Extra Basket-Chapter 118 - 105: The 3rd Quarter

The energy in the Vultures’ huddle was tense—palpable. Sweat dripped. Chests rose and fell. No one looked at the scoreboard anymore. It was already seared into their minds: 43–16.

The starters sat on the bench, breathing hard, eyes low.

Rico Harrow rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head.

"We’re getting clamped," he muttered.

"Every pass, every lane—they’re just... faster."

Marcus Flynn, the point guard, leaned forward, elbows on knees. "We’re not running the sets. And when we do, Darnell’s always double-teamed before he touches the paint."

Silas Green said nothing. He just stared at the court, hands steepled in front of his face. His long limbs still twitching with frustration.

"Effort’s there," he said, voice low. "But... they’re dissecting us like it’s nothing."

Darnell Fox punched the bench. "That Ethan guy—he’s not even their best player, and he’s controlling the rhythm like a vet."

Anwar Pafur, the center, wiped his face with a towel. "And Lucas? I thought he was just hype. But he’s eating space, contesting clean, and that vision—he’s setting the table for everyone."

Behind them, the bench players huddled together.

Maco, Lino, Facar, and Troy whispered among themselves.

"Yo," Maco said. "They really got us like this?"

Troy folded his arms. "Didn’t think we’d be sitting in a blowout."

Facar chewed on his mouthguard. "If Coach doesn’t switch the tempo, we’re toast."

That’s when he walked up. Calm, collected. No fear.

Jamie Lin, the Vultures’ freshman guard—quiet, calculating. The so-called secret weapon.

He stood in front of them, arms crossed.

"They pressured Darnell into isolation," Jamie said flatly. "Forced Marcus off the ball, baited Rico into bad shots. Everything went exactly the way Vorpal wanted."

Maco raised an eyebrow. "You said our plan work?"

Jamie nodded. "It did."

He looked over to the court, eyes narrowing.

"My strategy was."

He paused, jaw tightening.

"But..." he scoffed, glancing down. "My strategy didn’t work how it used to because of Ethan Albarado. Tsk."

Coach Ryland Hale stepped in, arms folded, face unreadable.

"Jamie," he said. "Give it to me straight. What’s the probability we win this?"

Jamie didn’t hesitate.

His voice was calm. Precise.

"Fifty percent."

The bench went quiet.

Rico glanced up, brow furrowed. "Fifty? We’re down almost thirty."

Jamie looked at him, eyes sharp.

"Because they haven’t seen me yet."

...

The crowd was roaring, but inside the Vorpal Basket huddle, it was strangely quiet.

The scoreboard still read 43–16, but Ethan Albarado wasn’t relaxing.

He had his eyes locked on the other side of the court—on a particular freshman now tying his laces.

Jamie Lin.

The supposed secret weapon of the Portsmouth Vultures.

The one the novel had mentioned during the first game of Lucas Graves in Turning Point.

Ethan had read this moment before—Jamie’s entrance would change the pace of the game. That was how it was written. That was how it was supposed to go.

But Ethan wasn’t planning on following any script.

He turned slowly to his team—the ones who had fought tooth and nail to get this lead.

Lucas stood silent, eyes cold and focused.

Josh and Evan were hydrating, still locked into the rhythm of the game.

Brandon sat hunched forward, arms resting on his knees, his chest heaving. He had played hard in the paint, contesting every rebound, setting brutal screens, defending two men at times.

Ethan stepped forward.

His presence was calm—but commanding.

And first, he turned to the bench.

His eyes landed on Louie Gee Davas.

Number 5. His disciple. The prodigy from the streets.

Louie was silent, head down, bouncing his knee slightly. You could feel the energy bubbling beneath the surface.

Ethan walked up to him.

"...It’s about time," Ethan said.

Louie looked up, those sharp eyes meeting Ethan’s without hesitation.

"Your turn, Louie."

There was no need for long words. No need for speeches. Just a simple exchange between a leader and his student.

Louie stood, rolling his shoulders back.

"I’ll show what I can do," he said with a small grin. "You trained me for this."

Ethan nodded once, his eyes full of trust.

"Good. I’ll be counting on that."

Then, Ethan turned to the others—the rest of the bench unit.

