Extra Basket-Chapter 62 - 49: White (5)

The front door of the White family’s home shut softly behind Ethan.

He stepped down the stone steps, the late evening air brushing against his face. The sky had turned a soft indigo, with the last light of day fading behind the trees. A few crickets had already begun to sing in the quiet woods.

Ethan glanced at his phone.

6:50 PM.

"(Damn... it really took that long?)" he thought.

He could still feel the tension from earlier lingering on his shoulders—the conversation with Panny, the whispered warning to Noah, and the weight of carrying knowledge that no one else should have.

"(So much for a normal day.)"

He walked toward the road, pulling his phone out and calling a taxi. The reception up here was bad, but luckily, he had one bar—just enough to get the call through.

As he waited, he looked up at the sky, hands in his pockets, breathing slowly.

"(I hope this is enough to stop that tragedy.)"

The memory flashed in his mind—Noah and Aiden lying unconscious in a hospital bed in the novel Turning Point, the side effects of that drug pushing their bodies beyond the limit until they broke.

"(Even if I can’t tell them everything... even if they misunderstand me... if it keeps them alive, that’s all that matters.)"

A pair of headlights emerged down the long, winding road.

The taxi.

Ethan stepped forward and raised a hand.

The car slowed and pulled up beside him, and he opened the door, sliding in with a quiet exhale.

"Where to?" the driver asked

.

Ethan gave his address, then leaned his head back against the seat.

"Just home."

As the car rolled down the mountain road, past the trees and old farms, Ethan stared out the window, his reflection barely visible in the glass.

For now, the White brothers were safe.

But he knew this wouldn’t be the last time he had to step in.

"(The plot is shifting... but it’s not over yet.)"

The taxi rolled into the night, and Ethan closed his eyes for a moment—finally letting himself rest.

....

Meanwhile: Lucas Graves

The gym echoed with the soft squeak of sneakers against polished wood.

It was late—most of the lights in the building were off, except for the section where Lucas Graves stood, drenched in sweat, eyes narrowed, focused.

He held the basketball tightly, taking a breath, then stepped back into a smooth, deliberate motion—

A pivot, a turn, and then—

Fadeaway.

His form was precise, arms arched in the exact rhythm of Kobe Bryant’s signature shot. The ball floated through the air in a clean arc...

Swish.

Straight through the net.

Lucas wiped the sweat from his brow and muttered,

"It’s hard to imitate it... as expected of an NBA player."

But he wasn’t complaining. His tone carried something else.

Admiration. Determination. Respect.

On the outside near door gym—where the overhead lights left shadows dancing on the railings—a figure leaned silently.

Charlotte Graves.

Short silver hair tucked behind one ear, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her silver eyes calm yet sharp like blades. The captain of the all-girls team Thunderhawks... and Lucas’s older sister.

She watched quietly from above, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"(I can’t wait for our match, brother.)"

And with that silent thought, she turned and walked away, her footsteps quiet as a whisper.

Lucas didn’t notice her. His world, right now, was narrowed to the court, the ball, and the memory of greatness.

"(Should I copy Dirk Nowitzki’s one-legged fadeaway next?)" he wondered, bouncing the ball lightly, eyes focused on the hoop.

He took a deep breath, tension building in his muscles.

"(But I know it’s going to be hard. Those moves... they demand years of work. I don’t have their training... their bodies. If I push too far—)"

He paused.

"(No. That’s no excuse.)"

He stared at the ball in his hands, the same way a warrior might look at a sword.

"(If I have this power... Absolute Mimicry... then I’ll train my body until it can carry the weight of legends.)"

The gym stayed quiet, except for the rhythmic beat of the ball hitting the floor.

Lucas was alone.

Focused.

And somewhere in the background, his destiny was quietly drawing near.

....

Meanwhile, in a Hidden Room...

Dimly lit by a flickering overhead bulb, the secret room reeked of must and betrayal. Dust lingered in the air, caught in thin shafts of light spilling through narrow cracks in the old stone walls.

