Extra Basket-Chapter 106 - 93: Aftermath

July 19, Sunday, 2010

Ethan Albarado – POV

Two days have passed since Charles Freeman died.

It still doesn’t feel real.

Every time I close my eyes, I see it, the moment he raised the gun, the way his voice cracked when he said "too late," and the way his body collapsed to the floor. It keeps playing in my head like a broken film reel. Even now, I can still hear the ringing in my ears from the gunshot.

But there’s a strange kind of peace that came after it. Not happiness. Not relief. Just... silence. Like everything in the world froze for a while to process what had just happened.

Caleb Carter was rescued. Thank God. I don’t even know what would’ve happened if Gerald hadn’t reached him in time. Caleb’s still quiet, still shaken, but he’s alive. That’s all that matters. And now, because of that, his brother Jalen Carter can play in the tournament without worrying about him. It feels like a small sliver of hope rising from a nightmare.

The real cleanup, though, the one who pulled everything together was Lucas’s mom: Romanov Graves.

She’s not just Lucas’s mother. She’s also the director and owner of BAC—Basketball Asian Company. When she arrived, everything changed. She took charge like a force of nature. Within hours, the facility was under lockdown, the injured treated, and the whole scene contained. She didn’t panic. She didn’t scream. She just acted. She’s the kind of person who walks into chaos and makes it kneel. If there was a real hero in the aftermath of Freeman’s insanity, it was her.

But not everyone handled it so... cleanly.

Charlotte—Lucas’s Elder sister—heard about what happened. She rushed to the scene as soon as she could. The moment she saw Lucas standing there, bandaged and pale, she lost it. She scolded him, shouted at me too. Her voice cracked with every word, and I swear I saw tears forming in her eyes.

"You could’ve died!" she cried, her fists pounding weakly against Lucas’s chest. "Both of you! Why didn’t you just call someone?! Why couldn’t you... just not be nosy for once?!"

We tried to explain, tried to tell her that it wasn’t that simple. That things needed to be done. Sure, we were scared, but we did our best. Lucas tried to calm her down, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. I stood beside them, offering weak apologies. It took the whole day to settle her down. We didn’t blame her, though. She was right. We almost died, and the weight of that hit us harder when we saw how it hurt the people who cared about us.

Then there was Gerald Young—Brandon’s father.

He finally confessed. He broke down in front of Romanov and admitted his sins—what he did, what he knew, and what he allowed to happen. You could see the guilt pouring out of him like water from a cracked dam. Maybe he thought turning himself in would fix something. Maybe he was tired of carrying it.

But Romanov... she didn’t just hand him over to the authorities.

She knew the risk. If Gerald confessed, his family, Brandon, his wife Naia could be targeted. There were people still out there, parts of the same twisted group that Freeman joined to, who wouldn’t hesitate to silence them. So, she made a choice. She ordered her men to protect them, to guard the Young family like they were her own. Some might say she’s ruthless. Maybe. But I think she understands loyalty and responsibility more than anyone else in this story.

As for the rest of us... we’re not okay.

Louie Gee Davas, Evan Cooper, Brandon Young, Lucas Graves, and me—we’re all dealing with the trauma in our own ways. Although none of us were Freeman’s experiments. We weren’t the ones he altered or tested on. But that doesn’t mean we walked away unscarred.

We saw death. We saw madness. We stood in the room with someone who had completely unraveled, and we couldn’t stop him.

Louie’s just 13. He shouldn’t have been anywhere near something like that. Since that day he’s trying hard to get over it. Withdrawn. Evan, always the calm one, doesn’t talk much either. You can see the storm behind his eyes when he thinks no one’s looking. Brandon’s been trying to stay strong for his mom, but I’ve seen his hands shaking when he thinks no one notices. And Lucas? He blames himself. I can tell. He hasn’t said it, but I know he thinks he should’ve seen it coming. That he should’ve done more.

Me? I’m writing this down just to get it out. Trying to make sense of what happened. But I keep circling back to the same thing.

