Extra Basket-Chapter 126 - 113: Cornered Kings

Score: 98–49 | 4th Quarter

The arena lights burned hot. The crowd hummed with restless anticipation — caught between awe and sympathy.

Jamie Lin clapped for the ball.

Fox inbounded quickly — a bounce to Jamie — and immediately, Jamie snapped a pass to Darnell.

"CORNER!!" Jamie barked, voice sharp, commanding.

Darnell Fox caught the pass near the wing.

Sweat matted his short hair to his forehead.

His eyes bloodshot from frustration flicked to the left corner, where Jamie was already sprinting into position.

(Corner play... Is this gonna work now, Jamie?)

He passed it back.

Jamie caught the ball and took a hard dribble baseline.

Lucas shadowed him instantly.

Quick steps. Reading hips.

But Jamie wasn’t trying to break past not yet.

He kicked it back to Darnell.

Then cut.

Fast.

Like a blur.

A give-and-go?

No Ethan switched.

Too fast.

Jamie stopped short.

Pivoted.

Lucas adjusted eyes flicking to Jamie’s footwork.

Then it happened.

Jamie flared outward toward the corner again, pretending to look for a three-point shot.

Jamie said, "I’m gonna make even a god bleed."

Ethan glanced toward the arc, having heard Jamie’s words.

He looked at Jamie and said, "What?"

And that’s when Darnell fired the pass not to Jamie — but to Rico Harrow who had slipped behind the defense toward the top of the key.

Catch.

Release.

Three.

Splash.

Score: 98–52.

The arena stirred. A flicker of life. A gasp of belief.

Vorpal’s bench didn’t flinch — but Louie...

He blinked.

(Misdirection. Delayed corner slip.)

He grinned.

(Jamie’s not done yet.)

Meanwhile, Jamie clenched his fists near the sideline, watching the ball drop through.

(Come on. Just once... just crack a little.)

Coach Ryland called out, "Keep it sharp! Read and adjust!"

Brandon retrieved the ball, handed it to Evan but this time, Jamie was already moving.

No more waiting.

No more reacting.

He pressed full-court, not as a strategy but as a signal.

This wasn’t about chasing the win anymore.

This was about making the gods of this court bleed.

Ethan caught the pass cleanly from Evan, turning into the half-court with that same fluid control that had stunned the arena minutes earlier.

The ball snapped against the hardwood with rhythm one bounce, two and then:

Darnell Fox.

He stepped into Ethan’s path with fire in his chest and shadows under his eyes.

Ethan’s brows raised slightly.

(What is this strategy?)

He scanned quickly.

Jamie wasn’t back on him.

No Jamie was guarding Lucas now, pressing tight, forcing him away from the wing.

(They’re switching off-ball pressure... That’s new. Full denial. No help. One-on-one isolation?)

Darnell’s legs were braced wide, arms out, sweat dripping from his chin. His voice low and hoarse from yelling all game:

"You’re not slipping past me this time."

Ethan didn’t speak.

He didn’t smirk.

He just stared.

And then he dribbled low left hand fast.

Darnell reacted slid left but Ethan stopped on a dime.

Spin.

Right shoulder brushed past Darnell’s chest but Darnell stayed glued.

The crowd rose again.

A clash.

Ethan pushed. Darnell bodied. No whistle.

They were chest-to-chest now, and Ethan’s eyes flicked up:

Jamie was still locking Lucas.

Ryan Taylor had been sealed off the lane by Anwar.

(So that’s it... They’re going all-in. No help defense. A pride defense.)

Ethan chuckled under his breath.

"You think pride’s gonna stop me?"

Darnell bared his teeth.

"No. I’m gonna stop you."

Pump fake.

Darnell flinched — barely.

But it was enough.

Ethan exploded low, brushing Darnell’s hip with his shoulder — and with that small opening, he drove left.

Two steps.

Stop.

Turn.

Fadeaway mid-range.

Smooth as silk.

Darnell turned midair — hand rising too late.

Swish.

Score: 100–52.

The gym thundered again.

Jamie gritted his teeth.

Darnell landed, fists clenched.

And Ethan?

He didn’t celebrate.

Didn’t smile.

He pointed at Jamie Lin as he walked backward on defense.

"If you’re gonna make the gods bleed... you better bring a sharper knife."

Jamie’s eye twitched.

(Then I will.)

..

Rico slapped the ball and inbounded it fast.

