Extra Basket-Chapter 134 - 121: Them

The Orlando Hoops gym radiated intensity even in stillness.

Weeks of relentless training had forged steel from raw fire. Each player stood sharper, tougher, faster refined not just by drills, but by desire. They weren’t just boys chasing a dream anymore.

They were contenders.

The final whistle of the qualifiers was behind them. Ahead the Division Cup.

Alec Storm stood in the middle of the court, spinning the ball on one finger, gaze hard, calm as the eye of a storm.

Surrounding him were his battle-forged brothers.

Alec Storm – Point Guard

Level: Elite (Prodigy)

The floor general.

His decision-making had accelerated to near-instant reads, turning chaos into rhythm. The overconfidence that once betrayed him had been tempered by respect for both his opponents and his team. His mid-range jumper had become a silent dagger rarely used, always deadly.

Mason Hayes – Shooting Guard

Level: Elite

The sniper with a sharpened eye.

His range had stretched past expectations, and with his off-ball movement, defenders chasing him felt like they were stuck in mud. Now, he didn’t just live and die by the three—he’d started driving hard, drawing fouls, pulling up mid-range.

Julian Cross – Small Forward

Level: Elite

The silent wall.

He no longer needed to prove anything. His defense did the talking smothering scorers, reading passing lanes like open books. But now, he could also hit the corner three, punish lazy closeouts, and slice to the rim with power and grace.

Ethan Blake – Power Forward,

Level: Elite

The hammer.

Post footwork carved from marble, frame solid as ever yet now he could slide his feet fast enough to stay with most guards. Fadeaways, pick-and-pop jumpers, and smarter switches made him a nightmare matchup on both ends.

Jaxon Wells – Center

Level: Elite

The anchor.

His rebounding and shot-blocking were as monstrous as always, but his newfound free-throw reliability and mid-range hook shot made him more complete than ever. The fearsome physicality remained now guided by smarter, calmer instincts.

Alec looked across his team, heart thumping like a steady drumbeat.

"Guys," he said, the ball dropping into his palm, "we’ve finished the Qualifier Phase. Now—it’s Division Cup time."

"We have to become more than good... we have to become undeniable."

Jaxon cracked his knuckles, voice hard and heavy.

"The Vorpal Basket passed too..." he muttered. "We need our revenge."

A hush fell. The name hung in the air like stormclouds.

Vorpal Basket.

The team that had broken their pride. That left wounds not just on the scoreboard, but in their spirits.

Mason stepped forward, eyes burning.

"This time... we don’t just play to win. We play to take back everything they stole from us."

Julian’s hand rose. Then Ethan’s. Then Jaxon’s.

Alec placed his hand atop theirs.

"No more hesitation. No more fear. Only purpose."

They were no longer chasing greatness.

They were preparing to claim it.

....

Location: BAC Training Facility – Mouth of Wilson, Virginia

The air inside the BAC Facility was colder than usual.

No banners.

No sound of cheering fans.

Only the steady rhythm of basketballs bouncing on hardwood and the mechanical hum of training drones circling overhead.

Here, talent wasn’t just refined, it was engineered.

Venganza stood at center court.

Weeks ago, they were wild dogs under Greg’s chaotic guidance feared, unpredictable, dangerous. But now?

Now, they moved with the sharpness of a machine.

Their old leader was gone. Greg was dead.

In his place, a new shadow loomed.

Romanov Graves.

Mother of Lucas Graves.

And the new head of Project V.

From behind the reinforced glass above the court, she watched her son’s former teammates train like weapons. Her eyes were calm but cold, like a surgeon before the first cut.

On the floor below, the five core players of Venganza stood in silence

Vin Cruz stood at the front, dribbling the ball once, then letting it stop under his palm. His expression was unreadable.

To his right stood Zeke Monroe, tall and silent, arms crossed, eyes sharp as a hawk.

Behind them, Dante Cruz stood with his usual calm, scanning every angle of the room.

Silas Korrin, the massive center, rested his hands on his hips like a statue carved from stone.

And on the far end of the arc, bouncing on the balls of her feet, was Kaia Volt—or was it Zaia today? The switch in her eyes was subtle, but it was there. A smile that didn’t quite match the moment.

Suddenly—

CLAP! CLAP!

The sharp sound echoed like a gunshot.

