Extra Basket-Chapter 177 - 164: Faith?

The conference room was dim. Low amber lights flickered above a long obsidian table, casting elongated shadows across the faces seated around it.

At the head of the table sat the Bald Old Man the leader. Deep lines cut across his face like cracks in old stone. He drummed his fingers on the table, sharp and deliberate.

He clicked his tongue.

"Tsk... Our horse fell down."

Silence stretched, tense and uncomfortable.

To his right, a man in a fitted gray blazer leaned forward. Ron, sharp-featured and slick-haired, gave a tight nod.

"We won’t let that happen again. My team will win. I promise you that."

Across from him, Jerry, a man in his forties with a fox-like grin and glasses perched low on his nose, chuckled and leaned in, elbows resting on the table.

"Promises, promises," he said, amused. "But I’m more entertained that Vorpal Basket actually beat Roanoke Storm. Unexpected, but... quite entertaining."

His laughter echoed softly until it was cut short.

"Shut up, Drew."

The voice came from Madame Vena, cold and clipped. A woman in her fifties, dressed in an elegant black suit, arms crossed as if holding herself back from slapping someone.

Drew, a broad-shouldered man in his forties wearing a deep maroon suit with obnoxiously gold cufflinks, simply laughed harder.

"Come on, Madame V. Even you have to admit it’s funny. That team? They were supposed to be crushed."

In the corner, a woman in her 30s typed swiftly on a tablet, calculating win probabilities and adjusting data models without looking up.

Then—

A voice. Cold. Quiet. And unnatural.

"Ethan."

Everyone paused.

The one who spoke sat at the far end of the table. A man whose age was impossible to place, face hidden behind a sleek black mask. His platinum blonde hair shimmered faintly under the dim lights. The room chilled slightly in his presence.

The Bald Old Man squinted at him.

"Tsk. That boy... That variable. He’s throwing off everything."

He clenched his jaw.

"How do we move now? How do we eliminate this threat?"

A man in his early thirties, suit tailored to perfection, leaned back with a smirk that slithered across his face like a snake.

"Why not kill them?"

His grin widened.

"Accidents happen."

Drew muttered immediately:

"Creepy bastard."

The masked man turned his head slowly toward the speaker.

"What did you say?"

No one answered.

The Bald Old Man broke the tension.

"...That’s a good idea."

But before the idea took root, a voice of reason sliced through the bloodlust.

"Sir, with all due respect—think of the authorities," said the woman with the tablet, finally looking up.

"If something happens to any of those kids... especially to Lucas Graves—her mother won’t sit still."

Whispers spread at that name.

Romanov Graves.

An international powerhouse.

The snake-like man shrugged.

"Then why not kill someone less... critical?"

He gave a mocking laugh.

"Someone minor. Someone that won’t cause a global scandal, but just enough to make the team bleed."

The masked man’s head snapped toward him.

A chill passed through the room as the mask tilted, eyes unreadable behind the void.

"Who are you talking about?"

His voice was low. Cold. Like the edge of a blade.

The snake-like man smirked.

"Etha—"

BOOM.

The masked man’s fist slammed into the table.

The impact cracked the surface and silenced everyone.

"Not him."

His voice thundered.

Everyone froze. Some leaned back instinctively.

"Do. Not. Touch. Him."

The tension thickened.

The man with the smirk raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Okay, okay... Just a joke. You don’t have to go psycho about it."

The masked man said nothing.

Only his breathing filled the silence now.

Drew, trying to break the discomfort, chuckled nervously.

"Aha... let’s all calm down, yeah? We’re on the same side."

Madame Vena scoffed.

"Some of us are barely civil."

Jerry leaned back with a thoughtful grin.

"Maybe we don’t need to kill one of the key players. We kill someone else — someone close enough to hurt... but not big enough to spark international heat."

The Bald Old Man tapped his fingers again. Slowly. Then smiled.

"That... is a good idea."

A quiet agreement settled over the table.

A dark strategy had taken root.

...

Location: Graves Residence

The Graves residence wasn’t just a house.

It was a fortress of modern wood and steel, sharp edges softened by the warmth of carefully placed lights and the distant scent of roasted rosemary chicken drifting from the kitchen.

The dining room buzzed not from tension, but from laughter. For once, the air wasn’t buzzing with adrenaline, whistles, or sneaker squeaks. Just clinking silverware, muffled conversation, and the occasional shout of:

"Louie, don’t hog the mashed potatoes!"

Louie Davas leaned back in his chair dramatically, holding the bowl like a trophy.

"This? This is the fuel of champions. Brandon, if you want it, come take it from my cold, undefeated hands!"

Brandon Young didn’t even respond. He just reached over and plucked it clean out of Louie’s grasp like a vending machine prize.

