Extra Basket-Chapter 139 - 126: Loan Shark (2)

"Evan," Ethan said, his voice measured. "Tell me everything you know about this ’big shot’ and his super team. We need details, every single one."

Evan nodded quickly, nervous but excited. "Uh yeah okay. I was at this community court downtown a while back, just messing around and watching games. Some guy in a suit—like, real sharp dresser, shows up with this team of older players. College kids, maybe even semi-pro. He said they were the ’Blazing fox’ crew."

Ethan narrowed his eyes. "That name sounds familiar...hmm"

Evan continued, "He said they were looking for challengers. Offered ten thousand bucks to any high school team that could beat them. No entry fee, but only one game allowed per group. Said it’s ’easy moneyfor them."

Coonie let out a low whistle. "So basically, they’re baiting desperate people."

Louie nodded. "Like us."

"But they underestimated us," Kai said softly, fists clenched. "We’re not just desperate. We’re hungry."

Ethan stood, his eyes hardening with resolve. "Where can we find this team?"

Evan pulled out his phone and scrolled to a saved message. "Tomorrow, 4 p.m., old Midtown Arena. The one with the glass roof. That’s where they’ll be."

Lucas then said "What else?"

Evan. He leaned in, eyes sharp. "Alright... I tell you what else, but you didn’t hear it from me."

He folded his arms, thinking. "They call him Leonel Blaze — the ’big shot.’ 6’5", pure talent, and he knows it. Plays point guard like he’s orchestrating a symphony, and he’s not even the scariest part of his team."

Evan continued, voice low and serious. "They’re not just good — they’re built like they’re from another league. Blazing fox Academy recruited top talent from across the country. It’s practically a super team of future pros."

He started listing them off with precision:

Leonel Blaze (PG)

"The Maestro" – Elite court vision, unstoppable off the dribble. Rumors say he has a ’Zone Vision’ ability — sees the court like time slows down. No pass goes to waste.

Jace Holloway (SG)

"The Phantom Shooter" – Deadly from anywhere past half court. Uses step-backs like clockwork. People say he trained under a pro in secret. If he’s hot, he drops 40 without blinking.

Malik "Titan" Reed (SF)

Built like a linebacker. Strength and vertical that makes dunks look like cannon fire. Has a post-up game and range. Known for a power-based ability called "Rimquake."

Noah Vance (PF)

A tactical genius. Quiet, but sees the game five moves ahead. Known for a skill called "Anchor Lock" — when he plants his feet, no one gets past him. Offensively, underrated.

DeShawn Briggs (C)

7’0" with a wingspan that looks illegal. Rebounds, blocks, and putbacks all day. Some say his presence in the paint lowers everyone’s field goal percentage just from intimidation.

Evan paused. "They’ve never lost. Not once. And it’s not just because they’re good, it’s because Leonel expects to win. He plays like the game’s beneath him. Like he’s already living in the NBA."

Then he looked Ethan dead in the eyes. "You wanted details. Here’s the most important one, Leonel doesn’t play for fun. He plays for dominance. If he finds out you’re aiming to challenge him, he won’t hold back."

A silence settled between them for a second.

"You still want to go up against that?" Evan asked.

The room fell quiet after Evan finished. You could hear the faint buzzing of the old gym lights above. Everyone had stopped moving — even the sound of bouncing balls outside the locker room seemed distant now, muffled by the weight of what Evan had just said.

Josh Turner leaned back against the locker, arms crossed. "Damn..." he muttered, eyes narrowed. "So we’re walking into a slaughterhouse."

Brandon Young, always the quietest among them, clenched his fists slowly. "They sound like monsters," he said, his voice low but steady. "But even monsters can bleed."

Aiden White let out a shaky breath, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes darted around the room, searching for anything that might make the weight on his shoulders feel lighter, but there was nothing. Just the cold, peeling paint of the locker room and the oppressive silence that followed Evan’s intel.

"So let me get this straight," he said, voice cracking slightly with disbelief. "They’ve got an elite playmaker who sees the court like a battlefield general, a sniper who doesn’t miss from anywhere past half court, a tank that bulldozes through defenders, a chess master running their plays like a puppet master, and a skyscraper guarding the rim like a fortress..."

He paused, then scoffed bitterly.

"And we’re supposed to beat them so we can win that, ten thousand dollars? Just so Jeremy doesn’t end up with his legs broken by some loan shark in a black van?"

His words hit like bricks. The reality of it all wasn’t just about pride anymore, it was life-or-death, for someone they all cared about.

Silence followed.

Then Lucas stepped forward, eyes locked with Aiden’s. His voice wasn’t loud, but it had steel in it, conviction forged from something deeper than fear.

"Even if they’re strong," Lucas said, "we still have to do it... we have to do what we can do."

There was no hesitation. No wavering.

Just truth.

Ayumi, who had been silent the whole time, turned to look at Lucas. Her eyes softened, filled with a mix of worry and admiration.

"Lucas..." she whispered. Something in the way he stood, in the quiet defiance in his voice, struck a chord in her.

Louie leaned back against the bench, crossing his arms with a sly grin. "Heh... that should’ve been my line," he said with a chuckle. "Stealing my thunder, man."

That small bit of humor cracked the tension. A few of the others smiled just a little but it was enough.

They were still afraid. Still unsure.

Jeremy looked up, his face still pale. "You’d do that for me?"

Ethan didn’t hesitate. "We’re not doing this for you. We’re doing it with you. You’re our teammate."

The others nodded. Louie clapped Jeremy on the back. "You’re part of Vorpal Basket, man. That means something."

Josh cracked his knuckles. "Time to show those so-called ’superstars’ what real grit looks like."