From the corner of the court, a man stepped forward.

He wore a black tracksuit with the BAC insignia on his chest. His gray hair was cut short, military style, and his eyes were all business.

Coach Alfred.

One of the head tacticians of BAC.

Once a coach for national teams, now, the man responsible for turning Venganza into

champions. Or something more.

He clapped once more.

"Everyone, listen up."

The players straightened.

"Romanov Graves runs this project. That means things are going to change."

(Change? We’ve already changed.) Vin thought, his jaw tight.

"You’re not just athletes anymore," Alfred said, pacing slowly across the floor. "You’re proof. Living proof that untalented can be enhanced, sharpened, and controlled. Each of you represents a different kind of weapon."

He turned toward Vin first.

"Vin Cruz. You’re our tactical blade—sharp, fast, and lethal. You’ve mastered team control. Now it’s time you learn how to break it in others."

Vin nodded, his voice calm.

"Then show me who to break."

Next, Alfred turned to Zeke.

"Zeke Monroe. Lockdown Wing. The silent guardian. We’ve improved your foot speed and your ability to read passing lanes. Now, you’re not just stopping offense—you’re erasing it."

Zeke didn’t speak. He just stared ahead, unblinking.

Alfred moved on.

"Dante Cruz. The Vision Specialist. You’re more than a power forward—you’re our brain on the court. Your anticipation is what keeps us a step ahead. You’ll lead the predictive simulations starting tomorrow."

Dante gave a small nod, eyes flicking toward the observation window above.

(She’s watching. Always watching.)

"Silas Korrin," Alfred said, pausing in front of the massive center. "Paint Protector. Our players call you immovable for a reason but we’re making you faster. Lighter on your feet. You’ll cover the entire paint alone. Like a wall that moves."

Silas exhaled heavily, arms flexing slightly.

Then Alfred faced Kaia.

She was swaying side to side, humming quietly.

"Kaia or Zaia, whatever name you’re using today..."

He narrowed his eyes.

"...You’re our unpredictable threat. Our speedster. Our chaos. You’ve gotten faster. Your vision’s wider. And your reaction time?"

She grinned.

"Quicker than a blink," she said, voice playful.

(They don’t know what I really see...)

Alfred turned back to all five.

"From now on, you’re not just training to win games. You’re training to end them—in two quarters or less."

There was no hesitation.

All five players stood tall, voices in unison.

"Understood, Coach."

The sound of it echoed through the facility—disciplined, sharp, chilling.

Alfred gave a firm nod.

"Good... don’t disappoint us."

He turned and walked off the court, his footsteps fading behind the hum of machinery and the cold lighting of the gym. The large monitors above dimmed, returning to black.

But the pressure remained.

The players didn’t speak.

Not until Vin lowered his head slightly... closing his eyes.

His fingers brushed the worn grip of the basketball in his hands. He held it for just a second longer, then whispered under his breath.

(Ethan... Lucas... thank you for this second chance.)

A rare softness crossed his usually stern face.

Behind him, Zeke glanced over but said nothing. He understood.

So did Dante.

So did Silas.

Even Kaia no, Zaia stood still for once, as if something within her recognized the weight of Vin’s words.

They had lost Greg. Lost control.

But they had their own future now... their future path

They were Venganza.

And this time... they would write their own Chapter.

....

Meanwhile After a long, exhausting training session, the players collapsed onto the gym floor or benches, panting and dripping with sweat. The squeak of shoes and bouncing balls gave way to the sweet silence of a job well done... at least for a minute.

"Ethan! Water! I need water or I’m gonna die!" Josh Turner groaned dramatically, rolling on the ground like he’d just been shot in battle.

"If you can scream, you can stand up and get your own bottle," I called out, tossing him a towel instead.

Aiden chuckled as he slumped against the wall. "That was murder, Ethan. Legitimate murder."

Louie grinned, still buzzing with energy. "Come on, it wasn’t that bad. Just imagine it as training arc montage stuff."

Then, of course, the doors to the gym burst open.

"Yo, boys!" came a confident, breezy voice. Everyone turned.

Striding in with a sports bag slung over her shoulder, hair in a short hair, and wearing her black-and-blue Thunderhawks varsity jacket, Charlotte Graves, Lucas’s older sister and the captain of Thunderhawks.

