Extra Basket-Chapter 120 - 107: Jamie’s Plan

3rd Quarter – 3:00 Minutes Left

Score: 66–27, Vorpal Basket Leads

The scoreboard glared down like a judge announcing a death sentence: 66 to 27. The gym, filled with cheers from Vorpal fans, seemed to mock the losing side with every dribble and dunk.

On the Vultures’ bench, tension crackled like a live wire.

Coach Ryland Hale slapped his clipboard against the bench, barely holding back the storm rising in his chest.

"Motherfucker!!" he bellowed, startling the players nearby. His veins were bulging, jaw twitching as he glared at the scoreboard.

Then his eyes locked onto Jamie Lin, the freshman calmly sitting with a towel on his lap, legs crossed, face unreadable.

"You said you had a plan, Lin!" Coach growled. "We’re down thirty-nine! You better start explaining how the hell this helps us!"

Jamie slowly stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his shorts. His eyes were sharp, calculating, the eyes of someone who hadn’t been idle during this storm.

"I have a plan," Jamie said coolly. "But now it’s time to restart our engine. We need Darnell back in."

Coach Hale blinked. "Darnell? He already played two quarters. You think putting him back now is gonna change things?"

"Not think," Jamie replied, gaze cold and exact. "I know it will."

He’s rested just enough. His aggression will reset their rhythm. They’ve gotten too comfortable. Now... it’s time to disrupt.

At the end of the bench, a large shadow stirred.

Darnell Fox had been hunched over, sipping water, his massive frame twitching with leftover adrenaline. His jersey number 0, clung to him like armor. His eyes lifted, meeting Jamie’s.

"So," Darnell rumbled, "you’re saying it’s time for round two?"

Jamie nodded. "Now. They don’t expect you to come back this soon. Use that."

Darnell stood up slowly, cracking his neck side to side. The hardwood groaned under his weight.

"Finally," he muttered. "I’ve been itching to go back. I don’t care about the score, I just want to hurt someone."

His gaze drifted across the court toward the Vorpal sideline, eyes narrowing at Kai Mendoza, who had just finished a flashy dunk minutes ago. Then toward Ethan Albarado, quietly seated, towel around his shoulders, watching.

"Especially that smug bastard," Darnell growled. "He thinks he’s got this in the bag. Let’s flip that script."

.....

On Vorpal Basket’s Bench

The players were laughing and hyped after another fast break layup. Even Coach Mason looked at ease, sipping from his bottle.

"Great run, boys," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Just keep this pace and rotate clean. We’ve got them."

But something in the air shifted. A sudden silence fell.

Louie Gee Davas turned his head and froze.

Jeremy Park stood up slowly.

Coonie Smith narrowed his eyes.

Across the court, Vultures were sending someone back in.

A familiar figure.

"Wait... no way," Coonie said. "Isn’t that...?"

Ethan stood slowly. His eyes didn’t blink.

"Darnell Fox," he said softly. "He’s coming back in."

Josh Turner’s voice cracked. "Didn’t he already play the first two quarters? Isn’t that dangerous?"

Ethan didn’t answer immediately.

(In the novel, Darnell was pulled in the second half. But this time... Jamie kept him on a leash. Now he’s letting it loose, exactly when our rhythm peaked. Damn it... he baited us.)

"It’s a trap," Ethan muttered.

Kai Mendoza bounced on his feet, but when he saw the look in Ethan’s eyes, he paused.

"Yo, you good?"

Ethan gave him a tight nod. "We need to shift. Their momentum’s about to turn ugly."

.....

Jamie stepped toward the coach and the rest of the lineup. His hands clasped behind his back like a general reviewing a battle map.

"Keep your spacing clean. We use Darnell as a pivot. Give him early touches and let them collapse around him. When they hesitate — we cut."

He’s not just brute force now. He’s a fuse. And I’m lighting it.

Darnell had already taken a few warmup jogs, the hardwood echoing his return.

He turned back briefly. "Jamie," he said, voice low but intense. "This time, don’t hold me back."

Jamie didn’t blink. "I won’t. This time, we finish it our way."

As the buzzer sounded and the timeout ended, Darnell walked onto the court like a beast reclaimed — eyes glowing with bloodlust, muscles tense like coiled steel.

And Jamie Lin?

He stood behind the bench, arms crossed, calculating every second.

"Phase Two... begins now."

....

The buzzer echoed across the gym like a warning bell.

Darnell Fox stepped back onto the hardwood — a living engine of violence and power. His every footstep thudded like thunder, his gaze cold, hungry.