Why? Why did Charles Freeman fall so far?

I think about what he said before he died. About Eddie Carter. About their childhood. There was love in his voice, bitterness too but underneath it all, there was pain. Like he’d been chasing something for years, and somewhere along the way, he lost himself.

I don’t think he was born evil. Same with Greg Tarrow, who died in the underground not too long ago. They were both men twisted by this world, broken by it. Maybe they were desperate to win in a world that had already written them off. Maybe they wanted control, to feel powerful again. Or maybe... maybe they just wanted to matter.

And that’s the hardest part to admit.

Because even though they hurt people, even though they crossed lines that can never be uncrossed,I still wonder if someone, anyone, had reached out to them at the right time... would things have been different?

Sometimes, I think the author of this world is the real villain. Not Freeman. Not Tarrow. The author made their stories tragic. The author made them fall. And now, we’re the ones left behind to clean up the pieces and figure out how to live with the memory.

Still... we survived.

We carry the scars, but we’re alive. Caleb is safe. Jalen can play again

...

Location: St. Mercy Hospital – Second Floor, Room 1 VIP

Lucas Graves sat in the quiet stillness of the VIP room, his eyes fixed on his father, Roman Graves. At just 14, Lucas had known a world filled with warmth and laughter—a world where his father was not just a towering figure of strength but a friend, a coach, and a constant source of joy. He remembered the times when Roman played basketball with him in the park, shared playful banter during spirited games, and even coached him with gentle guidance that mixed strict discipline with unconditional love.

Now, though, that same man lay motionless in a hospital bed, reduced to a fragile frame cradled by an intricate web of tubes, wires, and monitors. For three long years now, since that fateful incident that had shattered not only Roman’s health but also the family’s sense of security, his vibrant presence had been replaced by a clinical haze. The vivid memories of his father’s warm smile were now blurred by the constant hum of machines, a haunting reminder of what had been lost.

Lucas’s gaze wandered over the array of medical equipment. The ventilator’s rhythmic hiss filled the room as it assisted Roman’s labored breathing. Each exhalation was captured by the digital display on the bedside monitor, which cyclically registered Roman’s oxygen saturation levels and heart rate. The machine’s LED indicators blinked in steady cadence, suggesting relative stability, yet the fragile condition of his father was unmistakable. Lines connected to an IV stand dripped saline mixed with a cocktail of medications—vasopressors, anti-inflammatory agents, and cardiac support drugs—all tailored to maintain the vestiges of his father’s failing organs.

Within this sterile environment, the room was arranged meticulously. A large window allowed in the soft natural light of early afternoon, casting a pale glow over the polished floors and clinical furniture.

Lucas’s thoughts churned quietly. In the reflective silence, he could no longer restrain the question that had been haunting him since the day of the incident:

"(Father... why did Freeman know about you... what really happened that day?)"

He longed for clarity, for a glimpse into the shadowed corners of the past that seemed so entangled with his father’s suffering.

At that moment, Dr. Keiji Yamamoto, the family physician who had been overseeing Roman’s condition for years, stepped into the room. A man in his mid-fifties with kind, experienced eyes and a calm demeanor, Dr. Yamamoto had become something of a reluctant confidant, someone who understood the delicate balance between hope and despair that Lucas and his family fought every day.

"Lucas... your father’s health is recovering," Dr. Yamamoto said softly, his voice measured and reassuring. He gestured toward the monitor as he approached, his gloved hands pointing out the incremental improvements in Roman’s vital signs. "We’ve seen some improvement in his oxygen saturation, and his heart rate has stabilized. It’s slow progress, but it’s progress nonetheless."

Lucas looked up at the doctor, his breath catching for a moment. The words "Slow progress" didn’t feel like enough, not when his father had been in this condition for so long.

"Thank God," Lucas whispered, his voice hoarse. His eyes flickered back to his father, still unconscious but no longer in immediate danger. It was a relief, yes but it was also painful, a stark reminder of the trauma they had all endured since that day.

