Lucas dribbled. Fast. Loose. Wild.
The ball didn't bounce — it snapped.
No pattern. No signal.
He didn't even look at the coach.
He just moved.
Like fire in the wind.
Lucas didn't wait.
He ignored the screen, slicing past it like smoke.
(No more patterns.)
(Just rhythm.)
He drove hard, heel barely grazing the hardwood—
Eyes forward. Hands calm.
Then, without looking—
Flick.
A no-look dump-off behind his back, right into Evan's waiting hands.
Perfect timing. Perfect pace.
Evan didn't hesitate.
Sharp as ever, he saw the defense rotating late.
(They're ball-watching.)
He bounced a low, slicing pass between the big man's legs—
Right to Ryan, cutting like a phantom behind the baseline.
Layup.
23 – 22. Vorpal back in front.
The crowd gasped. A few even stood up.
But the bench?
The Forest bench?
They were quiet. Eyes wide.
Ayumi whispered:
"…They're… vibing now."
…
Next play.
