Extra Basket-Chapter 124 - 111: Jamie’s Decision

Court – 4th Quarter

Score: Vorpal Basket — 84 | Vultures — 47

Time: 5:43 remaining

[Minutes of playing and Darnell is in the free throw line.]

Darnell stepped to the free-throw line, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on the rim.

Lucas stood just behind the three-point arc, unfazed, watching intently.

(He’s trying to reassert dominance.)

(He wants the crowd, his team... and me... to know he’s still the ace.)

Bounce. Bounce. Breath. Release.

The ball rolled around the rim... and fell out.

Brandon Young snagged the rebound, muscling past Anwar Pafur, and passed it quickly to Evan.

Evan Cooper zipped up the court, quick as lightning.

Lucas trailed slightly behind, scanning like a machine.

On the sideline, Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

"Darnell’s going for momentum plays. But that dunk... it was too costly. He’s playing desperate now."

Evan passed to Ryan Taylor in the post then immediately cut around.

Lucas darted to the wing. Darnell was slow on the switch.

Ryan faked a hook, then kicked the ball back out to Lucas wide open.

Lucas caught. Bounced once. Pulled up.

Splash.

87–47.

The lead widened again.

The gym erupted, students and fans yelling, stomping, clapping.

....

From the Vultures bench, Jamie Lin leaned forward.

"He’s not just playing fast... he’s calculated. Each move is to bait Darnell."

Coach Ryland grimaced.

"He’s dissecting our best player."

..

Back on the court, Marcus Flynn advanced the ball.

"Run motion!" he shouted.

Silas Green came off a screen and caught a pass, trying to draw Josh Turner away from the lane.

But Josh was all over him — arms wide, feet light.

Silas tried to spin but got stuck. He tossed it back to Marcus with 7 seconds on the shot clock.

Marcus had no choice — passed to Darnell at the top again.

Lucas waited.

The hardwood echoed as Darnell Fox stood at the top of the arc, breath heavy, sweat trickling down his forehead. He locked eyes with Lucas Graves.

(I can’t keep letting him read me... I’ve changed the angle, the tempo, even the rhythm. Why is he still two steps ahead?)

Darnell jab-stepped hard to the left — lightning-fast — then spun to the right, his foot pivoting with control. He faked the drive, then suddenly halted his momentum with a sharp, graceful turn.

(This’ll catch him...)

He rose for a high-arching turnaround jumper.

Lucas didn’t flinch. He anticipated the hesitation.

Time slowed.

(Now.)

Lucas jumped, arms stretched, timing perfect — his fingers barely grazing the ball just as it left Darnell’s hand.

Tip.

The ball’s rotation wobbled in mid-air like a broken spin. It arced toward the rim and hit...

CLANK!

Off the side. No bucket.

Brandon Young stormed in for the rebound, grabbing it like a boulder snatched from the sky.

"Outlet!" Evan Cooper’s voice rang like thunder from downcourt.

Without hesitation, Brandon slung it out.

Evan caught and sprinted up the right lane. Lucas trailed him by a half-step, already sensing the opportunity.

Evan didn’t even look — he knew where to put the pass.

Whip!

The ball curved in a perfect bounce, leading Lucas into stride.

Lucas caught it, planted his foot just inside the paint—

And took off.

His body twisted mid-air — a flash of finesse — the crowd rising as he executed a perfect double-clutch reverse layup, the ball gliding off the glass—

Swish.

The net snapped.

89–47.

The gym erupted.

Screams. Applause. Phones out. Chants beginning to swell again—

"LU-CAS! LU-CAS!"

Darnell landed near the baseline, stunned. Hands on hips, his jaw clenched.

(...He baited me again. He tipped it. He ran the break. He finished it like a pro.)

(...I’m the ace. I’m supposed to be the one doing this.)

Lucas turned, sweat trailing off his brow, and glanced back at Darnell.

That grin again.

"Still think you’re the ace?"

Darnell didn’t respond. He just stared. His pride... cracking.

...

Meanwhile, on the Portsmouth Vultures bench, Jamie Lin drenched in sweat, towel around his shoulders sat forward, eyes sharp.

He looked up at the scoreboard again.

89–47.

His eyes then flicked to Lucas on the court, his voice calm, but with that same competitive fire that lit up every time things looked impossible.

"Coach... sub me in. Take Marcus out for now. I have a plan."