Dr. Yamamoto continued, adjusting some of the IV tubes that ran into Roman’s arm. "His reflexes are becoming more responsive as well. We’ll need to continue monitoring his brain activity closely. He’s still in a coma, and there’s a chance he may never fully wake up the way he was. But the fact that we’re seeing signs of improvement is encouraging."

Lucas nodded, his emotions swirling inside him. He wanted to feel hope, but the truth was after so much time had passed, he had learned to temper his expectations.

His gaze lingered on his father’s face, pale and unshaven, eyes closed, and lips slightly parted as though he were still holding onto a dream. It didn’t look like the father he had known. The father who had laughed, played basketball with him, coached him through every drill. It felt like a lifetime ago.

The doctor noted some of the ongoing details of Roman’s recovery. "His liver function is stable, which is a good sign considering the traumatic stress his body underwent. We’re also monitoring his kidney function closely, as it’s common for them to be affected by prolonged medical issues such as his."

Lucas swallowed hard, blinking against the sudden rush of emotions. He knew his father’s body had been through a great deal. The brain injury. The internal bleeding. The physical exhaustion from his struggles, everything had taken its toll. But it was the uncertainty that gnawed at him the most.

"Dr. Yamamoto," Lucas asked quietly, voice almost breaking, "will he ever wake up?"

The doctor sighed, rubbing his temples before looking at Lucas. "It’s hard to say. We can’t predict brain recovery with certainty, especially given the complexity of your father’s injuries. He’s been in a coma for over three years now, and while we’ve seen small improvements, it’s also possible that he may never regain consciousness. We’re at the mercy of his brain’s healing capacity."

He paused, letting the explanation sink in. Lucas listened intently, his mind trying to juggle both the clinical details and the emotional weight of the conversation. "So, the ventilator... it’s giving him the support he couldn’t get on his own?" Lucas asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"Exactly," Dr. Yamamoto replied. "The ventilator helps maintain adequate oxygenation and relieves the workload on his respiratory muscles. We’ve been titrating the settings carefully—adjusting the tidal volumes and respiratory rateto match his diminishing lung compliance. Over time, we hope that with proper therapy, his lungs will regain enough function to breathe with less assistance. But it’s a gradual process, Lucas."

Dr. Yamamoto’s explanation was thorough and precise, full of the kind of technical detail that made it clear he understood every nuance of his patient’s condition. "We’ve also been monitoring his cardiac output. His heart is compensating, but there’s evidence of persistent strain. We’re administering beta-blockers and ACE inhibitors to help reduce that strain and protect his myocardium from further damage. It’s a delicate balancing act, maintaining his blood pressure and ensuring that all his systems can work together harmoniously."

"You’re doing everything you can, right?" Lucas asked, though he didn’t really need the answer. He knew Dr. Yamamoto was doing everything possible. The machines in the room, the careful monitoring of vitals, the medications, it all pointed to the fact that Roman Graves had been given the best possible care. But that didn’t ease the weight in Lucas’s chest.

"We are," Dr. Yamamoto replied firmly, meeting his gaze. "I know this isn’t easy, Lucas. But your father’s body is strong. His heart is still fighting. That gives us hope."

Lucas gave a small nod, clenching his fists at his sides. There was a part of him that couldn’t bear to accept the possibility that his father might never fully wake up. But there was also the lingering truth that things had changed, that the incident had changed everything. Freeman’s death hadn’t brought closure. It hadn’t brought peace. Instead, it had raised more questions. The past three years had felt like one long, unending stretch of uncertainty.

As he stood there, watching his father waiting, hoping for a miracle, Lucas couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers he sought might never come. Freeman had known something about his father. And that secret, whatever it was, still lingered like a shadow over their lives.

But for now, Lucas could do nothing more than be here, in this moment, holding on to the smallest thread of hope. His father was alive. And in that small, fragile way, there was still a chance.

But Lucas knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to stop searching for the truth about that day. He wasn’t going to rest until he understood why Charles Freeman had talk about his father and at the same time focus on his love for basketball.

To be continue