Extra Basket-Chapter 131 - 118: The start of war or love?

4th Quarter – 0:49 Remaining

Thunderhawks 70 – Ridgewood Lynx 55

The roar of the crowd had melted into a kind of pulsing background haze. All that remained was the court its battle lines drawn, its energy alive. The Thunderhawks were locked in, and the Lynx weren’t done just yet.

"Inbound, inbound watch Maya!" Coach Lory’s voice echoed over the court.

The ball was inbounded to Maya Frees, who snatched it with a tight curl around Zoe Kim’s screen. Charlotte Graves was right there, on her hip like glue.

"You don’t get space today," Charlotte muttered under her breath, arms wide, feet light.

Maya jabbed hard, then spun right but Charlotte anticipated, mirroring every motion. The clock ticked.

:44... :43...

Maya swung the ball crosscourt to Layla Brooks. Carmen met her high, blocking her path. Layla didn’t hesitate kick-out to Jasmine Ortiz, who caught, stepped into a three—

BANG!

SWISH.

"Ortiz for three! Ridgewood refuses to die!" the announcer cried.

Score: 70 – 58.

.....

In the Bleachers

Lucas Graves leaned forward, hands folded tightly under his chin, his golden eyes wide with intensity.

Ethan Albarado sat beside him, eyes narrowed, watching not the score, but the movement.

"That shot was clean," Lucas muttered. "Still a 12-point game, but...they’re not giving up."

Ethan nodded slowly.

"They’re leaning into perimeter spacing now. Ortiz and Kim drifting wide—pulling Sakura and Lena away from the paint. That opens gaps for Maya’s drives or Layla to slip in for a quick cut."

He tapped his finger twice on his knee.

"But it’s desperate. Charlotte’s reading Maya like a book. And Carmen’s dominating the glass. They’re gambling on catch-and-shoots now. High risk."

Lucas exhaled slowly.

"Can we really beat them though...?"

Ethan glanced at him, a smirk touching his lips.

"That’s why we’re watching. Learning."

(The Thunderhawks are strong... but they bleed. Everyone does. You just have to find where.)

...

Back on the Court – :34 Seconds Remaining

Charlotte clapped her hands, signaling the next play.

"Motion Loop! Let’s GO!"

Izzy sprinted baseline, curling off Sakura’s screen. Lena darted opposite, dragging defenders with her. Carmen took two steps up, sold a screen, then rolled hard toward the basket.

Charlotte faked left then slashed right.

A sudden opening.

Izzy, mid-sprint, no-look bounce pass right into Charlotte’s path.

She caught it in stride one step then rose from the elbow.

Defender charging.

Pull-up. Fadeaway.

SWISH.

"CHARLOTTE GRAVES AGAIN!" the announcer shouted as the gym shook with applause.

Thunderhawks 72 – Ridgewood 58.

Charlotte backpedaled, her face composed, but her heart thundering.

I can feel it. This is it. We’re closing the door.

:19 Remaining

Ridgewood pushed one last time. Maya darted left, pump-faked, drew Sakura off her feet. Zoe Kim caught the next pass, took a deep three—

Clank.

Rebound Carmen again.

Her 11th.

She fired a pass to Charlotte.

"Hold it!" Coach Lory yelled.

Charlotte slowed down, crossed half court, the ball secure in her grip. She glanced at the scoreboard.

:11... :10... :09...

The game was over.

She didn’t need to score again.

Instead, she turned and faced her team, ball above her head, calling them in.

Izzy clapped. Sakura raised a fist. Lena smirked. Carmen stood tall, panting but proud.

BZZZZZZZT.

FINAL: Thunderhawks 72 – Ridgewood Lynx 58

...

Bleachers – Lucas and Ethan

Lucas leaned back, nodding slowly.

"They did it. Again."

Ethan kept his eyes on Charlotte, who hugged her teammates in the center of the court.

"They’re well-coordinated. Excellent chemistry. Charlotte is their core. Everything flows through her."

He glanced sideways at Lucas.

"If you’re going to catch up...you better be ready to climb a mountain."

Lucas didn’t look away from the court.

"I will."

....

