Extra Basket-Chapter 52 - 39: Louie vs Lucas (2)

[Score: 3–2]

The gym was still.

The air was thick with sweat, silence, and expectation.

Only the steady rhythm of leather hitting wood cut through the tension.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Lucas Graves stood at the top of the key, the ball in his control left hand, fingers wide, pads of his hand absorbing each bounce with precision. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t idle.

Each dribble was a message. A heartbeat.

"Control the pace. Control the game."

His body was relaxed, but perfectly aligned, feet shoulder-width, right heel slightly lifted, knees soft, eyes sharp. The way he held the ball wasn’t just instinct. It was design. He wasn’t trying to get by Louie. He was trying to dissect him.

On the other side, Louie Gee Davas crouched low.

He didn’t blink.

He didn’t flinch.

His fingers wiggled in place, small, twitchy movements as he hovered just inches off the floor, like a coiled spring waiting to burst.

Louie wasn’t watching the ball. He never did.

"His right elbow flares when he sets for a left-hand gather. That’s where he opens up."

The score was 3–2.

Lucas led.

And Louie had made a decision.

"I will steal that ball."

He smirked.

Lucas caught the expression and raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Bring it on!!"

His voice cracked like fire through ice full of grit, challenge, and hunger.

Lucas dropped into a low dribble right hand, then back to left quick, tight. He stepped in with his left foot, baiting Louie to lean.

Louie didn’t.

Not yet.

Then Lucas went for it, behind-the-back crossover. Fast. Clean. Executed with the type of crispness only absolute mimicry could deliver.

But Louie had already anticipated it.

He moved before the move.

Louie stepped forward not to the side. Forward. Into the arc of the dribble.

His right hand came in low, fingers slashing up like a blade drawn from a sheath—

SWIPE.

Contact.

The ball snapped against Lucas’s hip, deflected hard it wasn’t just stolen; it was disarmed.

The ball careened left—away from Lucas’s body. For one second, it was ownerless. A loose orb rolling on glossy hardwood.

Louie reacted instantly.

He dove—not down, but forward, like a hawk stooping from the sky. One foot exploded off the hardwood his left foot, the stronger one, pushing with torque trained through thousands of streetball battles, back-alley courts, and midnight showdowns. His torso angled low, chest nearly grazing the floor, his left arm stretched out like a scythe.

The ball was spinning free—ricocheting after deflecting hard off Lucas’s thigh—and it was losing speed fast, wobbling across the polished court with chaotic momentum. If it bounced one more time, it would tilt out of reach.

But Louie’s hand came in first—fingers open, loose, not stiff. He didn’t attack it like a rookie. He let it roll into his palm, curling around it like a glove snatching a pop-fly. His skin met leather—

Secure.

One clean, low cradle.

He’d stolen the ball and seized possession before the bounce. It wasn’t a gamble. It wasn’t a lucky play. It was a masterclass in timing, positioning, and audacity.

The gym responded not with cheers, but gasps.

Jeremy’s jaw literally dropped.

"HE GOT IT—HE REALLY—"

Brandon muttered beneath his breath, like the words were forcing themselves out:

"That’s not luck. That’s instinct..."

Even Coach Fred’s clipboard—a permanent extension of his arm—dropped downward slightly.

He didn’t even glance at his notes. His head tilted up. He was watching now. Really watching.

But Ethan Albarado? He didn’t gasp.

He just narrowed his eyes and began mentally diagramming the entire sequence.

"(He didn’t react to the ball. He reacted to Lucas’s gather motion. He calculated the margin of error between Lucas’s behind-the-back and the flare of his elbow. No hesitation. Louie read it like a rhythm he’d already danced to. That’s not something you learn in drills. That’s a streetballer’s reflex.)"

Ethan’s fingers tapped once on his forearm. Quiet. Precise.

"And now that I think about it..." His eyes followed Louie as he sprang to his feet with liquid grace, curling the ball tight into his side.

"It makes sense."

[Author note:]

[Louie Gee Davas grew up playing streetball—not in gyms, but on rough courts where every move had to be fast, creative, and unpredictable. That’s what makes him special. He makes his own moves on the fly, using instinct and experience.

Lucas Graves, on the other hand, has a rare gift called absolute mimicry. He can copy any move perfectly after seeing it just once. But here’s the catch, he’s still new to using it. So you could say he still adjusting a little bit.]

...

"(Lucas’s mimicry is insane, yes.)" Ethan continued in his thoughts.

"(But he only unlocked it recently. He’s replicating, not yet internalizing.)"

And Louie?

Louie wasn’t replicating anything. He was using his moves... Did he create those moves?

........

By the time Ethan’s analysis concluded in his head, Louie had already leapt back into motion.

With one knee press and a coiled twist, Louie was upright, fully vertical again, and moving—

Not stumbling.

Not reacting.

Flowing.

He dashed forward ball in his right hand, his steps sharp and measured like he was dancing on coals. The space between him and the rim vanished fast. Lucas spun and gave chase, but was just one fraction of a step behind.

