The ball was now in Ordinary’s possession after the foul and Zeke shoot the ball, now Noah had already taken Charlotte place, stepping onto the court, hands balled into determined fists.
But the one who changed the most...
was Lucas.
He stood at the top of the key, the ball being inbounded toward him, but he didn’t move at first.
He didn’t even blink.
His golden eyes burned—not with exhaustion, not with fear—but sothing else.
Sothing heavy.
Sothing dangerous.
Lucas Graves wasn’t tired anymore.
Not even close.
His hands tightened at his sides as flashes of mory struck through him like lightning—
His father’s strong arms lifting him after every ga.
The warmth of Roman Graves’s laugh.
The cold, rciless beep of the machines that now kept their father alive.
Three years.
Three long, empty years.
Roman Graves, the man who taught them how to live, how to dream—
Still trapped inside a coma, silent, unmoving.
Neither gone nor present.
And now—
Charlotte.
His big sister. His family. His shield.
Falling to the ground, blood pouring down her face.
Lucas clenched his jaw until it hurt.
He thought he had put it behind him—the fear of losing soone.
He thought he could protect her just by being strong.
By being fast. By smiling and pretending he was okay.
But pretending wasn’t enough anymore.
Not when soone dared to hurt his family right in front of him.
Sothing inside Lucas snapped.
Not like glass shattering.
Like chains breaking.
Even Noah, felt it.
Noah glanced sideways at Lucas—and for the first ti, he flinched.
This wasn’t the usual cheerful, reckless Lucas.
This wasn’t the boy who cracked dad jokes and grinned during drills.
This wasn’t even the Lucas who fought hard during practice.
This... was different.
Lucas Graves was pissed.
And when a kind-hearted boy gets mad—
You better start praying.
Because kindness holds back the worst storms.
But once the dam breaks?
There’s no stopping what cos next.
Lucas finally moved.
The referee’s whistle cut through the thick air.
It was ti to inbound.
But before the ball could be tossed, Lucas stepped up—quietly, but with a force that made Ethan turn.
Lucas’s fists were clenched at his sides, trembling—not from fear, but from sothing deeper. His black hair, matted with sweat, seed almost darker now under the lights.
"Ethan..." Lucas said, voice low but steady. "Can you give one minute?"
Ethan blinked, confused. "Why?"
Then he looked at Lucas’s eyes—
—and froze.
They weren’t just yellow anymore.
They were turning.
Darkening.
Glowing.
Golden rings sharpened around his pupils, and bleeding into that gold was a deep black halo—as if sothing ancient, sothing primal, had awakened inside of Lucas Graves.
Ethan felt a chill scrape his spine.
This wasn’t the usual Lucas—the shy, kindhearted boy who apologized for stepping on soone’s shoes.
This was sothing else.
Lucas stepped closer, voice barely above a whisper, but it slamd into Ethan like a hamr.
"Let pay them back for what they did to my sister."
Ethan opened his mouth—
—but the words wouldn’t co.
He saw it clearly.
Lucas wasn’t asking for permission.
He was telling him.
Ethan swallowed and nodded once, stepping back.
"Go," Ethan said quietly.
The ball was inbounded.
Lucas caught it.
As He snatched the inbound pass with a single, almost casual grab—
He didn’t even look at the defender in front of him.
Didn’t need to.
He took one dribble, low and sharp, his feet exploding forward with a speed that made the defender stagger back.
Vin Cruz, Venganza’s leader, stood at the top of the key, arms folded, eyes gleaming like a king waiting for a challenger.
Kaia Volt tightened her laces, her body twitching in excitent—Zaia peeking through with a delighted giggle only she could hear.
Silas Korrin braced himself under the rim, the wall in the paint.
Dante Cruz watched, scanning Lucas’s posture, his gait, his heartbeat—everything.
And Zeke Monroe hovered by the wing, hands itching to swipe, to punish.
Lucas breathed once.