Thunderhawks Bench – Postgame

Coach Lory Moore stood with her arms crossed, her long black jacket fluttering slightly from the warm breeze of the gym’s vents. Her dark ponytail rested at the nape of her neck, damp with effort, she coached like she played: fully immersed.

The scoreboard still glowed:

Thunderhawks 72 – Ridgewood Lynx 58

The buzzer had long since faded, but the thrill still pulsed in the air.

Her girls were laughing, crowding together—Charlotte and Carmen bumping fists, Izzy mock-saluting the crowd, Sakura spinning in a circle. It was joy, pure and raw, the reward of sweat and sacrifice.

Coach Lory rubbed her hands together once, then again. Her eyes glinted—not with relief, but with calculated satisfaction.

"Step one... done."

Her voice was low but certain.

She let the words linger for a beat. Then her mouth tightened—not in anger, but in expectation.

"But it’s a long tournament."

The crowd was roaring. Parents embraced. Students pounded the walls. But Coach Lory’s voice cut through with cool precision.

"Let them cheer."

Her fingers curled loosely at her sides, but her tone sharpened.

"Tomorrow... we work again."

She turned toward the bench, scanning her players, charlotte’s form was tight today, especially her defensive switches... Carmen was aggressive on rebounds... Izzy’s shooting rhythm was improving but her eyes didn’t rest long.

They drifted.

Up. Toward the far side of the bleachers.

And she saw it.

A flicker of movement. Maroon fabric shifting through the crowd. A tall, lithe woman in black posture straight as a ruler, arms crossed, a silver whistle resting against her chest. Her team stood behind her, still and silent. All of them wore dark coats, sharp-eyed. Watching.

Coach Lory’s expression changed. Her breath steadied. Her fingers stopped moving.

Coach Kuroha.

From Darkbell Academy Girls Team.

The same team they eliminated last year... barely. Double-overtime. Bloodied knees. Tears and buzzer-beaters. A war.

Rowyn hadn’t come to watch for fun.

She was here to study.

To hunt.

And now, their eyes met across the gym.

Two generals. Two predators.

No words.

No smile.

Kuroha gave a small nod calm, calculated and then turned. Her team followed without a whisper, like trained shadows, vanishing into the crowd.

Coach Lory narrowed her eyes.

"So, you’re still watching, Kuroha."

Her jaw clenched.

She looked back at her team, Charlotte laughing as Carmen poured water on her, Izzy high-fiving the bench. The joy on their faces made her smile again, briefly.

But only briefly.

"They’re not ready yet. But they will be."

"This isn’t just about winning anymore."

Her fingers brushed the whistle around her own neck.

"This time... it’s war."

...

Bleachers – Same Moment

Lucas leaned back, hands in his hoodie pocket.

"She saw us," he muttered.

Ethan smirked faintly.

"She always does."

Lucas didn’t say anything for a moment, then exhaled.

"She’s good."

Ethan tilted his head, eyes never leaving the court.

"No. She’s more than good. Her court control’s getting sharper—off-ball awareness, anticipation, even her weak-side coverage."

Lucas arched a brow.

"You’re just complimenting your own training."

Ethan grinned.

"Nah. That’s all her now. I gave her the map. She’s building the roads herself."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"But..."

Lucas’s expression sharpened.

"But?"

Ethan’s gaze flicked down to where the Ridgewood Lynx were still gathering themselves, some of them crying, others stoic.

"They’re not facing desperate teams yet."

He nodded toward the court, where Charlotte high-fived Sakura and pulled Carmen into a side hug.

"When the tournament heats up—when teams throw traps, dirty screens, stamina drains—they’ll need more than talent and chemistry."

He clenched a fist subtly.

"They’ll need bite. And edge. And someone who can bleed without flinching."

Lucas’s yellow eyes stayed fixed on Charlotte.

"She’ll have it," he said simply.

Ethan didn’t disagree.

But his eyes trailed to the tunnel entrance—where Coach Rowyn Sable had vanished minutes ago.

And his fingers curled tighter.

"Something’s coming."

"And I don’t think it’s just a tournament anymore."

....

Outside the Locker Hallway – Post-Game Glow

The gym lights still glared behind them, the sound of brooms and echoing footsteps fading slowly. The scent of sweat and floor polish lingered in the hallway where the players came out, but it didn’t matter.