Louie neared the paint, jump-stopped at the elbow, sold a pump-fake with his entire torso, then with a delay that shouldn’t be possible mid-air—twisted and reversed the ball behind his back while still airborne.

Lucas bit.

Louie switched to his left hand mid-flight, rolled the ball gently off the glass—

Swish.

3–3. Tie game.

No sound at first.

Then—

A chair scraped.

A palm smacked the floor.

Voices flared.

Kai shouted "Yo—how is he doing that!?"

Coonie whispered like it was sacred text "What the hell."

Lucas stared at the backboard for a second too long before turning back toward the top of the key.

Louie just looked over his shoulder, panting slightly, a sly grin cracking across his face.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t need to.

But the message was clear.

"Told you I’d steal it."

And somewhere, standing near the sideline, Ethan Albarado simply nodded once.

"(Lucas is in a real fight now.)"

...

Lucas got the ball back.

Possession alternated.

He took a slow walk to the top, head nodding.

His eyes said one thing: "Focus."

Dribble. Left hand.

He jabbed right, then snapped into a hard in-and-out dribble, baiting Louie to shift—

Louie didn’t fall for it.

Lucas changed again quick half-spin, then a step-through, then spun off Louie’s left hip into a fadeaway.

Louie rose with him.

But Lucas’s timing was better—the fade was fast, compact.

Net.

4–3.

Louie took possession.

He walked the ball up slowly. Sweat trickled down his chin.

He bounced the ball once, then twice—hard, echoing through the gym like gunshots.

He stared straight into Lucas’s eyes.

Lucas smirked.

Louie blew past him.

First step—electric.

Left foot drive.

Cross to the right.

Spin.

Lucas followed the spin—reading it now—but Louie improvised mid-move, stepping back and dropping into a sudden hesi jump-stop.

Lucas lifted slightly to contest—

Too early again.

Louie didn’t shoot.

Instead, he cuffed the ball, dipped under Lucas’s arm, and leaned in for a hard finish off the glass.

4–4.

Now it was Lucas’s turn.

Last point wins.

He walked to the top again.

No trash talk.

No gestures.

Only silence.

He held the ball close now—two hands for a second—then dropped into a low two-bounce rhythm.

"(Louie wants to steal. But he’s aggressive when you slow down. So speed it up. No second guessing.)"

Lucas took one dribble left—

Then planted and went straight into a hard behind-the-back cross, switched hands, and immediately pushed off with a long euro step—

Louie caught up, he matched the first step.

But not the second.

Lucas changed the stride length at the last moment—going short-long instead of long-short.

Louie lunged to block—

Lucas dipped the ball under—

And with a final flick of the wrist, rolled it high off the glass.

The spin carried it soft.

It kissed the glass and fell in.

5–4. Game.

Silence.

Then sound.

Ryan exhaled. "That... that was game speed."

Ethan crossed his arms again. "Calculated. Last step misdirection. Beautiful."

Coach Fred wrote just one word.

Lucas.

Louie stared in disbelief, breathing hard.

Lucas walked over and extended a hand.

"That was the most fun I’ve had in weeks," he said, grinning. "You’re amazing... That steps you did was really good"

Louie stared. Then slapped his hand into Lucas’s and grinned.

"...Fine. Senior it is."

Lucas smiled wider.

"Took you long enough."

They both laughed.

But everyone knew, this wasn’t over.

This was just the beginning.

.......

As the gym was silent after the high-energy match between Lucas and Louie. Sweat and adrenaline still hung in the air like the aftermath of a storm. The team gathered around in the middle of the court, their faces a mix of relief and exhaustion from the intense 1v1.

Ethan Albarado stood in front of the team, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he analyzed the players in front of him. His decision was coming, and it wasn’t going to be an easy one.

He cleared his throat, turning his attention to Louie Gee Davas, the newly signed player. Louie had proven himself on the court, but Ethan had a different plan for him. A bigger plan.

Ethan spoke with authority, "After analyzing the game... I’ve decided to put you, Louie, on the 6th man."

The words hung in the air for a moment, sharp and unexpected. The players shifted, their gazes flicking from Ethan to Louie, and then back again. Louie, standing with fire in his eyes, couldn’t believe what he just heard.

Louie’s face twisted in disbelief, his fists clenching. "What? I should be on the starting lineup. I just showed you what I can do out there!"

His gaze shot towards the other starters, Evan, Ryan, and Brandon.. standing a few feet away, looking uncomfortable, trying to avoid eye contact. He couldn’t hide the simmering frustration bubbling up inside him.

Ethan shook his head slowly, his expression steady and calm. "The starters are already filled with me, Lucas, Evan, Ryan, and Brandon."

There was no room for debate, no wavering in Ethan’s voice. His words were as final as the final buzzer that had just sounded.

Louie’s face tightened, the anger rising in his chest as he looked at each starter, feeling the heat of competition coursing through his veins. "But I’m more talented than them." His eyes locked on Evan, then flicked to Ryan, and finally settled on Brandon. "You saw what I did out there. I’m better than them."