"Thanks." he said calmly, scooping a generous heap onto his plate.

The boys sat around the long oak table—Ryan, Jeremy, Evan, Kai. The light danced off the glasses and plates, laughter bouncing between them like a basketball during warm-ups.

Coonie wasn’t there, respectfully sitting out for personal reasons, but his absence didn’t cast a shadow. Everyone understood. It was the kind of team now that didn’t need words to hold trust.

At the head of the table, Charlotte Graves watched it all with a calm smile. Her fork moved, but she wasn’t really eating. Not because the food wasn’t good—it was phenomenal but because her thoughts were elsewhere.

She glanced at her brother, Lucas, seated to her left.

He wasn’t saying much either. He rarely did. But he looked content—shoulders relaxed, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Beside him sat Ayumi, the team’s manager and Lucas’s childhood friend. Her voice was soft, but her eyes never stopped scanning the table, making sure everyone had enough, her manager instincts unable to turn off.

She handed Lucas a fresh napkin.

"You’ve got gravy on your face, Champion."

Lucas blinked.

"...I do?"

Ethan smirked.

"You do."

Lucas wiped it and muttered,

"I just dropped a lot points in the second half. Let me eat in peace."

Ayumi rolled her eyes.

"You dropped gravy on your shirt, too. MVP of Mess."

Everyone laughed.

Evan Cooper leaned over from across the table, sipping his juice.

"Seriously, though. We actually beat Roanoke."

Jeremy nodded slowly.

"It’s starting to feel real now."

Ryan, still chewing on a chunk of roast, gave a muffled grunt.

"Still don’t believe Kagetsu didn’t drop 40. Dude’s unreal."

Kai chuckled.

"He did drop a lot of points, Ryan. Calm down."

Brandon added,

"And Ethan matched him blow for blow."

There was a beat of quiet.

Everyone’s eyes drifted toward Ethan again.

He didn’t puff his chest. He didn’t speak right away. He just looked around at the room, the food, the faces.

The warmth.

Then he looked at Lucas.

And nodded. freewebnøvel.coɱ

Lucas met his eyes and returned the nod, calm and sure.

They didn’t need words.

But Ayumi broke the silence anyway, folding her hands over her plate.

"I know this sounds cheesy, but... you guys made history today."

Charlotte leaned forward.

"No. Not cheesy." She smiled.

"You earned it."

Louie, still chewing chicken, raised his glass of soda.

"To Vorpal."

"To Vorpal," they echoed.

They all drank.

Somewhere outside the window, a light drizzle began to fall.

But in the Graves home, everything felt warm. Full. Together.

..

..

...

After an hour

Location: Outside the Graves Residence

The night air was crisp, but not cold just enough to remind you that summer was ending, and something new was coming.

The faint chirp of crickets lingered in the background. A soft breeze rustled the branches overhead as Lucas Graves walked slowly beside Ayumi, his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed.

The celebration inside had settled, the laughter now a quiet echo behind the closed door.

Now, it was just the two of them beneath the moonlight.

Lucas glanced at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You really teased me back there, huh."

Ayumi grinned, walking with her hands behind her back, swaying gently.

"Well, what can I say?" She looked up at him playfully.

"I’m charming."

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

"Charming, huh..."

For a moment, there was nothing but their footsteps.

Then Ayumi’s voice, gentler now:

"I’m happy."

Lucas blinked, looking at her sideways.

"Why?"

Ayumi didn’t answer right away. She looked up at the stars distant, quiet witnesses to their small moment and smiled.

"Because your dream of becoming a star... it’s happening."

Lucas paused in his step. He didn’t speak for a second. Then:

"Well... it wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for Ethan."

Ayumi nodded softly.

"Yeah. I know."

They continued walking, the gravel crunching softly beneath their shoes.

Lucas glanced up at the moon.

"He trained our team to match up against those big monsters out there."

Ayumi laughed.

"You say it like they’re actual monsters."

Lucas shrugged, his voice thoughtful.

"Sometimes... they feel like it."

Ayumi looked at him with something tender in her gaze.

"But you fought them. You looked them in the eye and didn’t run."

Lucas’s voice was quiet.

"Because Ethan didn’t run either."

Ayumi smiled.

"That’s why I believe in you two. You’re different—but you bring out the best in each other."

A moment passed.

Lucas kicked a small stone from the path.

"You think... we can actually make it? To Nationals? All the way?"

Ayumi looked up at him, firm.

"I don’t think."

"I know."

The breeze carried her words like a promise.

Lucas didn’t reply.

He just kept walking.

But his hand, once hidden in his pocket, slipped out and brushed lightly against hers.

Ayumi’s fingers didn’t move.

They stayed like that under the stars. No words. No need.

Just faith.

To be continue

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