Extra Basket-Chapter 132 - 119: Ethan’s Dilemma

July 30, 2010

The gym room was quiet, the only sound being the faint buzz of an overhead light and the soft hum of a vending machine at the end of the hallway. Ethan sat on the bench alone, his back hunched, sweat towel around his neck, eyes locked onto the glowing interface of his system.

A deep breath left his lips.

(Level: Pro... Upgrade Points: 1200... Shop Points: 10000.)

(I’ve come far, haven’t I? From a benched extra to this... but this is just the beginning.)

He tapped open his Status tab:

Status: Ethan Albarado

Level: Pro

Upgrade Points (UP): 1200

Shop Points (SP): 10000

Core Attributes

[Offensive Attributes]

Shooting Accuracy: 27

Layup Skill: 18

Dunk Skill: 16

Dribbling Skill: 26

Passing Skill: 17

[Defensive Attributes]

Defense: 16

Blocking Ability: 15

Steal Skill: 18

[Physical Attributes]

Stamina: 20

Endurance: 18

Speed: 20

Skills

Basic Power Shot

Basic Precision Pass

Basic Dribble

Magic Johnson Passing Vision (Advanced)

Playmaker’s Vision (Pro)

Elite Crossover Dribble (Pro)

Sharpshooter Focus (Pro)

Lockdown Defense (Pro)

Clutch Performer (Pro)

Ankle Breaker (Pro)

Iron Will Stamina (Pro)

Jordan Shooting Form (Advanced)

Kobe Fadeaway (Advanced)

Dennis Rodman Charge Taking (Advanced)

LeBron James Momentum Saver (Advanced)

Tim Duncan Stamina (Advanced)

He leaned back against the cold wall, closing his eyes for a moment.

(Two UPs for every 1 attribute point... that gives me 600 points to invest.)

The weight of the decision pulled heavy on his chest. With every team leveling up, every match gaining stakes, and every prodigy they’d face in the Division Cup, he couldn’t afford to waste even a single point.

His jaw clenched.

(There’s that kid from Osaka who plays like lightning. The Filipino phenom who can break ankles with just a glance. The twins from Seoul with double synergy plays. Monsters... every one of them. And I have to be stronger than all of them.)

But strength wasn’t the only thing he needed. It was control. It was consistency. It was the ability to carry when everyone else collapses.

He looked over his stats again.

His eyes lingered on Shooting Accuracy, Dribbling Skill, Defense, and Speed.

(My shooting’s solid, but not enough for the coming chaos... My dribbling and speed are great, but defense... maybe I should make myself unstoppable, both ways.)

Then... his fingers hovered over the Upgrade button.

But he didn’t tap yet.

Instead, he sighed.

(...Why am I hesitating?)

He closed the interface. Slowly.

Then whispered.

"Because I’m scared..."

Not scared of the opponents. Not scared of losing.

Scared of changing.

Because the higher he rose, the more he felt like a ghost walking through someone else’s story.

He looked at his reflection in a dusty mirror near the exit.

The boy staring back wore sweat-soaked clothes, but his eyes weren’t the same as before.

No longer desperate.

Now? Focused. Sharpened. Dangerous.

(Will Lucas still follow me once he knows everything? Will Louie still look at me the same? Will I still look at myself the same once I start doing what I must?)

He opened the system again. The Upgrade panel lit up.

(...No choice. The future won’t wait for me to be ready.)

With a deep breath, he whispered,

"Let’s begin."

And tapped the screen.

Ethan’s finger hovered over the Upgrade button.

The interface blinked gently, almost as if it could feel his hesitation.

Then—

Tap.

The numbers unlocked.

Now it was real.

2 Upgrade Points = 1 Attribute Point.

Ethan had 1200 UP, which means 600 points to allocate.

He stared at the stats like a general preparing for war.