"What the fuck did you say, you brat?" Evan snapped, stepping forward. His usual cool demeanor was gone. The point guard’s glare was sharp. "Say that again and we’ll settle this one-on-one, right here!"

Ryan, the power forward, clenched his jaw. "You think talent is all it takes? You don’t know shit about team play yet."

Brandon, towering over the rest as the center, just stared down at Louie, his deep voice rumbling. "You might have moves, kid... but try talking trash after you’ve boxed out five players like I do every night."

Louie’s smirk twitched. He didn’t back down, but he knew he’d stepped on a few nerves.

Ethan raised a hand, silencing the uproar. "That’s enough."

Ethan met Louie’s gaze, his expression unchanging. "Talent doesn’t just get you a spot on the starting lineup. It’s about fit. About chemistry. Right now, the starting five has the balance we need."

The room was thick with tension. Louie’s shoulders tensed, his fists clenched even tighter, but deep down, he knew Ethan wasn’t wrong. He had been part of this team for only a short while. It wasn’t just about being the most talented player on the court; it was about understanding how to contribute to the bigger picture.

Ethan stood tall, his arms crossed, and his voice remained calm but firm. "Besides," he continued, "There is a reason why I put you there. I want you to watch us starters, and also... I need you in the third quarter..."

Ethan paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke with conviction. "Like you said, you are good... talented. You have what most people don’t have... the streetball IQ. You even created streetball moves. That alone proves you’re a streetball prodigy."

Louie’s eyes narrowed as he took in Ethan’s words. The praise felt good, but the frustration didn’t leave his chest. He crossed his arms, staring back at Ethan with a smirk that barely concealed his irritation. "Then why? Why need me only in the third quarter when I can just be a vital to you in the first half?"

Ethan sighed deeply, his gaze shifting toward the team for a brief moment. He looked back at Louie and said calmly, "Because if we all become tired, we need you to lead the bench players." He paused again and looked over at Coonie, Kai, and Jeremy, who stood at a distance, looking confused yet understanding.

There was an underlying weight to Ethan’s words that Louie was starting to absorb. Ethan was playing the long game, not just thinking about the immediate future but also how to manage the team’s energy over the course of the game. Louie was talented, no doubt, but there was something more Ethan needed him for.

Ethan’s voice grew more serious as he continued, "You’re going to come off the bench, Louie, and when the third quarter hits, we need you to bring the energy. You’ll be the one to push us when the starters start slowing down. You’ll be the one to take charge of that bench unit and make sure we don’t lose momentum."

There was a finality in Ethan’s tone, a decision that Louie couldn’t argue with, even though he wanted to.

Louie’s lips parted to say something, but he closed his mouth and let out a long sigh. He was still irritated by not being placed in the starting lineup, but part of him knew this was a chance to prove Ethan right.

Louie took a step forward, his voice tinged with a mix of defiance and resolve. "Alright, I get it." His words were clipped, but he wasn’t backing down. "But don’t think I’m going to sit back quietly just because I’m on the bench. I’ll show you, I’ll show all of you."

Ethan looked at him, his expression still serious but his eyes showing a spark of belief. "That’s the spirit. I know you will."

As Louie stepped away from Ethan, his thoughts swirled with the idea of having to wait for the third quarter to come alive. He knew he had the talent, and now he was being asked to lead the team’s second unit. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he had to admit: Ethan’s reasoning was solid. This wasn’t just about personal pride—it was about the team’s success.

Ethan watched Louie walk off and thought to himself with a quiet determination, "(Aiden is not here; he’s still in the hospital, and Josh is injured. So, it’s just me and Lucas in the starting lineup.)"

Ethan’s gaze shifted to the rest of the team. "(We’ll make this work,)" he thought. "(I’ll make sure Louie fits in and plays his part. We’re going to need everyone to get through this season.)"

To be continue

Basketball Note for Readers:

In basketball, team chemistry is paramount. While individual talent is critical, it’s not always about being the best player, it’s about fitting into the team dynamic. Players like Louie might have the skill to start, but sometimes the flow of the game and the balance of strengths between the starters and bench are what lead to victory. The 6th man role, for instance, is often one of the most important roles on the team—it’s about impacting the game when it counts.

Basketball Note for Readers:

In basketball, the third quarter is often a pivotal point in the game where the momentum shifts, or a team can lose their edge. When the starters tire out, it’s essential for the bench to come in and keep up the intensity. This is where Louie’s role becomes crucial. As a player with streetball IQ and unique moves, he’s not just another bench player, he’s the spark that can reignite the team’s fire and bring them back into the game with fresh energy.

Basketball Note for Readers:

Team rotations are crucial for maintaining energy throughout the game. A strong bench unit is often the difference between a team that wins and one that fades in the final quarter. In this case, Ethan recognizes the importance of having fresh legs in the third quarter to keep the team’s momentum going. By managing the minutes of the starters and bringing in Louie at the right time, the team can stay competitive throughout the game.