The National Middle School Championship Arena

It was the cathedral of youth basketball.

A shimmering dome of lights and noise, alive with electric energy. Nearly twenty thousand fans filled the stands, their chants crashing together like ocean waves. Cameras flashed from every corner, catching every nervous grin and every drop of sweat.

The court itself gleamed beneath the spotlights waxed to perfection, painted in gold and blue, like the stage of a legend's tale. Every sound, the echo of sneakers, the thump of basketballs, the heartbeat of the crowd fused into one pulsing rhythm.

This wasn't just a game.

This was the National Middle School Championship.

And for the Vorpal Basket, this was the moment every bruise, every early morning, every drop of sweat had been preparing them for.

Inside the Locker Room

The smell of fresh jerseys and sports tape filled the air.

The room was tense, quiet but it wasn't the silence of fear. It was the silence before thunder.

Ethan Albarado stood in the center, his posture straight, his eyes steady. The fluorescent lights reflected off his sweat-slicked skin, casting a faint halo around him. Calm. Focused. Yet beneath that calm burned a steady, unshakable fire.

Behind him, his teammates were locked in their own rituals.

Ryan adjusted his wristbands for the fifth time.

Louie was mouthing the lyrics of a rap song under his breath.

Josh and Aiden were arguing over who had the cleaner headband, while Brandon just yawned, unfazed, like it was any other day at the park.

Lucas Graves sat at the corner bench, spinning a basketball on his fingertip, the leather reflecting a flash of light. His golden eyes those unmistakable, wild eyes shone with excitement. "Heh… finally."

Across the room, Ayumi Brooke stood with her clipboard hugged to her chest, headphones slung around her neck. Her soft brown eyes scanned the team, ticking names, noting focus levels but her gaze lingered a little longer when it fell on Lucas.

He looked up, and their eyes met.

Lucas smiled bright and genuine, that kind of smile that could cut through the pressure like sunlight through clouds.

Ayumi froze. Her breath hitched for a second before she quickly turned away, cheeks glowing pink. "Get it together, Ayumi…" she scolded herself silently.

At the front, Coach Fred leaned against the whiteboard, arms crossed, the brim of his cap hiding most of his eyes. Fifteen years of coaching, countless games and yet, something about this team felt different.

They weren't chasing fame.

They were chasing redemption.

He cleared his throat, the room instantly straightening up.

"All right, boys," he said, voice gravelly but calm. "You already know who's waiting out there."

Ethan stepped forward, eyes sharp.

"The Eastgate Wildcats."

The name hit the air like a thunderclap.

Miho Park. Armi Hassuf. Davis Conner. Jun Seo.

Four names that carried weight, the four aces of Boston.

Ethan turned in a slow circle, meeting the gaze of each of his teammates.

He spoke quietly, but every word carried power.

"Out there is a team that's trained their whole lives for this moment. They're talented. Fast. Strong. But they're not unbeatable."

He clenched his fist, voice deepening.

"Because no matter how skilled they are, they can't copy our heart."

Lucas grinned faintly from the bench. "Preach, captain."

Ethan smirked. "We're not just players. We're family. Every win, every loss — we did it together."

He turned to Louie, who was still bobbing his head to an imaginary beat.

"Louie, when you hit the court — bring that energy. The kind that makes people believe."

Louie grinned wide. "You got it, Cap! Showtime, baby!"

A few of the guys chuckled. Even Coach Fred cracked a faint smile.

Then Ethan looked to the rest Evan, Aiden, Ryan, Brandon, Josh, Coonie, Kai, and Jeremy.

Each one different loud, quiet, calm, hot-headed but united by one jersey, one dream.

"Don't look at them like they're gods," Ethan said, voice low but burning. "Because they bleed, just like us. And tonight…" He lifted his chin, eyes blazing. "…we make them remember that."

Silence filled the room.

Not fear but fire.

And in the corner of Ethan's vision, his Basketball System flickered to life.

[Quest Objective: Defeat the Eastgate Wildcats.]

[Reward: ???]

He closed it with a calm breath. He didn't need to see what the reward was.

He already knew what mattered.

Coach Fred stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Ethan's shoulder.

"You've done your job, Captain," he said softly. "Now it's time to play."

Ethan nodded, turning back toward his team.

"All right, Vorpal Basket… let's write our story."

Meanwhile — Eastgate Wildcats Locker Room

The locker room of Eastgate College was quieter than usual.