Coonie Smith, lean and fast like a bullet. Quiet, but with that hidden confidence.

Jeremy Park, number 42, broad-shouldered with a dependable rebounding touch.

And Kai Mendoza, the hybrid guard/forward, explosive off the ball and a sneaky fast cutter.

Ethan looked at all three of them in one sweep.

"I’m also counting on you three."

They didn’t say much—just nodded, solemn and ready.

This was their moment too.

Then Ethan walked back toward the big man in the middle.

Brandon Young.

He had given everything in the first half—battling on the boards, contesting every drive. And now, fatigue was starting to show. His eyes were a little slower. His shoulders slumped.

Ethan reached into his shorts pocket and pulled something out—a small capsule in a clear wrapper.

He held it out.

"Brandon... take this."

Brandon looked at it, confused for a second.

Then his eyes widened slightly.

He took it gently, holding it up like it was some rare treasure.

"...Is this the stamina pill your uncle created?" Brandon asked, whispering

Ethan gave him a small smile and nodded.

"I already gave it to you during practice. All of you know how it works."

Everyone in the huddle—even the starters on the bench—nodded slowly.

They’d experienced it before.

The feeling.

Brandon unwrapped it without hesitation and swallowed it dry.

A few seconds passed.

Then he exhaled through his nose—eyes blinking wider.

His muscles no longer ached. His fatigue faded.

Like a new energy had entered his limbs and bloodstream.

"...Every time I take this..." Brandon muttered. "It gives me chills."

"Like I said back in the day," Ethan said firmly. "It taps into your reserves. It won’t make you superhuman—but it makes you feel like you are. Enough to push back. And that’s all we need."

Brandon stood taller now. He rolled his shoulders.

His fingers flexed. The fire in his eyes reignited.

Ethan clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I’m counting on you," he said. "With Louie, and the rest of the bench."

Brandon nodded, fire blazing inside him.

Coach Fred Mason watched the exchange, arms crossed. He didn’t ask questions. He had learned one thing this season—when Ethan stepped forward, he brought results.

Then the buzzer rang again.

The official signaled.

Coach Fred Mason turned to the referee.

"Subs," he called out. "Four in."

Louie, Coonie, Jeremy, Kai, and Brandon stepped toward the scorer’s table.

As they checked in, the arena buzzed again. Not just with the crowd—but with curiosity.

Why sub in a full bench unit now? With a lead like that?

But Ethan knew why.

Jamie Lin had just entered the court.

He was jogging slowly to the top of the key, already commanding space like he’d been there all game.

And Ethan watched from the sideline, arms crossed.

(By the way, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. In the original novel, Louie Gee Davas... never made it to this court. He died before this—a car accident, a senseless tragedy, the kind that hits a side character without explanation. A throwaway line buried deep in the pages. No glory. No goodbye. Just a name that vanished before the story even began. But now... Louie was jogging out onto the hardwood under the third quarter lights. Because of me.)

As Ethan watched him, eyes distant for a moment, the noise of the gym fading out as the weight of the change hit him again.

(I don’t know why he lived.)

(I don’t know what I changed exactly...)

(All I can say that this was where the next Chapter began.)

..

Back to Court

Louie jogged onto the floor and glanced over at Jamie—already measuring him.

Jamie didn’t return the look. He was focused on the ball, on the angles, on the tempo.

But he’d noticed Louie.

He’d noticed all of them.

They weren’t ordinary bench players. Something felt off.

Jamie’s sharp instincts—his internal calculations—were already running.

Why is the bench unit this calm?

Why was that one guy smiling?

Then suddenly the whistle blew.

Louie took the inbound.

Jamie approached slowly.

Two minds—two completely different philosophies—met at the centerline.

Jamie was pure calculation. He anticipated steps, broke down angles, and mapped plays like he was writing code.

Louie?

He didn’t think in diagrams.

He thought in beats.

In rhythm.

He dribbled like he was dancing, letting his hips guide his momentum, letting the sound of sneakers and breath fill the space between his mind and the floor.

Crossover—fake—hesi—lean.

He didn’t even try to blow past Jamie yet.

He was just showing him the tempo.

Jamie shifted, adjusting weight.

Louie caught it.