Current Attributes Before Upgrade

[Offensive]

Shooting Accuracy: 27

Layup Skill: 18

Dunk Skill: 16

Dribbling Skill: 26

Passing Skill: 17

[Defense]

Defense: 16

Blocking Ability: 15

Steal Skill: 18

[Physical]

Stamina: 20

Endurance: 18

Speed: 20

Ethan’s Thoughts

(If I want to keep leading this team... I need to be more than good. I need to be unstoppable.)

He thought of Lucas his raw hunger to grow.

Of Louie Gee Davas, watching him from the bleachers, trying to become like him.

(I can’t let them down. I can’t let myself down.)

Upgrade Allocation Plan: (600 Points)

Let’s break it down carefully:

[Offensive Attributes] (Total Spent: 240 UP = 120 Points)

+15 to Shooting Accuracy → 27 → 42

(Now lethal from anywhere on the court. A true scoring threat.)

+10 to Dribbling Skill → 26 → 36

(For tighter handles, more advanced moves, easier breakdowns.)

+5 to Passing Skill → 17 → 22

(Makes the most of his advanced passing skills. Cleaner setups.)

[Defensive Attributes] (Total Spent: 180 UP = 90 Points)

+8 to Defense → 16 → 24

(More anticipation, better footwork. Can lock up anyone.)

+6 to Steal Skill → 18 → 24

(Improved reach and reaction. Read opponents like a book.)

+4 to Blocking Ability → 15 → 19

(More rim contests even as a guard.)

[Physical Attributes] (Total Spent: 180 UP = 90 Points)

+5 to Speed → 20 → 25

(Lightning-quick transitions. Speed kills.)

+5 to Stamina → 20 → 25

(No more slowing down. Fourth-quarter engine.)

+5 to Endurance → 18 → 23

(Longer, harder pushes through intense games.)

Final Attributes After Upgrade

[Offensive]

Shooting Accuracy: 42

Layup Skill: 18

Dunk Skill: 16

Dribbling Skill: 36

Passing Skill: 22

[Defense]

Defense: 24

Blocking Ability: 19

Steal Skill: 24

[Physical]

Stamina: 25

Endurance: 23

Speed: 25

The system blinked with a soft chime.

Upgrade Complete.

Ethan stood there, breath held.

(I’m faster. Smarter. Stronger. But... that’s not the point.)

(I chose to walk this path... to change the story. Not just mine, but Lucas’s. Louie’s. The team’s.)

He looked down at his hands. They felt... warmer. Steadier.

More real than they had in weeks.

He clenched them into fists.

"Let the prodigies come," he whispered.

"Vorpal’s ready."

...

[Louie side]

The paint on the backboard peeled like tired skin, and the rim creaked every time the ball kissed it. Faded chalk marks and worn-out lines told stories of games played and dreams formed on this half-broken court.

Jan stepped up near the free-throw line. A skinny boy with wiry arms, a mop of curly hair tied back with a faded blue bandana. His shirt had holes. His shoes? Hand-me-downs with the soles nearly talking.

He dribbled once.

Twice.

He took a step, rose, and released a shot.

Swish.

The ball fell clean through the net, dancing like it belonged there.

Louie Gee Davas hands in his pockets, chewing on a lollipop stick watched from under the rim. His eyes, sharp and gold-tinged under the sunset, followed the arc of the ball with quiet intensity.

Jan jogged back, brushing his hands against his shorts.

"I saw your game," Jan said, nodding. "You were good. Real good."

Louie smirked, flicking the lollipop stick into a nearby trash bin without even looking.

"Of course," he said, voice cocky, casual, almost rehearsed. "Who do you think I am? I’m a prodigy, after all."

Jan laughed softly, but there was something faintly heavy in his breath. He looked down at his worn shoes, then up again, his eyes shaded with something Louie could only describe as longing.

"I’m still jealous, though," Jan admitted, kicking a pebble. "I don’t even go to school... I mean—haysst."

Louie blinked, his smirk fading.

He looked away for a moment, jaw tightening, the orange sky catching the glint in his eyes.

"Hey..." he muttered, turning to Jan, voice lower. "Don’t be down. Your dream of being a baller? It’ll come. I’m sure of it."

