Extra Basket-Chapter 59 - 46: White (2)

Inside the quiet hospital room, the air was thick with unspoken emotions.

Aiden White sat upright in his bed a pillow propped behind his back. The soft whirr of machines and distant hospital sounds were the only things keeping the silence from being absolute.

Ethan Albarado stood at the foot of the bed, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders relaxed but eyes steady. He wasn’t here just to pass time. This was something he had thought through carefully. Something he had to do.

Aiden broke the quiet first, his voice low.

"So... you wanted to talk to me?"

Ethan nodded. He walked closer and pulled a chair near the bed, sitting down slowly. His eyes met Aiden’s.

"Yeah. I did."

Aiden leaned his head back slightly, his dark eyes watching Ethan with caution. He wasn’t being hostile—but he wasn’t exactly open either.

"Okay... then talk."

There was a pause. Ethan took a breath, gathering his words. Then, with his usual calm tone, he began. "I know we never talked much before. You were one of the starters. I was... just a benchwarmer."

He smiled faintly, but there was no bitterness in it.

"But even from the bench, I watched everything. And I mean everything."

He looked Aiden in the eyes.

"You had this fire. The way you moved on the court—it made people believe we had a chance no matter the score. You were that guy, Aiden."

Aiden looked away, his jaw tightening, his voice laced with bitterness.

"But no matter what I did... we still lost against those teams. That’s why people called us the weakest team in the world."

The weight of that sentence hung in the air. Ethan didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at Aiden—really looked—and then leaned in slightly, his tone steady.

"Why did you play basketball in the first place?"

Aiden blinked, caught off guard.

"What kind of question is—"

But Ethan didn’t let him finish. He spoke over gently, his voice carrying the clarity of someone who had already faced his own storm.

"I play basketball because it’s my passion. Of course I want to win—so badly sometimes it hurts."

He exhaled deeply, gaze never leaving Aiden’s.

"But even if I lose, even if I sit on the bench the whole game... I won’t give up. Because I love basketball."

There was a quiet honesty in his voice, the kind that didn’t need to shout to be heard.

"And you, Aiden... you used to play like the game meant something to you. Like it mattered deep down. I saw it. Every time."

Aiden scoffed softly, his lips curling in frustration.

"It did matter... until it didn’t."

Ethan leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees, voice lowering to a level just above a whisper.

"You still have that fire."

"I saw it the second we walked in here. You were yelling at your brother about getting back in a month. That’s not someone who’s given up, Aiden."

Aiden stayed quiet, his eyes drifting to the window where sunlight filtered weakly through pale blue curtains. He muttered under his breath:

"I don’t even know what I’m gonna be like after this. The doctors said my ankle might not be the same again."

There was a silence. Then—

"Don’t worry," Ethan said with a faint grin, digging into his bag, "I got something that might help."

He pulled out a small, dark green jar with a gold cap.

"Here," he said, holding it out.

"This ointment... it’s special."

Aiden raised a brow and looked at the jar skeptically.

"...Special? What, is this some kind of ancient kung fu medicine or something?"

Ethan chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Not exactly," he said, trying to keep his cool.

But deep inside, his mind was racing.

(This ointment... it can heal ankles in a week. Even if it’s a bad sprain—as long as it’s not completely torn up—it works. I looked at Aiden’s ankle... it’s not beyond repair. It’s still got hope.)

He looked at the jar in his hand and thought again,

(It cost me 1000 SP. That’s not cheap. The really severe treatment ointments in the system cost 5000... I couldn’t afford those. But this one... this one might be just right for him.)

But just as he was lost in his thoughts, Aiden’s voice snapped him back to reality.

"Hello? What are you spacing out for?"

Ethan blinked and jolted slightly.

"Ah—sorry! I was just... thinking about something. What did you say again?"

Aiden gave him a look—half amused, half annoyed.

"I said... what does this ointment even do?"

Ethan paused for a second, brain working overtime.

(Alright... just like I did with Josh. Don’t mention the system. Keep it grounded. Make it believable...)