The Graves bloodline was unmistakable she had that same calm sharpness as Lucas, but with a hint of queenly intimidation.

"Sis?" Lucas blinked. "What are you doing here?"

"Just got done with our own training," Charlotte shrugged, scanning the gym with interest. "Thought I’d drop by. Heard some middle school team you will face this time is strong."

I couldn’t help but notice her eyes pause on me for just a second longer than necessary.

She looked away just as fast, but not before I saw the slight pink dust her cheeks.

(Huh?)

Before I could process it, Ryan Taylor, our infamous gym flirt and resident self-declared "ladies’ man," stood up and instantly slicked back his already sweaty hair.

"Well, well, if it isn’t Charlotte Graves... captain, star player, and heart thief," Ryan said, approaching with fake confidence like he was stepping into a rom-com.

Brandon Young, still drinking water, sighed deeply — the kind of sigh that said "here we go again."

"Ryan, no," Brandon muttered, too tired to stop him but already spiritually regretting everything.

"You know," Ryan continued, now flexing ever so slightly, "they call me ’The Taylor Tornado.’ Maybe you and I could—"

WHACK!

Charlotte smacked a towel square into his face before he could finish.

"The only tornado I see is the hot air coming from your mouth," she said dryly.

The entire gym exploded in laughter.

Ryan staggered back like he’d been shot. "My heart...!" he clutched his chest like a theater actor.

Brandon walked over, put an arm around Ryan, and started dragging him back to the bench.

"Time for your nap, Romeo," he muttered.

"One day she’ll see the real me..." Ryan whispered dramatically, face planted in Brandon’s arm like a fallen hero.

"You say that every week," Brandon sighed again.

Meanwhile, Charlotte walked past the commotion and gave Lucas a playful nudge.

"You’re lucky I don’t coach your team, baby brother. I’d have you doing suicides till next month."

Lucas scowled. "You already do that when we’re home."

She laughed a real one and then turned toward me again. This time, she looked more composed, but I didn’t miss the brief up and down glance.

"Ethan," she said, approaching me now, her steps calm, confident, that captain’s aura never leaving her presence.

I nodded, standing a little straighter without realizing it. There was something different about her tone today... softer, almost teasing.

"Should I say Coach?" she added with a small smile, one eyebrow raised.

(Why is she smiling like that...?)

Trying to play it cool, I crossed my arms and met her gaze.

"Don’t tease me, Charlotte... Why are you here?" I asked with a half-smirk. "What, you want me to train you again?"

Her smile widened slightly. "Oh? So, you admit I need training again?"

"You begged me for help last time," I shot back.

Before she could reply—

"WAIT... WHAT TRAINING?!" Ryan suddenly blurted from the bench, sitting up straight like he’d just heard the biggest gossip of the year. His face twisted into a suspicious grin. "You and Charlotte... training? Like, what kind of training are we talking about here?"

His eyebrows wiggled. His eyes sparkled. His thoughts were not pure.

"Ryan..." Brandon warned, without even looking up from his phone.

"Bro, I’m just saying!" Ryan defended. "Late-night one-on-ones, sweat dripping, hearts pounding... ’Charlotte, you’re doing it wrong, let me show you—’"

WHACK!!

Charlotte didn’t even hesitate, she clocked Ryan in the back of the head with her towel like a lightning strike.

"OW!!" Ryan yelped, nearly falling off the bench. "Abuse! That’s assault, Captain!"

"That’s mercy," Charlotte said coolly, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Next time I’ll use the ball."

"That’s why I love you..." Ryan whispered weakly as Brandon dragged him away by the hoodie like a disappointed babysitter.

"Every. Single. Time," Brandon muttered. "Why do I hang out with you again?"

"For the memories... and my good looks."

"I’m filing for custody of my sanity."

I shook my head with a chuckle, watching them retreat like a circus act.

Charlotte looked at me again, the humor still in her eyes, but quieter now.

"Well, don’t mind me. Just here to see how Lucas and his adorable team are doing."

From the bench, Ryan raised his hand like a zombie rising from the grave. "Still single, by the way..."

"Still irrelevant," Charlotte shot back without even turning around.

The laughter doubled.

As training wrapped up and players filed out for the showers or benches, I found myself glancing once or twice at Charlotte while she chatted casually with her brother.

To be continue