Brandon chuckled. "Hope they’re ready to lose to some high schoolers."

Ethan’s voice cut through the growing excitement. "This isn’t going to be easy. If these guys are older and more experienced, we’re at a disadvantage. But we’ve got what they don’t: trust. We fight for something bigger than money. We fight for each other."

Louie grinned. "We’ve faced worse odds. Remember the game against Venganzo remember?"

"Yeah," Aiden added. "You came out alive."

Ethan turned to Jeremy one last time. "Tomorrow, we win. And after that, we make sure Big King knows, we’re not afraid."

And just like that, the quiet apartment felt lighter.

There was a plan.

There was hope.

Tomorrow, they’d bet everything on the court.

For five thousand dollars.

For Jeremy’s family.

For each other.

..

Big King leaned back in his creaking chair, the wood groaning under his weight. He held the photo between two thick fingers, squinting at it as if it might reveal some hidden truth. His lips curled into something between a grin and a sneer.

"So that’s the kid, huh?" he muttered. "Ethan... and his little crew."

He tossed the photo onto the table. It landed face up, a grainy shot of Ethan, Lucas, Aiden, and the others walking down a cracked sidewalk toward a run-down apartment complex.

The thug nodded again, a nervous bead of sweat forming on his temple. "Yeah. We followed ’em for a while. Didn’t look like no random visit. Looked like... like they’re planning something."

Big King’s eyes narrowed. "Planning something, huh?" He reached for a half-empty bottle of whiskey and took a slow sip. Then he leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low and dangerous. "Tell me, you think they know about the debt?"

"I-I mean..." the thug stammered. "Maybe. Maybe they’re trying to help him out. That Ethan kid — he looked serious."

Big King tapped a calloused finger on the photo. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He stood up, towering over the thug. "I want eyes on all of them. Especially that Ethan brat. If they try anything stupid—" He stopped, cracked his knuckles one by one, the sound sharp and deliberate, "—I want to know. And if they really want to pay off Jeremy’s debt..." He smiled, cruel and calm. "...Find out what they do"

The thug flinched at the sound of Big King’s knuckles cracking, but nodded quickly, stuffing the photo back into his jacket.

"Yes sir. We’ll shadow ’em day and night. Won’t even breathe without us knowing."

Big King grunted and walked slowly around the table, his heavy boots thudding on the stained concrete floor. He stopped behind the thug, resting a meaty hand on his shoulder. The pressure was immediate not painful, but a warning.

"Good. Because if they mess this up..." His voice dropped to a near whisper, gravelly and cold. "...then Jeremy won’t be the only one who bleeds."

The thug swallowed hard. "Understood, sir."

Big King released his grip and returned to his seat with a huff, grabbing a lighter and flicking it to life, lighting the stub of a cigar. Smoke curled upward as he leaned back again, gaze distant.

"Find out what they do. Where they go. Who they talk to. If they even breathe like they have a plan, I want to know."

He blew out a cloud of smoke.

"If they want to play hero... then they better be ready to pay the price."

He waved the thug off. "Go."

The thug didn’t hesitate, rushing out the door, already dialing a burner phone as he disappeared down the hallway.

Big King sat in silence, eyes locked on the rising smoke as it twisted and vanished.

"They think they’re stepping onto a court," he muttered. "But this... this is war."

...

Meanwhile, at Blazing Fox Academy...

The gym echoed with sharp squeaks of sneakers and the crisp rhythm of passing drills. But there was no laughter. No trash talk. Just precision, discipline, and an atmosphere thick with pressure, the kind that forged champions or crushed the unworthy.

At center court, Leonel Blaze stood with arms crossed, his amber eyes scanning every movement with surgical precision. His face was unreadable not from boredom, but from unyielding expectation. To Leonel, excellence wasn’t a goal.

It was the starting point.

"Again," he said flatly.

The team ran the play again, flawlessly. The passes were crisp, the spacing perfect. But Leonel still shook his head.

"That cut was late," he said. "Half a second slower, and we lose the passing lane."

The players didn’t argue. They adjusted. No one dared to question Leonel’s critique — not because of fear, but because he was right.

..

On the sideline, Coach Rios, a grizzled man with a shaved head and weathered features, leaned against his clipboard. He’d played internationally, won titles, and trained beasts. But even he knew what stood before him now.

He looked at Leonel with a quiet nod.

"They’re not ready for you," Coach Rios said.

Leonel didn’t even glance his way.

"They never are."

In the far corner of the gym, Jace Holloway, the team’s lethal shooter, was casually draining step-back threes from NBA range — each one a clean swish. He wasn’t even looking at the rim anymore. His head tilted slightly as he fired off another shot.

"Yo, Leon," Jace called out, his voice echoing across the gym. "Which team do you think’s gonna challenge us again? The one with that ten-thousand-dollar prize?"

Leonel turned slightly, just enough for his voice to carry.

"I don’t know," he said. "And it doesn’t matter."

"Cause this isn’t about them."

"We’re doing this to get stronger than we were yesterday."

"To sharpen our edge."

"To break our limits."

"And besides... the prize money?" Leonel glanced briefly at Coach Rios. "It’s going to charity. We don’t need it. But someone else might."

Jace smirked.

"Damn, bro. You always make it sound like we’re in a war."

Leonel narrowed his eyes.

"That’s because we are. Every game. Every second. We fight for every inch."

Coach Rios watched quietly, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.

"Monsters," he muttered. "I’ve raised monsters."

The Blazing Fox Academy team went back to their drills, sharper, faster, colder. There was no cheer in their movements, no flair. Just ruthlessness.

They weren’t just aiming to win.

They were aiming to dominate.

To be continue