No music. No laughter. Only the low hum of the air conditioning and the sound of sneakers being tightened rubber scraping against tile.

The faint scent of liniment and fresh fabric filled the air, mixing with the tension that wrapped around every breath.

The Wildcats were dressed in sharp black and silver, their emblem, a roaring feline, embroidered over their chests.

The lighting cast long shadows across the room, glinting off metal lockers and sweat-dampened brows.

At the center of it all stood Miho Park.

His warm-up jacket hung loosely around his shoulders, his hair slightly tousled from focus, not fashion.

Eyes sharp, calm, and calculating burned quietly beneath his fringe.

He wasn't just a captain. He was a vision of discipline.

Armi Hassuf sat backward on a bench, spinning a ball lazily on one finger, his expression skeptical but intrigued.

Across from him, Davis Conner, the ever-grounded power forward, leaned against the lockers, arms folded, eyes closed as if meditating.

And near the corner, stretching his arms in silence, was Jun Seo, the team's wild card, the kind of player that could flip a game upside down if he felt like it.

The air shifted when Miho finally spoke.

His tone was steady too steady.

Each word carried weight, like he'd already decided the outcome long before the game began.

"After we beat them," Miho said, his voice echoing softly off the walls, "it'll be the championship. And we'll finally fight those monsters — the Gods."

The sentence hung in the air for a moment.

Like thunder just before lightning.

Armi raised an eyebrow.

"You talk like it's already decided."

Miho turned his head slightly, expression unchanged.

"Because it is."

He began pacing slowly, hands behind his back, every step controlled, every thought sharpened like a blade.

The soft thud-thud of his sneakers matched the rhythm of his words.

"Ethan Albarado," he muttered, the name cutting through the quiet like a whistle.

"He's not the same player from last year. His rhythm, his reads — he's learned to bend the court around him."

Armi stopped spinning the ball, his curiosity flaring.

"Then why are you so calm?"

Miho paused mid-step, then looked over his shoulder.

The fluorescent light caught his profile sharp, proud, unyielding.

"Because I've bent it before."

The room went silent again, but this time it wasn't tension. It was faith.

Not arrogance conviction.

Davis finally opened his eyes, deep voice rumbling from the back.

"You think Vorpal's ready for us?"

Miho didn't hesitate.

"They're hungry. But hunger isn't enough when the table's already ours."

Jun Seo cracked his knuckles from the corner, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Still," he said, "that Albarado kid, he's fun. He makes the game feel alive."

Miho's eyes softened for a moment, just a flicker of old memory, the day of their unfinished 1v1, when Ethan refused to back down even after losing ground.

The echo of sneakers on asphalt.

That single sentence that stuck with him ever since.

"It's not over yet."

Miho exhaled through his nose not out of anger, but quiet admiration.

"He's stubborn. That's what makes him dangerous."

He turned toward the whiteboard, where the team's strategy was scrawled in neat diagrams.

He circled a spot, the center court and tapped it once with his marker.

"But I'm not just here to win."

He looked up, eyes burning with that familiar, chilling calm.

"I'm here to evolve."

Armi smirked.

"You're starting to sound like him now."

Miho glanced his way, corner of his mouth twitching upward not quite a smile, more like a shadow of one.

"Then maybe I finally understand him."

He threw his warm-up jacket over his shoulder, the silver Wildcats logo glinting under the light.

"When I step onto that court, it won't be Miho Park versus Ethan Albarado."

He stopped by the door, voice low and certain.

"It'll be evolution versus willpower."

He turned, meeting each of their gazes in turn Armi's fiery eyes, Davis's stoic calm, Jun Seo's wild grin.

"So tell me," Miho asked, "are you ready to prove that humans can hunt gods?"

Armi cracked his neck.

"Been ready."

Davis pushed off the wall, voice quiet but fierce.

"Let's end this chapter right."

Jun Seo chuckled as he walked past them, spinning his towel like a whip.

"Time to make the crowd remember our names."

As the door opened, the noise of the arena roared in drums, chants, the heartbeat of the crowd.

Miho stood in the threshold, light spilling over him like a spotlight.

His reflection glinted faintly in the polished floor.

And for a single breath, his thoughts turned inward.

"Ethan… I've waited a long time for this."

"Show me how much you've changed."

"Because when it's over, only one of us will walk toward the Gods."

He stepped out.

The door swung shut behind them, leaving only the echo of their footsteps and the faint

hum of destiny waiting just beyond the court.

To be continue

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