Ethan Albarado narrowed his eyes from the bench.

(Damnit... they unleashed that bastard again.)

He clenched his towel tightly, scanning the court and his team — the starters still holding the line.

Lucas Graves. Ryan Taylor. Evan Cooper. Josh Turner. Aiden White.

Then his eyes flicked over to the bench.

Louie Gee Davas. Kai Mendoza. Coonie Smith. Jeremy Park.

They were steady for now, but he could feel it — the shift. The rhythm they’d built was about to be broken.

He stood up, tension pulling at his shoulders.

"I still need time for my starters..." he muttered under his breath, trying to calculate.

"Which one should I sub first...?"

Before he could decide, a hand rose from the bench.

Aiden White.

The small forward stood up, face calm but eyes sharp.

"Let me play, Ethan."

Ethan blinked. "Are you sure? I mean, we only played you a little in the first quarter just in case your injur—"

"I’m already healed," Aiden said firmly. "You know that. And besides... I don’t want to play just a few minutes and vanish. I need this. Let me help."

There was no hesitation in Aiden’s voice. No fear. Just resolve.

Ethan studied him for a moment, then nodded.

"Alright... Jeremy, sub out. Aiden, you’re in."

He turned toward the coaching box and pointed toward the sideline, calling out to the man who’d been seated like a clueless tourist in a warzone.

"You got that, Coach?"

Fred Mason jumped as if he’d just been shocked. His eyes darted around, stuttering.

"Uh—yeah, yeah, of course. I-I was just about to say that! You just, uh, beat me to it!"

Ethan sighed.

We’re coaching ourselves at this point.

As Aiden pulled off his warm-up shirt, muscles flexing beneath his jersey, he jogged toward the scorer’s table with a look of quiet fire.

From across the court, Darnell Fox noticed.

The two locked eyes for a brief second.

No words exchanged just a promise. A clash coming soon.

..

As the substitution buzzer rang, Aiden White stepped onto the court.

The lights above seemed to sharpen on him, casting a soft sheen on his skin, still glistening from the warm-up. His strides were smooth but heavy, the way a predator walks when it knows it’s about to eat. Every movement was purposeful. Controlled.

Jeremy Park jogged off, giving Aiden a slap on the back. "Keep it locked down," he said, short of breath, sweat dripping from his jawline.

Aiden nodded. "Let’s finish what you started."

The bench unit was still holding the line:

Louie Gee Davas at guard, Kai Mendoza as the slasher, Coonie Smith locking in on defense.

Now, Aiden stepped in to solidify the wing.

As Aiden slid into position on the wing, Coonie glanced at him, smirking.

"Ready to get your hands dirty?"

Aiden smirked back. "Born ready."

On the sideline, Ethan Albarado sat forward, elbows planted on his knees, fingers laced so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes tracked the movement of every player but one figure stayed fixed in his vision:

Darnell Fox.

The monster.

"(He’s pacing himself,)" Ethan thought. "(Waiting for the exact moment to break our rhythm. They brought him back to crush our second wind.)"

Beside Ethan, is Lucas Graves who sat with arms crossed.

His voice was low, almost drowned by the buzz of the crowd and the squeak of sneakers.

"You look worried."

Ethan didn’t respond. Not right away. His jaw tightened.

Across the court, Darnell stood like a monument, massive and grounded, eyes glowing with intent. Every breath he took felt like the slow draw of a hunter waiting for the scent to align.

"They brought back their monster," Ethan finally said, his voice hard. "That alone changes the tempo." freewebnoveℓ.com

Lucas nodded. Slowly. His eyes didn’t leave the court, but his words carried weight.

"Yeah. But remember, Ethan..."

"...you know us best."

Ethan turned to look at him.

"You trained us. Those phase drills we did — the late-night sessions, the breakdowns, the simulated fourth quarters..."

"We were losers before. Benchwarmers. Pieces no one knew how to fit."

Lucas looked Ethan in the eye. Calm. Steady.

"Then one day, you showed up... and changed us."

Ethan felt his chest tighten, the words sinking deep.

Lucas leaned back slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint grin.

"You didn’t just train us... You made us into basketball players."

The sound of the crowd, the court, the echoing ball, it all faded for a moment in Ethan’s ears.

No. Not just players.

They became warriors. Because Ethan refused to give up on them.

As Ethan hands relaxed. His breathing steadied. Then Ethan’s eyes narrowed again on the court as Aiden took his first stance against Darnell. Two forces waiting to collide.

(Then let’s see if the monster can bleed.)

...

The court shifted again.

A subtle but seismic change.