Coach Ryland turned to him, skeptical.

"What is this plan you’re talking about? This game is spiraling—"

Jamie cut him off — not rudely, but firmly. His eyes were focused, not a hint of hesitation.

"Trust me."

Coach Ryland studied Jamie for a second.

Then nodded slowly.

"...Alright. Marcus out. Jamie in. Let’s see what you can do."

Jamie stood, wiping the sweat from his neck.

He looked out at the court at Lucas. At the scoreboard.

(You broke Darnell’s rhythm. But mine’s just starting.)

He pulled off his warm-up shirt.

Time to change the game.

...

4th Quarter — 3:58 Remaining fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

Score: Vorpal Basket — 89 | Portsmouth Vultures — 47

Jamie Lin stepped back onto the court. The moment his foot touched hardwood, something shifted. The crowd quieted slightly like it sensed something new was about to happen.

Lucas glanced sideways, spotting the substitution.

(He’s back... Jamie Lin. So, they’re not giving up yet.)

Jamie cracked his neck, then jogged into position beside Darnell, who still looked frustrated from the last possession.

Jamie slapped Darnell’s chest lightly.

"Forget it. You did your part. Now let me mess him up a little."

Darnell nodded slowly, jaw still tight.

"Be my guest. But don’t fall into his rhythm. He plays like a mirror."

Jamie smirked. "Then I’ll fog the glass."

..

Vorpal’s possession.

Evan brought the ball up slowly, letting the offense breathe.

Lucas ran off a screen by Brandon, curling toward the top of the arc.

Jamie shadowed him immediately eyes calm, feet light.

Not biting, not chasing.

(He’s not pressuring me... he’s containing me?) Lucas thought, surprised.

Lucas jabbed. Jamie didn’t react. He feinted a drive, Jamie still didn’t flinch.

No reach-ins. No jumps. Just perfect defensive form.

(He’s... delaying?)

Lucas finally drove left with speed, but Jamie slid with him, body angled to deny the lane. Lucas tried to cross back —

"Nope." Jamie’s hand tapped the ball.

Swipe.

Loose ball! It rolled toward the sideline.

Lucas dove but Jamie was faster.

Jamie scooped it up and bolted the other way, crowd roaring as the break began.

"Let’s go!"

Rico Harrow sprinted ahead on the wing, Silas Green trailing slightly behind.

Jamie reached mid-court, then faked the pass to Rico, the defense shifted

Behind-the-back dish to Silas!

Silas caught it clean, took two steps, and thundered a dunk through the rim.

BOOM!

Vultures fans: "Vultures!!"

Score: Vorpal Basket — 89 | Vultures — 49

The gym crackled with tension. The Vultures were still down big, but Jamie’s presence had shifted the air like a cold wind warning of a coming storm.

....

On the Vorpal bench, Ethan Albarado stood up, jaw tight, eyes locked on the court.

(That wasn’t just speed... that was a calculated read. He’s not just playing defense, he’s taking control of the whole tempo.)

Beside him, Louie leaned forward, arms crossed, voice low.

"Jamie’s setting tempo. He’s not trying to score like he’s trying to control."

Ethan didn’t respond immediately. He was already thinking two steps ahead, watching

Jamie’s body language, how Lucas responded, the ripple effect across both teams.

Then he said, calm but firm:

"It looks like I need to step up."

He turned, eyes narrowing at the bench where Coach Fred Mason, Vorpal’s notorious "laid-back" and comfortably overweight coach, sat and fiddling with his clipboard.

Ethan didn’t wait. He marched toward him.

"Coach Mason — call timeout."

The coach blinked, looked up at Ethan’s sharp tone eyes meeting the boy’s serious stare.

For a second, the gym noise felt distant. Mason chewed once more, then slowly nodded.

"...Alright."

He stood and signaled the ref.

BZZZZZT!

Timeout — Vorpal Basket.

Ethan turned to the others on the bench.

"Everyone huddle. We’re not letting Jamie dictate this game. Not now. Not ever."

Louie smirked and popped up.

Josh cracked his knuckles.

Brandon muttered, "Bout time..."

Lucas walked toward them, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes locked with Ethan’s.

"You coming in?"

Ethan didn’t answer immediately.

He just looked at the scoreboard —

89–49.

Then at Jamie, who stood calmly in front of his team, quietly giving directions.

