Location: Chicago, Illinois – Chicago Loak University
The thunderous echoes of sneakers squeaking against polished hardwood filled the air. The gymnasium slled of sweat and desperation, the stale remnants of a battle that had long since been lost.
A battle that never even felt like one.
The scoreboard burned with a cruel, undeniable truth:
Chicago Raptors – 80
Vorpal Basket – 20
A massacre.
Evan Cooper sat on the bench, his elbows on his knees, head hanging low.
Josh Turner clenched his fists so tight his knuckles turned white.
Ryan Taylor refused to look at anyone, his broad shoulders hunched over, eyes fixed on the floor.
Brandon Young sat with an empty expression, sweat dripping down his forehead.
Lucas Graves?
Lucas couldn't move.
His golden eyes were locked on the court, his stomach twisting as he watched the one player who had orchestrated this humiliation.
Jalen "Flash" Carter.
Chicago Raptors' star point guard.
6'2" of pure, unrelenting speed.
A maestro on the court.
An explosive playmaker.
Jalen stood at the top of the key, bouncing the ball with an almost bored expression. His teammates had stopped celebrating. The crowd had stopped caring.
This wasn't a ga.
It was a show.
And Jalen was the star.
The shot clock ticked down.
Jalen rocked the ball side to side, looking up at the defense—or what was left of it.
No one even tried to stop him anymore.
The crowd laughed.
A slow, humiliating chuckle that spread through the gym like wildfire.
Jalen smirked.
"Yo, y'all just givin' up?" he called out, his voice dripping with amusent. "Ain't nobody gonna guard ?"
Silence.
Lucas's nails dug into his palm.
He wanted to stand.
He wanted to do sothing.
But he couldn't.
Jalen let out a mock sigh, shaking his head.
"Damn. Y'all really let get bored out here."
Then, in a blur—
He moved.
One crossover.
Two.
Lightning-fast footwork.
He cut through the lifeless defense like a blade through paper.
One dribble. Two.
Then—a no-look pass.
Behind the back.
Straight to his teammate under the rim.
Slam!
The backboard rattled.
The gym erupted.
Lucas didn't even realize he had stopped breathing.
His fists trembled.
His pride shattered.
The referee barely even hesitated before blowing the final whistle.
Ga over.
Evan didn't look up.
Josh exhaled, shaking his head.
Ryan muttered sothing under his breath.
Lucas?
Lucas never forgot this night.
Jalen Carter wiped the sweat off his forehead as he walked past the wreckage of Vorpal Basket.
Not a glance.
Not a second thought.
As if they were nothing.
But then—he paused.
He turned back, his cocky smirk still in place.
"Yo, Evan."
Evan flinched but forced himself to look up.
Jalen chuckled.
"Tell your coach to forfeit next ti."
Then, without another word, he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and walked away.
Like they never even mattered.
...
Locker Room – Silence
The air was thick.
Not with sweat.
Not with exhaustion.
But with sha.
No one spoke.
Ryan Taylor sat with his head buried in his hands.
Josh Turner ripped the tape off his fingers with so much force it left marks.
Coach Mason?
He barely looked at them.
"We're done here," he muttered. "Sa story, different team."
Lucas couldn't breathe.
His hands shook.
This feeling—this helplessness.
He hated it.
He would never forget it.
And one day—one day, he would return the favor.
He would make sure Jalen Carter never laughed at them again.
...
Ethan sat at the end of the bench, staring at the scoreboard.
The numbers blurred.
Sothing about this loss...
Sothing about this humiliation...
It felt familiar.
Like he had felt this before.
Like he had lost everything before.
His fists clenched.
His breath shook.
And in that mont—deep in his soul—he knew.
This wasn't the first ti.
And it wouldn't be the last.
But next ti?
Next ti, he wouldn't be watching from the bench.
Next ti—he would be on the court.
And he would win.
The End
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