Jan tilted his head, giving a crooked smile.

"I hope so," he whispered.

Louie looked at him quietly.

(You don’t even know how good you are... Tsk. If I didn’t keep training every damn day, you would’ve beaten me one-on-one. Lucky for me, you’re always busy working and earning money... idiot.)

He ran a hand through his spiky hair and leaned against the pole.

Jan smiled again soft, wide, sincere. "I want to be like you, too."

That caught Louie off guard for a second. His cheeks twitched somewhere between pride and embarrassment.

He clicked his tongue, smirking again to hide the warmth blooming in his chest.

"Then you better catch up to me, Jan," he said, throwing the ball toward him.

Jan caught it.

Louie’s smirk widened.

"Because I ain’t slowing down."

Jan laughed, bouncing the ball once.

The echo rang through the empty court.

Two kids.

One court.

One dream.

..

Graves Family Gym – Private Court

July 30, 2010 – 7:00 PM

The sound of a basketball echoed sharply through the private gym, each bounce slicing the silence like a metronome counting down to something greater.

Lucas Graves stood alone on the polished hardwood floor, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, breath steady, eyes distant.

He looked at his hands.

Scarred slightly from scrapes, calloused from hours of relentless training, and trembling—not from fear, but from hunger. That kind of hunger.

His eyes narrowed. He clenched his fists.

Then he slowly turned his gaze toward the rim.

(That dunk...)

He could still see it.

Darnell Fox, in that moment the beast in human form, all power and precision, the way he rose, cocked the ball back, then slammed it down with a fury that shook the court, igniting the crowd like a bolt of lightning. The very rim seemed to flinch from the impact.

Lucas didn’t just see it he memorized it.

Every muscle twitch. Every step. The launch angle. The rhythm. The expression on Darnell’s face.

Now, he stood at the free-throw line.

Eyes on the rim. Feet planted.

He dribbled once.

Twice.

Then he moved.

One explosive step forward, another, and then a quick gather, the exact motion he’d seen. The air split around him as he rose, legs tucking in mid-flight.

BOOM.

He mimicked the movement perfectly, his hand slamming the ball through the rim with thunderous grace.

The backboard shivered. The echo of the slam cracked through the gym.

Lucas dropped down, breathing heavily, staring at the floor, his fists clenched again.

(I need to further more) he thought, heart pounding.

(I have to)

He stepped back, wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked at the hoop again—not with fear.

But with challenge.

The same way a storm looks at a mountain.

As He took a step back from the rim.

His eyes burned with a fire that didn’t exist a few weeks ago.

A new thought formed, deep in his mind, sharp as steel.

"I should also mimic that movement..."

"Larry Bird’s shooting form... plus Jordan’s Airshoot."

He exhaled slowly, nodded to himself.

He knew Bird’s release the high arc, the near-vertical lift of the elbow, the calm, mathematical precision.

He knew Jordan’s hang-time the floating mid-air pause, the flick of the wrist that made

defenders look like statues.

And he had studied them.

Countless nights. Frame by frame. His mimicry wasn’t just power—it was obsession.

Lucas dribbled once, twice.

Stopped.

Brought the ball up.

(Elbow in. Eyes on the rim. Shoulders relaxed. Just like Bird.)

He jumped—but this time, he didn’t just shoot.

Midair he hung. That Jordan stillness. That pause, like time surrendered to his will.

Then—release.

The ball flew with elegance, spiraling cleanly through the air—swish.

Nothing but net.

Lucas landed softly, but his heart pounded like thunder in his chest.

He lowered his hands and stared at the hoop, eyes wide—not from surprise, but from clarity.

"I’m not just a copy."

"I’m building my own style... from legends."

A grin crossed his face, tired but proud.

He looked at his reflection on the gym window.

Sweat dripping. Chest heaving.

But he smiled.

"Ethan... I’ll catch up."

"I don’t want to just stand beside you... I want to keep moving with you"

He picked the ball up again.

And shot once more.

The echo of the swish was the only sound left in the gym.

To be continue