Charlotte jogged lightly out the doors, her black and gold jersey sticking slightly to her back.

She spotted him instantly.

Ethan Albarado stood by the vending machine, arms folded, posture relaxed—but eyes sharp. Lucas leaned casually against the wall, phone in hand, but his eyes weren’t on the screen.

They were on them.

Charlotte walked straight up and stopped in front of Ethan, lips curled into a sly smile.

"How’s my performance, Mr. Genius?"

She tilted her head slightly, the damp strands of her dark hair clinging to her cheek. Her tone was playful, but something expectant simmered behind it.

"Come on. Say it. I earned it."

Ethan’s lips curled into a half-smile, the kind that barely touched his eyes.

"Well... good."

Charlotte blinked once.

Then narrowed her eyes.

"Good?" she said flatly. "Only good?"

She leaned closer, one eyebrow raised. "I dropped 21. Played both ends. Ran the floor like a general. You said ’good’? Really?"

Ethan chuckled just a little and uncrossed his arms.

"Alright, fine." He looked down at her, eyes unreadable. "You were excellent. Controlled tempo. Hit your spots. Never overplayed the ball. And that transition pull-up in the fourth beautiful."

"There it is." Charlotte grinned and stepped back with mock satisfaction. "Knew you had it in you."

Lucas, still watching from the side, shook his head.

"She’s always been like this after games..."

"But something’s different now."

He watched Ethan’s stance, and Charlotte’s spark.

Not rivalry.

Not mentorship.

Something deeper.

Ethan turned slightly, nodding once.

"But don’t let it go to your head. This was Ridgewood. They’re well-coached—but they don’t have killers."

Charlotte’s grin faded just a bit. Her eyes sharpened.

"And we’re not facing just district-level teams from here on."

Ethan nodded again, this time slower.

"Exactly."

There was silence for a moment charged, not awkward.

Then Charlotte bumped his shoulder lightly.

"Still. I saw you watching." Her smile returned. "You don’t usually stick around after work."

Ethan shrugged.

"Had to make sure the Thunderhawks didn’t collapse without me."

"We’re flying just fine, thanks." Her voice was proud.

Ethan’s smile this time was genuine, if still subtle.

"Yeah. You are."

Behind them, a third voice cut through the moment like a knife.

"Is there something going on between you two?"

Lucas’s voice was casual, but the glint in his eye was anything but.

Charlotte whipped her head toward him, face instantly red.

"I—Idiot!!" she shouted, stomping forward and slamming her fist against her brother’s

Shoulder not too hard, but enough to make him stumble back.

"I’m just being thankful to Ethan who helped me with my training! What’s wrong with you?!"

Lucas winced and raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Ow! Okay, okay! Sheesh, relax! Just asking..." He muttered, rubbing his arm. "Geez, you’re scary after wins."

Ethan just stood there, watching the siblings squabble.

He sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"(Still as noisy as ever...)"

Then his eyes lifted toward the distant night sky above the gym.

His mind began running.

Analyzing. Breaking down. Comparing.

"(The girls’ team is good... the way they coordinate, how they collapse on screens, how they recover... It’s efficient. That’s why they were champions last year.)"

His brows furrowed slightly as he thought deeper.

"(They’re not just riding talent. They’re sharp. Conditioned. That transition bucket from Charlotte earlier? Picture perfect. They’re coached well—and trust each other on rotations.)"

He glanced at Charlotte again, who was now dragging Lucas by the hoodie toward the vending machine, still grumbling.

Then back at the gym wall with the painted Thunderhawks logo.

"(Seems like us—the boys’ team—have to catch up to their standard, huh...)"

His hands clenched slightly inside his pockets.

"(Especially with Vorpal Basket and Thunderhawks both representing the same school... people are watching.)"

"(And the weight of expectation... it’s not just on them anymore.)"

The wind picked up again, rustling the bushes behind the bleachers.

For a moment, Ethan just stood there. Thinking.

Planning.

Preparing.

Because he knew—

This wasn’t just one victory.

It was the beginning of a bigger war.

To be continue