In the center stood a man wearing a sheep mask, still and unreadable. His presence was cold, almost eerie. Across from him sat a group of men and women, all dressed in dark suits. Most of them appeared to be in their late 30s and 40s and also have 50s, each seated in a circle like members of a twisted council.

And at the head of this circle sat a bald old man, silent, watching.

The sheep-masked man broke the silence.

"I’ve already distributed it to the White family."

His voice was calm. Controlled.

The group stirred slightly, murmurs passing between them like ripples.

Then one man—his slicked-back hair greased and suit rumpled—leaned forward, a smirk stretching across his face. His eyes held a familiar bitterness.

"Excellent," he said, voice oily.

"If something happens to their sons, they’ll be too distracted—too broken—to run the company properly."

He leaned back and laughed—a wild, bitter cackle, dripping with resentment.

"They’ll pour every cent into saving them. And when they fall..."

He clenched his fist, eyes gleaming.

"We take over. Their empire crumbles, and with it, their legacy. Just like they ruined mine."

This man—Greg Tarrow, once a rising entrepreneur—had never forgiven the White family for outcompeting him. Their superior research, cleaner supply chain, and family image had driven Tarrow’s own pharmaceutical startup into near extinction.

Now, his smile was twisted with long-held vengeance.

The sheep-masked man remained silent, unreadable.

Another woman, sharp-eyed and composed, looked toward him and asked cautiously,

"Are you sure they’ll take the pill? What if the boy doesn’t?"

He answered smoothly,

"The mother will ensure it. Guilt is a powerful thing. And desperation..."

He paused.

"...makes people blind."

The old bald man finally spoke for the first time, his voice a rasp that cut through the room.

"Make sure they stay blind."

Silence fell again.

Only the sound of the flickering light and a distant hum of electricity remained.

.......

Meanwhile in the Hospital...

The hospital room was quiet, lit with the soft orange glow of the setting sun filtering through half-closed blinds. Aiden lay on the bed, propped up by pillows, his left leg elevated and wrapped in clean white bandages. A small remote-controlled hospital tray sat nearby with a deck of cards and a few snacks on top—Lily’s idea.

On the chair beside the bed, Lily, his little sister, sat cross-legged, swinging her feet while munching on a lollipop.

"Okay! One more round!" she said brightly, shuffling the cards with a big grin on her face.

Aiden smiled, tired but warm. His eyes were a little glazed from the meds, but he was alert enough to play along.

"You sure you wanna lose again?" he teased, raising a brow.

Lily puffed her cheeks.

"hmmm! You got lucky last time. This time, I’m serious."

She began dealing the cards with exaggerated focus, her tongue peeking out the side of her mouth in concentration.

Aiden chuckled and leaned back carefully.

"You always say that."

They played quietly for a few minutes, the sound of cards sliding across plastic the only noise besides the soft hum of the machines nearby. Aiden winced slightly as he adjusted his position, but he didn’t complain.

Lily noticed and stopped.

"Does it hurt?" she asked quietly.

Aiden paused, then shook his head.

"Nah... it’s not that bad. I’ve had worse."

Lily frowned, unconvinced, then looked down at her hands.

"...I hate seeing you like this." she mumbled.

Aiden reached out and ruffled her hair gently.

"Hey, I’m gonna be fine, okay? Just a few weeks, and I’ll be back. Stronger than ever."

Lily looked up at him, eyes bright and trusting.

"...Promise?"

He held out a pinky.

"Promise."

She hooked hers around his and grinned.

For a while, the room felt warm—safe. Like nothing outside could touch them.

Aiden leaned his head back again, watching his little sister laugh and tell some weird story about a classmate who tried to ride a rolling chair down a hallway like it was a racing game.

And even though his leg ached, even though uncertainty still hung in the air...

Aiden smiled.

"(This... This is what I’m fighting for.)" he thought.

"(Not just the team... but for her. For moments like this.)"

The sun dipped lower outside, and for just a moment, the hospital didn’t feel like a cage.

To be continue