeing Lucas right behind him. No words were exchanged, but Lucas gave him a sharp nod.
Ethan smirked.
Without slowing down, Ethan passed the ball cleanly to Lucas, leading him into the lane.
Lucas caught it in stride and immediately turned on the jets.
He attacked the paint, eyes locked on the rim. The defenders scrambled to recover, but he was already inside their heads, already five moves ahead.
Alec saw it and bolted into position, planting himself between Lucas and the basket.
"Not on my watch!" Alec shouted, arms spreading wide, muscles coiled like a spring.
Lucas didn't flinch.
In one fluid motion, his left hand extended the ball far out, then whipped it back in with his right, exactly the way Alec had just done moments ago.
Shamgod Dribble.
Perfectly executed.
Alec's eyes widened.
"What!!"
It was his own move. Done with surgical precision.
Lucas didn't even look at Alec as he blew right past him, using the split-second hesitation to glide into the lane.
Alec spun around too late, stumbling slightly.
"He used that move… and it was clean… sharper than mine?" Alec's mind reeled, frustration boiling in his chest.
He watched… helplessly… as his own move—the Shamgod—was used against him.
And it was perfect.
Smoother.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
Lucas elevated, both feet leaving the floor.
He didn't go for a dunk.
No.
He floated in the air with calm control, pulling up for a smooth, clean mid-range jumper off the glass.
Swish.
The ball kissed the backboard and dropped in.
99 – 94.
The gym erupted.
Lucas landed gently on the court after his smooth move and finish. His breathing was calm. His face showed no emotion, calm and in control but for a brief second, his golden eyes looked at Alec.
Across the court, Alec Storm stood frozen.
He stood in place, stunned.
(I… lost control? I… froze?)
His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists.
(No… no no no no… impossible… I'm the prodigy… I'm the talent!)
Alec's heartbeat pounded in his ears, louder than anything else. He didn't hear the crowd. He didn't see his teammates. All he saw was Lucas—calm, focused, and unstoppable. For the first time… Alec felt small.
From the sidelines, Rhiana saw it. The way Alec's shoulders sagged slightly. The crack in his confidence.
Without hesitation, she stepped forward.
And slapped him.
Hard.
The gym fell completely silent.
Even the players stopped mid-movement.
Alec slowly turned his head, one hand on his cheek, completely stunned.
His eyes locked with Rhiana's. She didn't flinch. Her gaze was fierce.
"You are Alec Storm."
He blinked, unsure of what she meant.
"…What?"
"I said, you are Alec Storm." Her voice was steady, unwavering. "The guy who fights back. The guy who doesn't fold under pressure. The guy who loves this game more than anyone. Where is that Alec?"
The words hit him like a jolt of electricity.
His breath caught.
And then it all came back. The hours in the gym. The countless drills. The dreams, the wins, the losses. The hunger. The passion. The love for basketball not for fame, but for the game.
He remembered.
He was Alec Storm.
Alec Storm wasn't afraid to lose.
Alec Storm wasn't afraid to grow.
Alec Storm was born to rise.
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he didn't let them fall.
He raised both hands.
SLAP.
Left cheek.
SLAP.
Right cheek.
Harder.
Wake up.
"You're right." His voice cracked—but the fire was back.
He grinned wide, wild and alive.
"I'm Alec Storm."
Rhiana exhaled and smiled, arms crossed. "That's my man."
Alec turned toward her and returned the smile genuine and strong.
The gym stayed quiet for a beat longer, as everyone watched the scene unfold like a drama ripped straight from a movie.
And then thunderous applause.
Even the opposing fans clapped.
Because everyone could feel it.
Alec Storm was back.
…
From the sidelines, Ethan Albarado standing with a towel around his neck, water bottle in hand. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his eyes weren't on the scoreboard.
They were locked on Alec.
He had seen the slap. He had seen the fire return to Alec's eyes.
He felt it in his gut.
Something had shifted.
He narrowed his eyes slightly and whispered under his breath,
"System, check Alec Storm's status."