He took a breath and nodded, giving Aiden a calm, confident look.

"It’s from my uncle," Ethan began smoothly, "He used to treat local athletes and minor injuries for high school teams. Swears by this stuff. He mixes it himself. It’s not like what you get at the pharmacy—it’s a blend of natural anti-inflammatory herbs and pain relief. Speeds up healing, keeps the ankle from stiffening too much."

He shrugged, as if it was no big deal.

"I’ve used it before. It won’t make you jump ten feet overnight or anything, but it’ll help you recover smoother. Less swelling. Less pain. Better mobility."

Aiden stared at the jar, its surface catching the hospital room’s pale light. His fingers curled around it slowly, like it was something fragile—or maybe something he didn’t want to get his hopes up about.

Then, after a beat, he spoke:

"You’re really going this far... for me?"

Ethan didn’t hesitate. His smile was calm, but there was a weight behind his words.

"You’re our teammate, Aiden. That doesn’t stop just because you’re not on the court right now."

The room went quiet again. Not awkward—just still. Heavy.

Aiden lowered his eyes to the jar in his hand, his expression unreadable. But deep inside, his thoughts stirred.

(I don’t know if I believe what Ethan’s saying... this whole ’uncle’s ointment’ thing sounds like something out of a cheesy sports manga.)

(But... if there’s even a chance it works...)

He swallowed, jaw tightening as he stared down at the little jar like it might bite him.

(I don’t know what I’ll do if it doesn’t. I really don’t.)

Meanwhile, Ethan watched him quietly.

He could see it—the flicker of doubt in Aiden’s eyes, the way he clutched the jar but didn’t open it. That subtle shift in his shoulders, like a man caught between pride and desperation.

But Ethan had seen it before. Josh was the same.

And just like before, he didn’t try to push. He just nodded once, steady and sure.

(You’ll use it. Not because you believe me. But because you want to believe there’s still a shot. And that’s enough.)

He glanced out the window briefly before turning back to Aiden.

"Don’t worry about how fast you heal."

"Just... don’t give up before you even try."

Aiden said nothing. He simply looked down at the jar, thumb slowly running across the lid. His eyes were quiet, but not empty anymore.

And for now, that was more than enough.

....

Back outside the hospital room...

The air in the hallway was still, as if the entire corridor was holding its breath.

Lucas stood firm; eyes fixed on Noah White. His voice, when it came, was calm but filled with quiet conviction.

"I know that people don’t just break physically. They break here—"

He tapped his chest, just over his heart.

"—when the people around them stop believing."

His words echoed softly down the corridor, landing with more weight than their volume suggested.

Louie shifted his stance, crossing his arms. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something more thoughtful.

He glanced at Evan, who gave the smallest nod—not interrupting, but silently backing Lucas up.

Lucas held Noah’s gaze.

There was no arrogance in his face. No pity.

Just belief. Raw and unshakable.

"And I’m not trying to be nosy" Lucas continued.

"I’m just here to say that even if he’s not who he used to be... he can still become someone even stronger."

Noah didn’t respond at first.

He just stared; his expression unreadable—like someone sifting through a hundred thoughts at once but saying none of them.

The silence wasn’t awkward.

It was heavy. Meaningful.

Louie’s eyes moved between them, his eyebrows raising slightly.

He opened his mouth to break the tension—

But Evan beat him to it.

"Now... now," Evan said softly, voice low, trying to ease the weight in the air.

Noah finally moved.

He looked at Lucas again, this time with something different in his eyes.

Not defiance.

Not dismissal.

Just... something more vulnerable.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"If..." he said, voice quieter than before.

Lucas tilted his head slightly.

"If?"

Noah looked down briefly, then back up.

His voice carried something that hadn’t been there earlier—hesitation... and a flicker of pain.

"If someone gave up playing basketball years ago..., would he still be able to go back to that world?"

Evan blinked, startled by the shift in tone.

His mind instantly connected the dots.

