A night breeze drifted through the brownstone steps, carrying the faint hum of New York traffic. Raul Albarado leaned against the railing, his broad shoulders relaxed, his grin small but certain. Beside him, Ethan stood still in his travel jacket, the porch light brushing streaks of gold across his blond hair. For a long while, neither spoke. The echoes of the evening—victory, sweat, the roar of a gym still fresh in their bones—hung in the silence.
Raul finally broke it. "You’ve really grown strong, Ethan. As expected of my nephew." His tone carried the weight of a man who had lived basketball, not just played it.
Ethan gave a modest smile, not too wide, not too sharp. "Well... I’m trying to be better." He hesitated, then turned his gaze toward Raul, his voice sharpening. "And also... how’s Cloud?"
At the ntion of his son, Raul’s grin deepened with paternal pride. "Cloud? He’s in the semi-final too. Worked his tail off for it."
Ethan blinked, surprise flickering. "Really? Then... we’ll fight on the court soday."
Raul chuckled, rich and calm, as if the thought had already crossed his mind a hundred tis. "If that’s how fate writes it, then yes."
Ethan’s eyes grew distant. He saw Cloud as clearly as if he stood in front of him—sixteen now, blond hair like his own but sharper, more deliberate. A prodigy. The kind of player who seed born with the ball in his hand.
mories pressed in: cracked concrete, squeaking sneakers, sumr sweat. Cloud blowing past him with ease, every shot smooth and effortless, while Ethan trailed behind, lungs burning. Always behind. Always losing.
(Well... back then, I didn’t have my past life mories. I didn’t have the system either. But now? Now it’s different.)
The vow sat heavy in his chest. This ti, he wouldn’t be the boy in Cloud’s shadow. This ti, he would stand in front of him. A rival, not a follower.
Inside the house, laughter spilled from the dining room. Anna’s bright voice, his aunt’s chatter, the soft rhythm of family warmth. But out here, the air was stripped down, quiet, private just Raul, Ethan, and the unspoken ghost of Cloud.
Raul glanced sideways at him. "You know, when you two were kids, Cloud ca ho bragging or sulking every single ti after playing you. You pushed him, Ethan. More than you realize."
Ethan frowned, caught off guard. "Pushed him? I thought I was always behind. Always the one losing."
Raul shook his head, a faint smile tugging. "Prodigy or not, even geniuses need soone to chase. Soone to make the ga matter. You gave him that. Don’t underestimate your role."
The words lodged in Ethan’s chest. Pride mixed with disbelief, tightening his throat. He tilted his head back, looking at the New York sky—faint stars smothered by city light.
Raul’s voice grew steadier. "You’ll et him soon. But it won’t be kids ssing around in the backyard anymore. It’ll be n fighting for sothing bigger." He clapped Ethan’s shoulder, firm, grounding. "So be ready."
This ti, Ethan didn’t smile modestly. His grin cut sharp, determined, almost defiant. "I will. Next ti I face Cloud... I’ll be standing as his equal."
For a beat, Raul just studied him, then nodded with a knowing grin. "That’s what I wanted to hear."
Later that night, Ethan lay awake in the guest room. His mind wouldn’t let go. Cloud’s image burned: a lean fra in a jersey, blond hair slick with sweat, eyes lit with focus as he drained shot after shot. The crowd roaring behind him.
(Cloud Albarado... the cousin I could never beat.)
Ethan’s fists tightened against the sheets. He whispered into the dark, voice low but fierce. "Not this ti."
The city humd faintly outside, but inside, a storm churned in his chest, ambition, rivalry, hunger. Soon, fate would throw them onto the sa court. And when it did, it wouldn’t just be about family pride.
It would be about rewriting Ethan Albarado’s story.
...
Cloud sat alone, the mask discarded on the table beside him. His platinum-blonde hair shimred in the lamp’s faint glow, while his green eyes glead with a dangerous mix of longing and madness. In his hand, he held a portrait two boys, both fair-haired, one with calm blue eyes and the other with sharp eralds. A faint smile curved his lips as his gloved fingers traced the picture’s edge, lingering on the boy with yellow hair and blue eyes.
It wasn’t just mory. It was obsession etched deep into every glance, every breath, every thought.
Cloud’s smile curled, faint but unsettling, as his gloved finger traced the edge of Ethan’s face in the picture. "Ethan..." he whispered, the word almost reverent. "How I want to et you. But not now... not yet. Not until I’ve beco soone worthy of standing before you."