And finally, at Lucas.

"Let’s finish this right."

The chessboard was resetting.

And Ethan Albarado was stepping back into the game.

...

Now as Ethan Albarado stepped in, the gym lights reflecting off his calm but focused expression.

He adjusted his wristband, cracked his knuckles, and took his place at the point guard spot.

The crowd murmured, the player who had helped beat Orlando Hoops’ ace had entered the game again.

Ethan closed his eyes for a second, reaching into his system.

(System... buy the Clarity Card. Slows perception of time slightly, enhances decision making for 60 seconds – 400 SP.)

(Affirmative, Host. Clarity Card activated — 60 seconds. Good luck.)

Time didn’t freeze but it felt like it slowed.

The crowd’s noise muffled slightly. Movements on the court became more precise, more readable. Ethan’s heartbeat steadied.

He looked ahead at Jamie Lin, who had his back turned while talking to Darnell.

(You’re smart, Jamie. I admit that... But you miscalculated.)

He tapped the ball, signaling the inbound.

Evan passed it to him.

As Ethan dribbled forward slowly, eyes locked on Jamie Lin.

Jamie turned around, calm and alert, sliding into his defensive stance. The gym seemed to hold its breath again, a clash between two minds, not just bodies.

Ethan’s thoughts sharpened, each second stretched by the Clarity Card.

(He’s positioned too far to my right. He’s baiting me left... which means there’s a trap waiting.)

Jamie’s eyes scanned Ethan’s body language, waiting for the first twitch, the first hint of movement.

(If I cross over now, he’ll collapse the screen with Darnell. No... not yet.)

Ethan dribbled once more, slowly — then suddenly accelerated forward.

Jamie stepped in.

(Predictable. There it is.)

Ethan hesitated, baiting the defense, then spun back hard to the left — a blur in motion.

Jamie reached out.

Too late.

Ethan broke past him.

Darnell jumped off the help defense. Ethan didn’t hesitate, he flicked a perfect no-look bounce pass to Ryan, cutting in.

Ryan caught it clean, went up strong—dunk!

BOOM!

Crowd: "Whoah!!!"

Score: 91–49

Jamie turned, eyes narrowing.

Darnell gritted his teeth. "He saw through it again..."

From the bench, Coach Ryland slowly stood up, rubbing his chin.

Lucas watched with a knowing smirk.

(He’s not just playing... he’s dissecting.)

As Ethan backpedaled on defense, he whispered under his breath:

"I told you, Jamie. You miscalculated."

And the war of the fourth quarter had truly begun.

...

In the bleachers, the Eastgate Wildcats leaned forward, tension thick in the air.

All eyes had been on the court, but now they were squarely on one player: Ethan Albarado.

The way he moved. The way he read. The way he carved through the defense like a scalpel through silk.

Miho Park narrowed his eyes, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

"Ethan... you’ve become much stronger after that day."

His voice was low, thoughtful.

One of Eastgate’s assistant coaches leaned in, clearly impressed.

"Miho, you saw that pass? That’s some elite read-and-react. That wasn’t just reflex, he baited Jamie Lin like a chess master."

Miho didn’t reply immediately. His mind was elsewhere — not just on the play, but on the feel of it. The tempo, the calculation, the shift in momentum.

(The hesitation... the spin... the fake lane... he manipulated the court like a conductor with a symphony.)

Finally, he responded, voice calm but weighty:

"He’s not just fast. He’s ahead. A step... maybe two."

That statement made Jun Seo, their energetic member, blink.

"You think he’d stand a chance against you?"

Before Miho could reply, Davis Conner, the burly power forward who had played with Miho for three seasons, chuckled and leaned back.

"He even beat Miho back then."

"OHHHHH!" Jun’s voice cracked up like a schoolkid catching tea.

Miho’s brow twitched. He turned slowly toward Davis.

"Fuck you... That was because of that Charlotte Graves. She interfered. Our game got canceled."

Davis laughed harder.

"Still counts, Captain."

Jun nudged Miho again. "Charlotte Graves... that’s Lucas’s older sister, right?"

Miho clenched his jaw, gaze drifting back to the court.

(You slipped past me once, Ethan. But next time... no distractions. Just you and me.)

Down below, the scoreboard continued to climb.

Score: 91–49.

And the fire in the crowd grew not just for this game, but for the future war they all now saw coming.

To be continue