The familiar glow of the system interface flickered in his mind.
….
Alec Storm (Point Guard)
Level:Elite
Core Attributes:
[Offensive Attributes:]
Shooting Accuracy: 12
Layup Skill: 12
Dunk Skill: 8
Dribbling Skill: 15
Passing Skill: 15
[Defensive Attributes:]
Defense: 12
Blocking Ability: 8
Steal Skill: 12
[Physical Attributes:]
Stamina: 14
Endurance: 14
Speed: 15
Effectiveness:
Elite Playmaker:Exceptional court vision and precision passing.Game Control:Known for controlling the tempo and making game-changing decisions.
Awakened Effectiveness:
Thunder Veins:When the game enters clutch time, Alec's blood runs with lightning. His precision, speed, and stamina surge beyond their limits, as if the storm within him awakens fully.
...
Ethan's eyes widened slightly.
(Shit… not good. He's awakened. Stronger than before... and faster, sharper—like a damn storm's brewing.)
A gust of excitement mixed with tension passed through the gym.
The timeout buzzer echoed.
Players moved back onto the court.
Alec clapped his hands once sharp and full of energy. His eyes burned like electricity had cracked inside them. No hesitation. No fear.
He turned to his team, voice ringing with determination.
"Let's do this, everyone!!"
Mason clenched his fist.
Jaxon grinned.
Julian pounded his chest once.
Even the bench players stood and shouted in unison.
This wasn't just any comeback.
This was Alec Storm, awakened and reborn in the final minutes of war.
...
From the Vorpal side, Ethan readying up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
He looked toward the storm brewing on the other side of the court.
(Bring it, Storm. Let's see whose will is stronger.)
The game wasn't over.
It was just about to begin.
…
He looked toward the storm brewing on the other side of the court.
(Bring it, Storm. Let's see whose will is stronger.)
The game wasn't over.
It was just about to begin.
…
The ball was in Alec Storm's hands.
He stood at the top of the key, his body slightly crouched, eyes locked on his defender — Lucas Graves.
Lucas matched his gaze, intense and unblinking.
The gym fell silent for a split second.
A battle of prodigies was about to erupt.
Alec smirked and spoke, voice calm… but laced with fire.
"Nice game."
Lucas blinked.
"What?"
Too late.
Alec's foot exploded into the hardwood — he launched forward, his dribble accelerating with a blistering rhythm.
Thump. Thump-thump. THUMP.
Faster than Lucas had seen all game.
"What the—!?" Lucas gasped, shifting his stance to react.
But Alec wasn't done.
He suddenly leaned as if going behind the back, a fake.
Lucas flinched to his right, trying to read the movement but Alec never went behind the back.
It was a feint.
A split-second illusion.
Lucas's foot dragged slightly.
Just enough.
(He's moving… so quick—!)
Alec's body twisted mid-motion. He pivoted hard off his left foot and snapped his arm forward with all his momentum, launching the ball in a whipping motion like a thunderbolt tearing through the sky.
A Baseball Pass.
But not just any pass.
It was raw. Explosive.
Alec's signature storm-style pass — curved with spin, like a strike from a pitcher possessed.
The ball screamed through the air, slicing past defenders with speed so intense that wind followed its path.
"Like a damn storm…" someone in the crowd whispered.
The ball landed directly into Mason Hayes' hands underneath the basket.
No bounce. No arc. Just pure velocity and pinpoint aim.
Mason didn't hesitate.
He jumped — laid it in.
Swish.
The net danced as the scoreboard ticked:
Orlando Hoops – 101
Vorpal Basket – 94
2:37 remaining.
Lucas turned his head slightly, his yellow eyes locked on Alec.
Alec simply smiled back, eyes narrowed with challenge.
"You're not the only one who can break limits."
Lucas gritted his teeth, but inside, something sparked, not anger.
Excitement.
Because now… the storm was here.
And Vorpal had to rise or be swallowed whole.
To be continue