Extra Basket Chapter 174 - 161: Division Cup Vorpal vs Storm (14)

Kagetsu Renjiro threw his head back

and laughed.

Not the laugh of joy. Not mockery.

But something raw.

Frustrated.

Ugly.

His fists clenched at his sides, body trembling not from fatigue, but something deeper.

"Damn this," he spat. His voice echoed.

"All of this."

His teeth bared.

"Human Thunderclap?" he mocked, voice rising.

"Shitty nickname. Shitty pressure. Shitty expectations."

The court froze. The crowd fell into hushed confusion.

Even his teammates glanced toward the sideline in stunned silence.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

He wasn’t laughing.

He wasn’t speaking.

He was watching.

(...This isn’t Kagetsu losing control.)

(...This is him shedding it.)

Then—

a chill.

A crackle.

An invisible pressure leaked from Kagetsu’s body, like steam from a bursting pipe.

Even the air around him began to vibrate.

Ethan clenched his fist behind his back and whispered under his breath—

"Basketball System. Scan Kagetsu Renjiro."

A familiar digital flicker in his vision.

[ SCANNING... ]

[ TARGET: KAGETSU RENJIRO ]

[ STATUS: AWAKENING ]

[ PHASE: INSTINCT MODE – UNLOCKED ]

...

The moment the ball touched Kagetsu Renjiro’s fingertips...

the gym shifted.

Like gravity itself bowed in reverence.

He didn’t shout.

He didn’t signal.

He moved.

A blur. A shockwave. A storm.

Louie Davas was first.

He planted his feet early, shoulders squared.

Too late.

Kagetsu dropped his stance, dropped lower than any 5’10" player should.

Boom.

A shoulder feint, then a low spin.

Louie flew past like paper in the wind.

Next was Evan Cooper.

He read the drive tried to trap left.

But Kagetsu?

Already two steps past him.

A hesitation dribble, then a devastating cross

"ANKLE BREAKER."

Evan stumbled. Fell.

"NO—!"

Ethan Albarado lunged from the weak side.

Brandon Young stepped up to contest—

Too slow. Too human.

Kagetsu exploded between them, splitting the seam mid-air.

And waiting just beneath the rim—

Lucas Graves.

His golden eyes locked onto Kagetsu.

He saw every frame. Every twitch.

(I can do it... I’ve seen this before. The angle. The step. The release. This is my job—)

"Absolute Mimicry—Active!"

Lucas jumped.

Matched Kagetsu in timing, in form

But not in truth.

Kagetsu didn’t just jump.

He soared on conviction.

Lucas copied Kagetsu’s technique.

But not the rage.

Not the pressure.

Not the years of shouldered weight Kagetsu burned through.

Kagetsu twisted mid-air—

Elbow to chest.

Lucas reeled—bounced back—

"—TWO-HAND SLAM!!"

BOOOOM!!

The rim shook. The entire goal post in metal protest.

Crowd: Silent. Then thunder. Then madness.

Commentator Jamie:

"ARE YOU SEEING THIS?! ONE ON FIVE—ONE. ON. FIVE!!"

Coach Doyle, stunned:

"That’s not just talent. That’s something else. That’s war."

Lucas coughed on the floor, clutching his ribs.

He looked up at Kagetsu’s back as he jogged away from the rim.

(I copied your steps... your rhythm... your force...)

(But not your reason.)

Kagetsu didn’t turn back.

He just said:

"Don’t try to become me, Lucas Graves."

"Become the reason why I go further."

...

Score: Vorpal 69 – Roanoke 61

The court was a battlefield of breath and will.

Ethan Albarado hunched over slightly, one hand on his knee, the other wiping sweat from his temple. His chest heaved with every breath. He’d used too many of his skill cards too quickly. The toll was catching up.

"(Shit... so this is his awakening mode... fuck—)"

Across the court, Kagetsu Renjiro stood tall. No smile. No mockery. Just fire. His every move had begun to leave aftershocks crossovers that bent space, verticals that felt like thunder was coming down with him.

Lucas Graves, meanwhile, stood off to the side, biting down frustration. He was struggling. His hands trembled just a little from overexertion. But worse than the exhaustion was the confusion eating at his mind.

He had tried to mimic Kagetsu’s aerial drift, the lightning-footed burst that led into that devastating midair shift and he had failed. Not mechanically. But .

"(Why can’t I mimic his foundation...)"

"(He said there’s a reason... what reason does he mean?)"

Lucas clenched his jaw.

"(Limits... is that it? Is it his pain? His training? His years of anger? No... it’s more than that. It’s how he those moves. The hours. The scars. The experience I haven’t lived.)"

His fists trembled.

"(I can’t copy what I haven’t earned...)"

On the sideline, Ayumi held her clipboard tightly, watching the boys teeter on the edge. The gym buzzed like a kettle left boiling too long.

Back on the court, Ethan looked up.

Kagetsu was walking toward him now.

Slow. Calm.

But that calm was the eye of a storm.

Ethan’s hand balled into a fist.

"(I have to analyze more... Even if this body breaks. Even if my stamina burns out. I won’t fold.)"

Coach Fred Mason stood dumbfounded, chewing on an empty straw like it was a cigar.

"Uhhh... boys look kinda cooked out there." he mumbled.

Ayumi didn’t even look at him.

"They’re still standing. And that’s enough."

...

4th Quarter

Score: Vorpal 69 – Roanoke 61

Starters: Ethan, Evan, Louie, Brandon, Lucas

The court fell silent or maybe it only that way.