"One minute," he thought.
"That’s all I’ll need."
He exploded forward.
Kaia Volt lunged to et him first—lightning-quick, almost too fast for the eye.
Lucas sidestepped her so fast it looked like a glitch in reality.
Kaia’s fingers brushed the empty air where Lucas used to be.
Zaia’s voice chirped gleefully in her mind, "Oooh, he’s fun!"
Silas Korrin roared, stomping forward to block the lane.
Lucas didn’t even blink.
He feinted left, dipped low, and euro-stepped past the giant, his sneakers squealing against the hardwood.
Silas turned, stunned—too slow.
Dante Cruz, the Vision Specialist, moved to intercept—predicting where Lucas would go next.
But Lucas wasn’t predictable anymore.
His golden-black eyes locked onto Dante.
Dante blinked—
—and Lucas cut right with an inhuman sharpness, leaving Dante stumbling left like a puppet with its strings cut.
The crowd gasped.
Even the Ordinary—Evan, Noah, Louie—stood frozen, mouths open.
Zeke Monroe dropped into his crouch.
The Lockdown Wing.
The last wall.
Lucas dribbled low, each bounce like a hamr against the ground.
Zeke struck out, trying to slap the ball away—
But Lucas spun.
A spin move so vicious, so precise, that Zeke’s knees buckled slightly.
Lucas broke past him.
Straight toward the basket.
Vin Cruz moved in at last, his smile dark and dangerous.
Vin leapt, arms wide.
Lucas soared.
It wasn’t just a jump.
It was a declaration.
"You can’t stop !" Lucas roared inside.
He twisted midair, evading Vin’s fingers by inches, and kissed the ball softly off the backboard.
It dropped through the net with a whisper.
Score.
Lucas landed hard, the sound of his sneakers slamming onto the wood echoing like thunder.
AS The gym erupted—not in cheers—but in shock.
Vin Cruz turned slowly, staring at Lucas with a new expression—
Recognition.
Respect.
And just a hint of sothing else.
Worry.
Lucas stood tall, chest heaving, his golden-black eyes flashing under the arena lights.
He looked back toward the other side ...toward Ethan.
Ethan t his gaze.
He smiled—small, almost invisible.
Because he understood.
This was no longer just Lucas Graves.
This was the storm he had always hidden inside.
And it had finally been unleashed.
The gym was frozen.
The scoreboard ticked up.
one point.
But no one was looking at the scoreboard.
They were all looking at him.
Lucas Graves stood under the basket, chest rising and falling like a man who had just broken out of chains.
Vin Cruz stared at him from the free throw line
Vin’s smile cracked.
Not in amusent.
Not in disdain.
But in interest.
In wariness.
He brushed his thumb against his jawline, tilting his head slightly, eyes gleaming like a predator recognizing another beast.
He didn’t say a word.
He didn’t need to.
But the way his shoulders squared up, the way his stance shifted ever so slightly, said everything.
Vin Cruz—Venganza’s king—was now taking Lucas seriously other than Ethan Albarado
Across the court, Ethan Albarado stood frozen, hand still half-raised like he wanted to say sothing but forgot how to breathe.
The familiar smile tugged at Ethan’s lips—tight, fierce, proud.
He didn’t have the words for it.
He didn’t need them.
"Lucas..." Ethan thought, eyes burning, "you’re not just a player anymore. You’re our weapon."
He whispered under his breath, just loud enough for himself.
"Get ’em."
The rest of the Ordinary stood just as stunned.
Louie, arms folded, stared with his mouth hanging open, the toothpick he usually chewed falling from his lips onto the floor unnoticed.
"Holy crap," Louie muttered. "That... that wasn’t normal."
He scrubbed a hand through his ssy hair, heart hamring against his ribs.
"This dude just went Super Saiyan," he whispered hoarsely.
Noah, usually the calm, responsible one, leaned forward, eyes wide as saucers.
