Extra Basket-Chapter 119 - 106: Louie the street Prodigy

Score: Vorpal Basket 52 – Portsmouth Vultures 20

Time Remaining in 3rd Quarter: 4 minutes

The gym was in a frenzy.

Cheers exploded with every pass, every clean stop, every no-look assist that came from Louie’s hand. The bench unit of Vorpal wasn’t just holding their ground—they were dominating.

Fourteen unanswered points.

The scoreboard glowed like a cruel joke to the Vultures.

52 to 20.

Coach Ryland of the Vultures slammed the clipboard into his thigh and barked out a timeout.

The air was thick with confusion.

Vultures’ strategy—the math, the plans, the matchups—all burned away like paper in a wildfire.

Jamie Lin didn’t walk to the bench—he stalked toward it, each step heavy with disbelief.

He sat down, wiped sweat from his chin, and glanced up at the scoreboard again.

52–20.

"Tsk... How can this have so much gap..."

He lowered his head, staring at his knees, thoughts racing.

(I thought my calculations were right. We had them.

I accounted for Lucas Graves, Evan Cooper, even Ryan Taylor. I even analyzed the bench rotation. So why... why is this happening?)

Jamie’s fingers tightened into fists.

(Everything changed in the second quarter. All because of him...)

His eyes shifted toward the bench across the court.

There, sitting calmly, was Ethan Albarado. Arms crossed, eyes watching like a chess master who already knew the last move of the game.

(Ethan Albarado... that guy... He’s the fucking variable.)

Jamie’s jaw tightened.

(And then that bench unit... Louie Gee. Coonie Smith. Kai Mendoza. Jeremy Park. They were supposed to be expendable—filler minutes. Not an elite formation with actual chemistry. That’s not how this team was in the original data.)

He turned to his coach, voice low but heavy with frustration.

"Coach Ryland..."

Coach raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Jamie leaned closer, whispering so only the coach could hear.

"That Ethan kid... he’s doing something behind the scenes. None of this makes sense unless you factor him in."

Coach Ryland glanced across the court at Ethan—then back at Jamie. "You mean his strategy?"

Jamie shook his head slowly.

"No. I mean everything. It’s like he knows what’s coming before it happens"

It’s like he knows what’s coming before it happens."

Ryland scoffed. "So what, you think he’s psychic?"

Jamie didn’t laugh.

(Or maybe worse... Someone with foresight. And if that’s true...)

(Then this whole game... was never mine to control.)

..

Meanwhile, on the Vorpal Basket sideline, the atmosphere was light—but sharp. The energy that had fueled their momentum hadn’t dipped for a second.

Louie Gee Davas, glistening in sweat, jogged over to the bench during the timeout. His chest rose and fell, but his eyes—those sharp, street-hardened eyes—were glowing. Excitement, hunger, and a little mischief mixed in his gaze.

He strolled past Ethan Albarado, giving him a slight nudge with his elbow and a cheeky smirk.

"Streetball really can shake up the world, huh?"

Ethan looked up, calm and knowing, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

"You’re just getting started."

Louie nodded with confidence, chest still heaving.

"Good. Because I still got a lot more to show."

But as Louie turned to grab his water bottle, his eyes locked with Lucas Graves, sitting further down the bench with a towel around his neck. Louie lifted one brow, his expression smug—as if silently saying, Did you see that? I’m catching up.

Lucas didn’t flinch.

He grinned back, effortlessly composed, and teased:

"Keep doing well, junior."

Louie rolled his eyes and puffed his cheeks slightly.

"Hmm!"

But the corner of his lips curled up in a grin. That was Louie’s way of saying thanks.

A few feet away, someone cleared their throat awkwardly.

It was Coach Fred Mason—the fatass coach of Vorpal Basket.

He pointed at Louie with an exaggerated nod and a finger that shook with the weight of authority he didn’t really have.