Every breath from the crowd. Every squeak of the sneakers. Every heartbeat.

Ethan Albarado stood at the top of the key, the ball cradled in one hand.

Kagetsu Renjiro stood waiting just inside the arc. His feet were light. His stance relaxed. But the way his eyes cut across the floor? Sharp enough to bleed.

Lucas moved to the corner, Evan slid up beside him. Louie stood in the opposite corner, palms twitching, ready for the pass. Brandon held his post position tight, arms flared wide like a wall.

Then Ethan dribbled.

One bounce. A signal.

The play began.

Louie darted up, curling around Brandon’s body like a comet in orbit. The defenders scrambled, anticipating the familiar Vorpal screen play.

But Ethan didn’t follow the script.

He hit Louie with a fake eye movement then bolted the opposite direction.

Behind-the-back dribble. Snatch step. Explode.

Commentator Jamie’s voice cracked.

"HE SPLITS IT! ALBARADO’S THROUGH—AGAIN?!"

Coach Doyle’s voice was low, grim.

"He’s collapsing their weak side every time now. Roanoke’s second line is late — too late."

Kagetsu flared out, rotating instinctively. He read the lane, adjusted.

But Ethan was ahead.

(Clutch Performer — Activate.)

(Jordan Shooting Form — Mid-Arc Drift.)

A single leap. Twisting in the air, right hand launching the ball mid-fall.

Malik Okafor went up for the contest too late.

Swish.

Vorpal 71 – Roanoke 61

The crowd didn’t even cheer right away.

They were stunned. Then it hit.

A roar. A scream. A storm in reverse.

Louie screamed, "LET’S GOOOO!!"

Lucas clenched his fist.

Kagetsu stared... and grinned.

Not out of disrespect.

But out of something else.

"You’re playing like it’s your last quarter."

Ethan met his eyes.

"Isn’t that what makes it fun?"

..

Time: 2:00 — 4th Quarter

Score: Vorpal 71 – Roanoke 61

Possession: Roanoke Storm

Kagetsu Renjiro stood near half-court, motionless for a beat. His chest rose and fell, sweat dripping from his chin to the hardwood. The Human Thunderclap had done everything exploded past defenders, slammed down dunks, locked up scorers and yet...

They were still behind.

Ten points.

The margin stung like an open wound, not because it was hopeless but because was helpless to stop the momentum.

He closed his eyes for a breath.

"(I’ve awakened. I it. The rhythm, the timing, the elevation, this is a new stage.)"

"(But I can’t control it yet. Not fully. My body hasn’t caught up to the speed my soul wants to move.)"

He opened his eyes slowly, gaze drifting to the Vorpal Bench.

Ethan was standing. Breathing heavy, but calm.

Lucas beside him a quiet flame.

And the others Louie, Evan, Brandon all watching him, not as fans...

...but as .

Kagetsu took a deep breath.

Then, he .

A soft one. The kind you give after letting go of a grudge you didn’t know you were holding.

He turned slightly, speaking low to himself.

"I get it now."

"This game... this loss... it’s my beginning."

He looked back at the court, then toward Ethan.

"Thanks, Vorpal. You made me reach higher."

He dribbled forward slowly. The play resumed.

..

On the other end, Ethan Albarado’s eyes never left him.

His body ached. Every dribble, every rotation, every screen etched into his legs like weights. His breath was short, but his mind was racing.

(As expected... this awakening...)

(I can’t fully analyze it yet. Maybe because Kagetsu himself hasn’t grasped it either.)

(His plays are half instinct, half chaos. A storm still forming.)

The basketball system flickered in the corner of Ethan’s vision.

SCAN INCOMPLETE

Subject: Kagetsu Renjiro

State: [UNKNOWN AWAKENING FORM]

Compatibility: 82%

Analysis: Fragmented data. Not enough repetition.

Recommendation: Counter by anticipating , not .

Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

(No time left to adapt slowly. Then... I’ll analyze the .)

(His balance. His weight shifts. His choices before he moves.)

He blinked, activating a skill in his system:

Time Vision (Advanced) —

The world slowed.

Kagetsu crossed once hard to the left.

Ethan didn’t chase, he .

Kagetsu hesitated spun.

Ethan mirrored it almost like a twin.

Kagetsu’s eyes flicked up, and for a moment a surprise flashed through him.

(You’re reading me... ?)

Ethan didn’t reply. He just .

Kagetsu went for the step-through —

Ethan , arm raised—

THWACK!

He didn’t block it clean, but the shot wobbled.

Clang.

The ball rattled off the rim.

Rebound: Brandon Young.

The crowd erupted.

As The rebound had just fallen into Brandon Young’s arms like it belonged there. He clutched it tightly, his massive frame shielding it from the Roanoke players.

"Outlet!" Ethan shouted, hand already raised.

Brandon didn’t hesitate, he fired the ball toward half-court where Ethan was already streaking down the wing, catching it in motion like a bullet into a chamber.

The bench leapt to their feet.

Coach Fred, for once, was completely silent his jaw slightly open.

Ayumi gripped her clipboard tighter, breath caught.

The crowd?

Roaring.

But in Ethan’s head, everything was quiet.

His heartbeat was a calm thump-thump against the rhythm of sneakers and hardwood.

He didn’t glance at the scoreboard.

He didn’t glance at the clock.

(Just play. Play through the chaos.)

His teammates knew what was coming.

"Flow Two!" Ethan yelled.

And they moved like dancers, not soldiers.

Evan Cooper peeled off a screen and drifted to the weak side.

Louie Davas cut baseline, dragging a defender with him.