Jamie Lin caught it in motion a blur of movement at the top of the key. But as he dribbled forward, his vision blurred for just a moment not from exhaustion, but from the echo in his mind. "If you’re gonna make the gods bleed... you better bring a sharper knife."

(Sharp enough to cut you down, Ethan...)

Jamie clenched his jaw, his steps sharper now. The bounce of the ball against the hardwood was no longer rhythm it was a drumbeat of vengeance.

He called out:

"Rico! Slide baseline!"

Rico sprinted around the wing, dragging Lucas out of the paint.

Silas Green cut inward, flashing just long enough to make Ryan hesitate.

Jamie crossed over left to right eyes locked on Ethan standing further back in help defense, analyzing again.

(I know what you’re thinking. You’re calculating. Watching for patterns. But I’m not the same player from the first half.)

Jamie drove. Hard.

Evan Cooper stepped in to cut him off.

Spin.

Jamie’s pivot was clean, sudden — Evan stumbled half a step — and Jamie slipped through like a blade between ribs.

Darnell, on the corner, shouted: "Corner kick! I’m free!"

Jamie saw him but only glanced.

He kept it.

One dribble.

Two.

Brandon Young rose to block — arms wide, body strong.

But Jamie didn’t slow down.

(Sharp enough... sharp enough...)

He twisted mid-air, leaned back, and under Brandon’s reach —

a scoop layup kissed glass and dropped in.

Score: 100–54.

The crowd gasped again. This wasn’t over.

As Jamie jogged back, he passed Ethan.

Didn’t look at him, just spoke:

"Then watch carefully, God."

"Cause this knife’s still carving."

...

Ethan’s lips curled into a smirk.

"Hoh..."

His voice was soft almost amused, but there was no mockery in it. Just a calm flicker of acknowledgment.

(So, you’re still pushing. Even when the scoreboard screams surrender... You’ve got guts, Jamie.)

He walked toward the inbound line. Evan was already there, bouncing the ball in his hands, a question in his eyes.

Ethan didn’t say anything. He just raised a single finger.

One.

And Evan nodded.

(Alright. One more step ahead.)

Brandon called from the backcourt:

"They’re pressing again!"

But Ethan didn’t rush.

He let the pressure come to him.

Jamie was there quick, coiled like a spring eyes sharp, posture low.

Ethan caught the inbound, and Jamie immediately reached.

Swipe.

Ethan tilted not dodging, but shifting weight. Letting Jamie overcommit.

(Another Clarity Card: Active.)

Time slowed just enough.

Enough for Ethan to see Jamie’s shoulder lean too far in. His back foot not planted. His angle off.

Ethan spun not flashy, not wild just clean. Clinical.

He stepped past the trap.

Burst of acceleration.

"Switch! SWITCH!" Rico yelled, but it was too late. Ethan was already across half-court.

Lucas slid into the corner. Evan filled the wing.

Brandon and Ryan sealed the paint like twin towers.

But Ethan?

Ethan stopped at the elbow.

One step past the free throw line.

(I could pass.)

(But not this time.)

He rose up. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

One smooth, calm motion.

"Ethan’s shooting!" someone screamed in the stands.

Jamie turned but too late.

The shot was already airborne.

Nothing but net.

Score: 102–54.

Ethan exhaled as he landed, then turned calmly eyes locking on Jamie again.

And this time, he spoke first:

"You brought a knife..."

"But I’m playing with time."

..

Meanwhile On Bench

Louie Gee Davas leaned forward, hands on his knees, eyes wide like saucers.

"Bro..." he whispered. "He didn’t just cook him... he sautéed his soul."

Coonie Smith, who was usually brash, just leaned back against the chair, one hand over his mouth, the other pointing at Ethan like he had just seen a miracle.

"He is really goddamn good."

Coach Fred, shook his head slowly, muttering:

"Right like watching a damn prophecy unfold."

Kai Mendoza, just stared.

No words. Just clenched his jaw and slowly started clapping.

"He’s HIM..." he finally said under his breath.

"He’s really HIM... The embodiment of Genius"

Jeremy Park, nearly dropped his water bottle.

"Did you see that step into the elbow? Like—like he timed the entire defense collapsing."

He turned to Aiden beside him.

"How does he do that?"

Aiden White, one of the original starters, grinned slowly.

He nudged Jeremy.

"He’s not playing basketball anymore..."

"He’s conducting it."

To be continue