Facar stepped off.

Darnell Fox stepped back in.

And the starters who’d sat earlier; Rico Harrow, Silas Green, Anwar Pafur, Marcus Flynn all still on the bench. Rested. Watching. Waiting.

But on the floor now... was the blade. And Jamie Lin was the hand gripping it.

The crowd? Electric. Screaming. Chanting.

But Jamie didn’t hear any of it.

He stood at the edge of the court, arms loose, jaw set.

His eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch.

Phase One... was the data.

Now... Phase Two begins.

From the opposite side, Darnell Fox re-entered like a titan reawakened.

He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and jogged onto the court like he owned it. Every step he took seemed to shake the hardwood. He wasn’t just playing basketball — he was hunting.

Across the court, Vorpal Basket’s formation adjusted. Their zone shifted tighter. Their eyes flicked nervously toward the lane. Darnell’s presence changed everything.

But Jamie?

Jamie didn’t flinch.

He had already accounted for this.

Behind him, Coach Ryland Hale was pacing like a caged wolf, sweat staining through the collar of his black polo. His face was red, his voice on edge.

"Alright, genius," the coach growled, tugging at his collar, "You said you’ve got this under control. So what’s next?"

Jamie tilted his head slightly, not taking his eyes off the court. His voice was smooth. Cold.

"We disrupt them... without the ball."

The coach blinked. "Without the... What the hell does that even mean!?"

But Jamie said nothing more. He didn’t have to.

Because on the court... it had already begun.

....

The referee tossed the ball in.

Vultures’ possession.

Jamie took a single breath. The chessboard was his.

Darnell Fox caught the inbound pass with one hand — a clean snatch, like palming a grapefruit. He dribbled once. The echo thundered.

Then his voice boomed across the gym like a cannon blast:

"CLEAR OUT."

The other Vultures obeyed immediately, fanning out like frightened animals fleeing the monster they’d just summoned. They knew. This possession wasn’t for them.

This was Darnell’s arena now.

But Jamie Lin’s gaze wasn’t locked on the ball. It never was. His eyes darted across the floor, scanning, calculating, predicting.

Disrupt them without the ball. Control the space. Force mistakes.

He barely blinked.

.....

Louie Gee Davas, at guard, was eyeing the left wing, ready to defend a three-pointer the moment Darnell passed. The ball seemed like it was Louie’s best friend.

Jamie’s voice was steady, almost quiet, but filled with iron:

"Maco, double Louie when he catches."

Maco shifted instantly, a wall moving into place. Louie’s usual rhythm shattered as Maco’s shadow fell heavy over him.

Louie tried to step forward, but Maco’s hand snaked out — fingers brushing the ball, enough to force Louie to pull back. His breathing quickened.

...

Across the court, Aiden White moved with smooth precision, cutting toward the basket. He was the kind of player who could make defenders look slow, slicing through seams with quiet confidence.

Jamie’s voice sliced through the noise:

"Troy, shadow Aiden. Don’t give him an inch."

Troy was quick to respond, sliding over, his body tight and low. He mirrored Aiden’s every step, cutting off his paths.

Aiden’s expression flickered, annoyance, frustration but he didn’t panic. He slowed, forced back into the perimeter.

..

Jamie’s eyes flicked back to Darnell, who was trying to create space, dribbling hard to the right. Jamie’s voice dropped to a sharp command:

"Lino, pressure Brandon. Make him uncomfortable."

Lino stepped forward, chest up, hands ready. The giant forward’s presence pressed hard, and Brandon hesitated, forced to backaway.

...

They can’t settle. They can’t breathe.

Jamie’s strategy was unfolding perfectly — the Vultures were choking Vorpal’s offense, not by attacking the ball directly, but by controlling every inch around it.

Darnell lashed out a pass towards Lino, who was positioned near the basket.

But Coonie Smith was already there.

With the smooth, quick reflexes of a predator, Coonie intercepted the pass mid-air. The ball clattered into his hands, and the crowd erupted.

From the bench, Ethan sat rigid, jaw clenched.

They’re suffocating us. This pressure... it’s different.

His eyes swept over the court, noting every shift, every falter.

He glanced sideways at Lucas Graves, who sat with his arms crossed, lips tight but eyes burning.

Evan’s voice was low but sure:

"Jamie’s got a plan. He’s making us play his game."

Lucas look at Evan and Nodded

And Ethan’s gaze hardened.

"Then we’ll have to find a way to break his grip."

Jamie Lin’s calm smile never faded. He folded his arms and whispered to himself:

Phase Two... working exactly as expected.

To be continue