"Not bad," Louie muttered.

"You haven’t scored yet," Jamie replied, deadpan.

Louie grinned.

"I ain’t trying to. I’m just... warming up."

He bounced the ball through his legs, turned his back briefly, and rotated out of the screen as Kai Mendoza slashed baseline.

Kai caught the feed perfectly and scored the layup.

The crowd erupted.

The ball had just slid clean through the net from Kai Mendoza’s twisting layup off Louie’s assist.

Louie didn’t celebrate.

He didn’t fist-pump. He didn’t shout.

He just looked at Jamie, cool as ice, and gave a small shrug.

"Beat one."

Jamie’s eye twitched—barely noticeable. But it was there.

He read me that fast?

Before he could analyze further, the ball was already being inbounded.

Team Vultures moved fast. They weren’t going to let one basket dictate momentum.

Marcus Flynn, their point guard, pushed the pace, slicing through the half-court line.

But Coonie Smith was already waiting.

Small but wiry, Coonie shadowed Marcus’s steps with precision, his footwork aggressive but clean. He wasn’t just matching Marcus—he was mirroring him.

Marcus tried to break through with a fast spin move.

Bump.

Coonie’s chest was right there.

"Tsk," Marcus hissed. "What’s with this guy?"

He passed out to Silas Green, their lanky forward—but Jeremy Park closed the gap in a heartbeat.

Jeremy had been quiet on the bench, but now his presence felt heavy. He was tall, but what made him dangerous was his core balance. Silas tried a long step into a euro move—Jeremy didn’t budge.

Instead, he leaned in just enough to force an off-angle shot.

Clang. Missed.

Brandon Young grabbed the rebound easily—his stamina fully restored thanks to Ethan’s earlier gift.

"Let’s run," Brandon grunted.

He tossed it to Kai Mendoza, who immediately cut up the side with Louie trailing slightly behind.

From the bench, Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

They’re keeping up. Now let’s test something.

...

Louie had the ball again at the top of the arc.

Jamie set his stance, scanning for tells.

But Louie didn’t even hesitate this time.

He broke left hard, then suddenly crossed behind his own back, shifting his weight backward just as Jamie lunged forward.

It wasn’t just a fake—it was a rhythm break.

Jamie staggered.

Louie stepped through and passed to Coonie, who caught the ball at the free throw line and pump faked instinctively.

Troy, one of the Vultures’ backup forwards, bit on it—jumped.

Coonie dipped under and fed it low to Jeremy, who banked it in with a smooth touch.

4 bench points in a row.

The crowd started buzzing louder.

"They’re moving like they’ve practiced together for years."

"Who even are these guys?"

"They’re bench players?!"

Jamie backpedaled on the next play, thinking hard.

*This isn’t a bench lineup. This is a counter-formation."

..

Team Vultures huddled briefly near the sideline on a free throw.

Maco, one of the Vultures’ physical bench wings, leaned toward Jamie.

"They’re fast. That Kai kid plays like a pro."

"I can take the big guy—Brandon," Lino added, eyes scanning the lane.

"Then focus," Jamie said curtly. "They’re not normal backups. Don’t let the tempo get out of your hands."

Facar, a versatile defender, narrowed his eyes. "That Louie kid’s dangerous."

Jamie nodded. "He reads defenders like code."

Change teamed Subs all starters of Vultures

....

...

Back on defense, the Vultures tried to switch more aggressively.

Maco pressured Louie now, using his bulk to try and push him off his rhythm.

But Louie smiled as if he’d been waiting for this.

"You strong," Louie muttered. "But strength don’t matter if your feet don’t listen."

He jabbed hard—then spun the ball behind his back so fast Maco couldn’t follow.

Louie exploded into the lane—

Then lobbed it.

Kai was already airborne.

Slam.

Alley-oop.

The entire gym jumped up as Kai dunked it with authority.

The bench for Vorpal exploded in cheers—Evan, Josh, Ryan, and Lucas on their feet.

"Let’s gooo!"

Even the coach had to smile a bit.

But Ethan? Ethan was calm. Focused.

He watched Louie.

Watched how his disciple danced through the defense, slicing it apart without ever needing to score.

He’s grown.

To be continue