His fists trembled—not from fear, but pure, raw adrenaline.
A grin started crawling onto Noah’s face, a crazy, wild grin.
He slapped Louie on the back so hard Louie nearly fell off the bench.
"He’s ours," Noah said, voice shaking with excitent. "He’s on OUR side!"
anwhile, Evan just laughed—sharp and bright, hands on his head like he couldn’t believe what he just witnessed.
"He just cooked them," Evan said, laughing harder now. "BRO. HE JUST COOKED ALL OF THEM!"
He punched the air, practically vibrating with hype.
Then Vin Cruz took a step forward.
No more lounging.
No more smirking.
He raised one hand and pointed at Lucas—direct, commanding.
"You..." Vin said quietly, lips barely moving.
Lucas tilted his head, eyes gleaming.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
His smile said it all.
"Co and get ."
...
anwhile
Monitor Room – 9 Monitors, 1 Big Screen
The room was bathed in dim, flickering light from the nine monitors surrounding the room, each displaying different angles of the ga. At the center, a massive screen showcased the action in full motion.
Greg sat in the command chair, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the armrest, his sharp eyes darting between screens.
The tension was thick.
Every breath, every flicker on the monitors—it all weighed heavily in the air.
Monitor 6: A man in a gray blazer, sharp features illuminated by the glow, leaned forward, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief.
"I can’t believe what he just did..." he muttered, voice tight with awe.
Before anyone could respond, the old man from Monitor 1 spoke, his voice slow, almost reverent.
"Lucas Graves..."
He didn’t get to finish.
Monitor 8—the troublemaker—cut in, voice crackling with laughter, filled with urgency.
"This is interesting, ahahaha! Greg, look at your little minions, hahahaha!"
Greg’s jaw clenched, grinding his teeth hard enough to hurt.
Monitor 2: A masked man with blond hair leaned closer to his screen, his hidden eyes glinting behind the mask.
"Lucas Graves... just like his father," he said simply, almost to himself.
Monitor 3: A man in his 40s, glasses perched low on his nose, leaned forward with a curious glint in his eye.
"Should we talk about that ointnt Ethan gave to the Graves girl?" he asked, voice tinged with sly suspicion.
The room went montarily still.
Greg’s eyes narrowed sharply.
Monitor 1: The old man grunted.
"I thought you checked all their equipnt and clothes. Why can’t you spot a damn ointnt?"
Greg opened his mouth—then faltered.
"I... I don’t—"
Monitor 8 burst out laughing again, voice practically howling through the speakers.
"Hoh! I know! Maybe that Ethan kid hid it in his boxers! HAHAHA!"
Greg’s fist slamd down on the armrest, but he said nothing.
Monitor 5: On another screen, a stern woman in her 50s crossed her arms tightly across her chest, her mouth a tight line of annoyance.
"Shut up, Drew," she snapped at Monitor 8.
Then she turned back toward the big screen, her eyes narrowing at the sight of the court.
"Is that the so-called ointnt our team warned about?" she asked coldly.
Greg exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to stay calm.
"Yes... it looks like it," he muttered darkly.
His gaze, sharp as a blade, turned to the boy standing at the edge of the court—
Ethan.
His fingers stopped tapping.
The air inside the room grew even heavier.
Sothing was happening.
Sothing they hadn’t accounted for.
..
anwhile — Back on the Court
The sounds of the ga faded into a dull roar behind them.
Ethan pulled Noah aside, his face serious, eyes sharp.
"Listen," Ethan said, his voice low but urgent. "I’m telling you this plan because it’s crucial. If we ss this up..." He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.
Noah nodded once, sharp and quick.
"Got that," he said, clenching his fists at his sides.
Above them, the Venganza possession stirred—sothing unseen, sothing heavy—like the air itself was holding its breath.
Ethan’s mind raced.
This was their shot.
No hesitation.
No second chances.
They had to move—
Now.
To be continue
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