(Is he talking about himself...?)

(Noah White... the real prodigy of the White family.)

(He wasn’t just Aiden’s older brother. He was the one everyone expected to shine. Compared to Aiden, Noah was the star—always mentioned in the same breath as Alec... Miho... Jalen...)

(But after that accident... after that ankle injury...)

Lucas didn’t hesitate.

He smiled.

Not a smug smile.

Not a forced one.

But one full of belief—one that could only come from someone who understood what it meant to fall and want to rise again.

"Of course he can," Lucas said simply.

"As long as you have passion... and a heart that still loves the game..."

He took a breath and added,

"As long as you love it... you’ll always find your way back."

For a moment, Noah didn’t respond.

But then—slowly, almost reluctantly—he smiled.

It was small.

Faint.

But it was real.

And that was enough.

Just then, the door to the hospital room creaked open.

Ethan stepped out, rubbing the back of his head.

"Yow. We’re done talking."

He looked at the group, eyebrows raising slightly.

"What were you guys talking about?"

Louie opened his mouth, ever the one to speak first.

"They were talk—"

But Noah raised a hand, cutting him off with a calm voice.

"Nothing. Nothing important."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push.

He just nodded.

There was a strange peace in the air now. A quiet understanding that something important had passed between them—even if no one else needed to say it out loud.

....

Meanwhile...

In the Secret Room

A woman stood near the center of the room, stiff as a statue. She was around her late thirties, tall, slim, and still beautiful—but there were lines under her eyes, and her lips were pressed too tight. Her white blazer, though expensive, had lost its crispness. Her hands kept twitching at her sides like they didn’t know what to do.

In front of her, on a cold metal tray, sat a small white pill sealed inside a clear plastic case. It looked simply. Ordinary. But it wasn’t.

Across the table stood a man. But not just any man—he wore a porcelain sheep mask, white and smooth, with hollow black eyeholes. The mask made it impossible to see his expression. But his posture was calm. Too calm.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak for a long time. Just breathed. Controlled. Patient. Watching.

The woman finally broke the silence.

"Are you sure this will make my son back to who he used to be?"

Her voice was low, but tight with emotion. "The way he was before..."

The man in the sheep mask tilted his head ever so slightly, as if he were smiling behind the mask.

"Of course." His voice was slow and polished, like someone reading from a script. "This drug will make him stronger... faster... better than he was before."

The woman—Miss White—didn’t move at first. Just stared at the pill.

"I believe you... Sheep." Her voice trembled, but she nodded. "I’ve seen those boys. The ones who play basketball like they’re not even human. Stronger. Quicker. It’s like something’s inside them."

The masked man let out a soft chuckle, low and smooth.

"They are fast, aren’t they?" he said. "Explosive. Limitless."

He leaned forward, just a little, his voice dropping to a quiet hum.

"Now don’t worry... Miss White."

Her name rang out in the quiet room like a trigger.

Panny White.

Mother of Noah White—the fallen prodigy.

And Aiden White—the boy always living in someone else’s shadow.

She clutched her purse tighter against her side. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

She had tried everything—doctors, therapists, even private trainers. But nothing could bring back the brilliance Noah once displayed on the court. And now, Aiden was broken, both physically and mentally.

But this pill... This pill was a rumor passed through hushed whispers in her elite circle. Said to awaken potential. Said to defy biology. She had dismissed it as fantasy—until she saw it firsthand.

(I will make you great again, Noah...)

(And Aiden... even if you were never born with your brother’s gift—)

(—I will give you one.)

Her hand finally moved. Slowly, carefully, she slid the case across the table until it was in her grasp. Inside, the pill sat quietly—small, unassuming, yet heavy with promise. The plastic bottle felt smooth, almost too perfect. She gripped it tightly.

But what she didn’t know—what Sheep never mentioned—was the truth.

There was a cost.

Because the drug didn’t just change the body.

It reached deeper.

Into the mind.

Into the soul.

And once it took hold...

There was no turning back.

To be continue