He leaned back, head resting against the cushion. The photograph dangled from his hand, and mories spilled over him like an old film reel.
Long afternoons under a fading sun. The sound of sneakers skidding on cracked concrete. Ethan’s laugh bright, alive ringing through the air. Always ahead. Always shining.
"You never looked back, did you?" Cloud murmured, voice softer now. "Never once noticing I was right there. Watching. Waiting. Wanting you to see ."
Bitterness crept in, darkening his gaze. His smile tightened, faltered. He sat forward, gripping the portrait until the fra creaked.
"I want you to look at the way you used to, Ethan. I want your focus. Only ."
The words fell heavy, equal parts vow and plea. For Cloud, Ethan wasn’t just family. He was the axis of his world, the beacon that lit him, the shadow that tornted him.
He closed his eyes for a mont, inhaling slow. His chest rose and fell with practiced calm, but inside, his thoughts clawed at each other.
(I’ve bled, I’ve sacrificed, I’ve walked through fire Ethan can’t imagine. But it’s not enough. Not yet. I need more—more strength, more recognition, more power. Only then... only then will he see . Not behind him. Not in his shadow. In front of him.)
The sudden buzz of his phone cut through the quiet, rattling against the table. The screen glowed with an encrypted code. Cloud sighed, placing the portrait carefully aside before answering.
"Cloud," a distorted voice rasped, tallic through the secure line. "The council requires your presence. Imdiately."
Cloud leaned back, smirking. "The council... always summoning like shepherds calling sheep. Don’t they ever tire of the charade?"
"This isn’t for humor," the voice snapped. "The leader will be present. Attendance is mandatory."
Cloud chuckled, sharp and low. "Mandatory... you people love that word. You forget—I’m not here because I must. I’m here because it suits . For now."
"Cloud," the tone hardened, "You know the consequences."
Cloud’s smirk thinned, eyes glinting. "I know exactly what happens. Save your warnings. I’ll be there."
He ended the call without waiting. Silence reclaid the room. For a long mont, he stared at the ceiling, before slowly turning back to the photograph. His gloved fingertip brushed against Ethan’s smile again, tender, almost aching.
(Every mission I take for them... every step, every drop of blood—it’s fuel. Fuel for the day I stand before you again, Ethan. When that day cos... you won’t see a boy behind you. You’ll see Cloud—the one who beca sothing undeniable. And then... maybe then, you’ll give your eyes again.)
He rose, moving with fluid precision. On the armrest, his mask waited: jet black, etched with thin silver lines like veins. He lifted it slowly, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Platinum hair spilling forward. Piercing green eyes—hidden now, buried behind the cold, faceless mask.
The boy in the photo was gone. What stared back was sothing forged, dangerous, untouchable.
"Ethan..." he whispered, his voice muffled through the mask. "Wait for . You won’t be able to look away."
A knock struck the door. Sharp. Impatient.
"Cloud," a voice called from the hall, firm. "We need to leave. The eting has begun."
He didn’t move at first. Instead, he set the portrait gently on the table, as though it were sacred. Straightening his jacket, he rolled his shoulders, his figure sharpening in the dim light.
"Tell them I’m coming."
The door opened, the hallway spilling in shadows. Cloud stepped out. The portrait remained behind.
In the dark, only one truth followed him.
(One day, Ethan... you’ll have no choice but to face . And when you do... will you rember the boy who once called you brother?)
...
anwhile on Lucas side
The gym echoed with the hollow thump of a ball striking wood. Sweat already dripped from Lucas Graves’ jawline, streaking down to his shirt as he reset his stance. His eyes narrowed focused, almost burning.
"Dale Coleman’s crossover... his timing is like a knife. Sharp, clean. If I don’t catch the rhythm, I’ll trip myself."
He lunged left, snapped the ball right, and exploded forward. The mimic was nearly perfect but his lungs scread in protest. He staggered, caught himself, and smirked.
"Not enough. Again."
He bounced the ball back into his palm, shifting gears.
"Jordan’s mid-air control... the hang ti. He floats, even with a hand in his face."
Lucas drove into the paint, leapt, and twisted in the air, releasing a fadeaway. The ball kissed the rim before dropping in. His legs trembled as he landed, knees nearly giving.
The final trial burned worst of all.
"Iverson’s killer crossover. The one that snaps ankles."
He dribbled low, back and forth, faster and faster, his calves on fire, sweat blurring his vision. One sudden step back, then an explosion forward, the ball glued to his hand. His body scread, almost buckling under the effort, but he refused to stop.
To be continue
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