"I knew you had that potential! Always said it! Day one! Yep. I saw that street killer instinct in your eyes!"

He tried to do a smooth finger-gun gesture—but his belly jiggled, and it looked more like a toddler mimicking a cowboy.

From the side, Coonie Smith leaned toward Kai Mendoza and whispered under his breath.

(Here he goes again... fatass Coach Mason.)

Kai chuckled into his towel, trying not to burst out laughing.

Jeremy Park added, smirking:

"Bro only shows up when we’re winning."

Coach Mason, blissfully unaware of the sarcasm surrounding him, kept rambling:

"Louie! You remind me of a young me. Back in the day, I had the same handles. They used to call me ’Mason the Magician’!"

Louie squinted at him. "Who’s ’they’?"

Coach froze, then looked away. "The streets, Louie. The streets."

Ryan whispered to Ethan, "If Fred ever played on the streets, the court would’ve cracked under his warm-ups."

Ethan laughed under his breath.

But even with the humor and lightness, there was one thing none of them said out loud—Louie had become something dangerous on the court. Not just flashy. Not just fast.

He had presence.

A rhythm that Jamie Lin couldn’t compute.

And as the timeout ended and the teams took the court again, all eyes were on the Prodigy from the streets... and what he’d do next.

..

The shrill buzz of the scoreboard echoed sharply through the gym like a battle cry. Timeout was over. The game was back on.

From the bench, every pair of eyes fixed on the court. But one player’s name carried the weight of the moment: Louie Gee Davas.

Louie didn’t simply walk onto the court—he glided with purpose. Sweat dripped down his face, glistening under the bright gym lights, but his eyes were steady. They didn’t belong to a nervous freshman or a rookie; they were sharp, intense, and burning with controlled chaos, the look of someone ready to take over the game.

The crowd shifted in their seats, the air thickening with tension. It was the kind of silence that comes just before a storm, the kind of silence where people forget their snacks, lean forward, and clutch their hearts in anticipation.

At the top of the key, Kai Mendoza, floor general of the Vorpal bench unit, took the inbound pass. Kai wasn’t flashy or a high scorer, but he understood the game’s rhythm and tempo perfectly. Right now, he was the conductor, orchestrating the symphony that Louie was about to unleash.

The ball found its way back to Louie, positioned on the wing.

Jamie Lin, the defender, slid over quickly this time, lowering his stance and locking in tight. He wasn’t underestimating Louie anymore.

But Louie didn’t even blink.

One slow, deliberate dribble.

Then —

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Louie’s hands moved so fast they were almost a blur, like fireflies flickering in the night. The ball seemed to vanish and reappear between his fingertips as he executed his "ghost handles." Jamie flinched, caught off guard — and Louie pounced on the opening.

With a sharp crossover to the left, Louie baited Jamie into biting hard.

Then, with a lightning spin to the right, Louie twisted his body, faking a behind-the-back pass.

Troy Sharp, the vultures’ power forward, rotated over to help defense — but it was already too late.

Louie whipped the ball across his body with pinpoint precision to the corner of the court.

Waiting there was Coonie Smith, their clutch shooter. He caught the ball smoothly in rhythm.

Without hesitation, Coonie released the shot.

Snap.

SPLASH.

Nothing but net.

The gym erupted in a roar. The crowd’s cheers thundered through the bleachers, making them shake.

... fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

VULTURES’ BENCH

"Time to warm up, right?!" barked the Vultures’ coach, Coach Ryland, as he kicked over a water bottle.

"Facar! Maco! You’re getting cooked by a freshman! DO something!"

Facar, the backup shooting guard known for his midrange jumper, rubbed his temples.

"He’s too fast, Coach... he moves like he’s from another planet."

Fox groaned, flexing his shoulders. "He ain’t even got muscle. He’s just... slippery."

On the floor, Jamie Lin wiped his face, but his hand trembled slightly.

...

VORPAL BENCH REACTION

Back on the Vorpal side, the bench erupted.

Ryan Taylor stood up and shouted, "Coonie! Eat ’em up, bro!!"

Josh Turner high-fived Brandon Young, who had both fists clenched, veins popping.

"This ain’t a game anymore. This is domination. We came in as loser, but look at us now."

Lucas, narrowed his eyes as he watched Kai and Louie form triangle sets with Jeremy Park on the next play.

"They’re forming natural triangle reads. They don’t even realize it, but the court spacing is perfect. This ain’t just luck. This is growth."

And Ethan?

He didn’t say a word. He just watched, gaze unblinking.

(Do it, Louie... run rampant. Let them feel the weight of despair.)

(This is our story now. Let the world know the name—Vorpal Basket.)

....

Back to court.

Jamie Lin caught the ball inbounded to him. His eyes scanned the court with the cold precision of a predator sizing up its prey. The gym thrummed with electricity as every spectator held their breath, watching the fresh battle between two bench units.

Louie Gee Davas stood on the wing, cool and composed despite the pounding score that favored Vorpal Basket. Jamie’s sharp gaze locked onto Louie, noting the subtle twitch in his hands — that trademark ghost handle dance that had left defenders sprawling. But Jamie wasn’t fazed. He’d seen flashy moves before. What mattered now was calculation.

With a low dribble, Jamie began his advance. His mind raced, running probabilities and angles faster than his body moved. Every step was measured, every movement designed to dismantle the rhythm Louie and his crew had built.

He took a sudden burst of speed, breaking past Louie’s press with a quick jab step. Jeremy Park, the sturdy forward guarding the paint, shifted immediately, leaving his post vulnerable. Jamie’s eyes flicked sideways, and without hesitation, he passed out to Facar, sprinting down the wing.

Facar cut sharply inside, forcing Brandon Young to leave his rim-protecting position. The court shifted like a chessboard, pieces moving and counter-moving. Ryan Taylor shouted from the sideline, "Watch the rotations! Don’t let them collapse the paint!"

Louie, momentarily thrown off by Jamie’s burst, snapped back into defensive mode. His feet churned as he sprinted after Facar, eyes blazing with determination. Meanwhile, Coonie Smith shadowed Troy, cutting off easy passing lanes with agile, tenacious defense.

Jamie, feeling the pressure of Maco trapping Louie, executed a flawless no-look behind-the-back pass. The ball arced to Maco, the Vultures’ physical wing defender, who thundered toward the basket like a freight train.

Jeremy squared off against Maco, muscles tensing as the two collided mid-lane. Maco powered forward, but Jeremy’s solid positioning forced the shot to bounce off the rim.

Louie exploded up, grabbing the rebound with fierce tenacity. Without wasting a second, he flipped a quick outlet pass to Kai Mendoza, already sprinting in transition. The crowd roared as Kai weaved through defenders, eyes blazing with purpose.

Jamie sprinted back, breath heavy, matching Kai stride for stride. Kai bounced once, then launched a high lob to Louie cutting along the baseline. Louie caught it mid-air and slammed down a thunderous dunk that shook the gym’s rafters.

...

On the sidelines, Aiden grinned wide, pumping his fist. "Yes!"

Evan Cooper sat with crossed arms, a slow, impressed smile spreading across his face. "Jamie’s trying to contest, but Louie’s answering every challenge."

Josh Turner leaned toward Brandon Young, whispering, "Bench or starters — doesn’t matter. This team’s fire is real."

Lucas said looking at Ethan "We are what we are today, thanks to Ethan"

Ethan Albarado just remained still, eyes locked on Louie, his fingers hovering over his system’s control panel. (Analyze...as every move counts.)

Jamie’s jaw tightened as he ran mental calculations faster than ever. (They’re fast, strong, coordinated... but patterns always reveal themselves. Now I just have to find their weakness.)

To be continue