Extra Basket-Chapter 63 - 50: White (6)

Location: Ridgeview Community Hospital – Room 217

Time: 7:00 AM

Date: July 5, 2010

The early morning light cast soft shadows across the hospital room. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor provided a calm background hum as Dr. Marcus Smirf, a man in his early 50s with a calm presence and kind eyes, examined Aiden’s foot, gently rotating the ankle with professional care.

After a final check, he stood upright, adjusting his stethoscope and scribbling a few notes onto Aiden’s chart.

"Well..." Dr. Smirf said with a smile, glancing between Aiden and his mother, Panny White.

"This is... quite remarkable. Based on the swelling reduction and ligament response, it looks like your ankle is recovering exceptionally well."

Panny blinked in surprise.

"You mean... he won’t need surgery?"

Dr. Smirf nodded.

"That’s right. No fractures, and the soft tissue is healing faster than expected. Frankly, it’s a bit of a miracle. Given this pace, you’ll be walking without support in two weeks—maybe even sooner, with proper rehab."

Aiden sat up straighter, eyes wide with cautious hope.

"Two weeks?" he echoed.

"And... it’ll heal without problems?"

Dr. Smirf gave a small chuckle and folded his arms.

"If you follow instructions. Some light mobility exercises to prevent stiffness, gentle stretches, and absolutely no full-weight basketball moves for at least 10 days. But yes, barring setbacks... you’ll be back as good as ever."

Aiden glanced down at his wrapped ankle, a flicker of realization in his eyes.

"(That ointment... the one Ethan gave me... is that what did this?)"

The thought pulsed in his head like a quiet revelation.

Dr. Smirf returned the chart to its place at the foot of the bed.

"Alright, I’ll leave you two for now. Aiden, remember—motion is medicine. Flex and rotate your ankle a few times a day. It’ll speed up your recovery."

"Yes, Doc." Aiden replied firmly.

"Thank you, Doctor," Panny added, giving him a grateful nod.

Dr. Smirf smiled politely.

"You’re welcome. He’s a strong kid."

He turned and left the room, with a nurse trailing silently behind him. She was tall, mid-30s, her name tag reading "Nurse R. Hayes." Her gaze lingered a moment too long on Aiden as she walked past his bedside.

Just as the doctor stepped out, Aiden muttered, more to himself than anyone else:

"I told you... that ointment worked. The one Ethan gave me."

The nurse’s ears perked up.

"(Ointment?)" she thought, slowing her pace briefly without turning around. Her expression hardened—cold and calculating. She glanced subtly at the door before following Dr. Smirf down the hall.

What she didn’t show was the earpiece hidden beneath her bun.

This nurse wasn’t just any hospital staff.

She was a plant, placed by the organization responsible for distributing the illegal "enhancement pills"—the same one that had approached Panny White under the guise of offering hope for her sons.

And now... there was a new variable.

An unknown ointment. One that healed faster than their product.

One that could jeopardize the entire operation.

She walked calmly—but her mind was racing.

"(We need to know what that substance is. Who gave it. And how they got it.)"

And behind her polite smile...

A silent war had just begun.

........

Back in the Hospital Room – Ridgeview Community Hospital

"So... I don’t need that pill you wanted to give me, right?"

His tone wasn’t harsh—but it was firm.

Panny’s lips parted slowly. She hesitated.

"But that pill... it would’ve helped you."

Her voice was soft, almost fragile.

"It could make you better at basketball. Isn’t that what you want?"

Aiden looked at her, disbelief flickering in his eyes.

"We don’t even know if it’s legit, Mom."

He frowned.

"You said some guy just gave it to you. That’s already shady as hell."

Panny’s hands gripped the edges of her purse tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"Didn’t I already tell you?" she said, voice rising just slightly.

"I saw it work. With my own eyes. That boy he gave it to—he changed overnight. He went from clumsy to fast, strong... precise. It was like magic."

Aiden narrowed his eyes.

"And that ointment Ethan gave me? Isn’t that just as ’magical?"

Panny looked at him with a conflicted expression.

"That’s different. You trust that boy too easily."

Aiden leaned forward a little, despite the tug of pain in his ankle.

"Yeah. But it worked. Look at me, Mom."

He gestured to his foot.

"Look at how fast I’m healing. The doctor said it himself—it’s a miracle. And Ethan didn’t ask for anything in return. He didn’t try to push anything weird on me. That’s why I trust him."

Panny exhaled, her shoulders slumping.

She looked away, toward the window, her voice faltering slightly.

"I just... I just want you to be happy."

Her hands trembled slightly in her lap.

"You and Noah. I want you both to succeed. To have something in your lives that makes you feel... special."

A beat.

"And your father..." Her voice trailed off.

Aiden’s eyes darkened. His jaw clenched.

"So in the end..." he said quietly, but with an edge,

"it’s really about Dad, isn’t it?"

Panny shook her head quickly.

"No. No, it’s not like that."

She looked at him now, fully. Her eyes glistened with emotion.

"It’s for the sake of both of you. I’m scared. I’m scared you’ll get hurt. That you’ll give everything and end up with nothing. This world doesn’t play fair, Aiden."

Aiden’s hand curled into a fist over the blanket, his knuckles tight.

"I know..." he muttered.

"But I still won’t give up."

His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t waver. freewebnσvel.cѳm

"Even if I’m trash at basketball..." he paused, then looked up at her with tired, honest eyes.

"At least I play what I love. What I want."

There was a small silence between them.

Then he added, voice lower:

"Even if Dad told me I’m talentless... I’m still doing my own thing."

Panny’s lips quivered. That one hit deep. She leaned forward without thinking, tears finally escaping down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around him tightly.

"That’s why... That’s why Mommy is here, to give you—"

"Mom..." Aiden said softly, his voice slightly muffled in her shoulder.

He didn’t push her away.

But he didn’t let her finish, either.

Because they both knew what she was going to say:

"—to give you a chance."

Maybe with the pill. Maybe with anything she could offer.

But Aiden wasn’t asking for this.

He was asking to be seen.

To be trusted.

To be loved for who he was—not for what he could become with enhancement.

Panny held her son tighter, her tears soaking into his hospital gown.

And for a brief moment...

The pressure, the weight, the expectations—faded into something gentler.

.......

Location: Unknown Facility – Sub-Level 3

Time: 7:50 AM

Date: July 5, 2010

The room was dimly lit—only a single hanging bulb swayed lightly above a polished mahogany table. Around it sat a small group of people, each cloaked in secrecy. Shadows danced along the walls as tension filled the air like thick smoke.

Greg Tarrow, sleeves rolled up, veins popping from his forearm, slammed his fist down on the desk.

"What?!" he barked, phone still pressed to his ear.

The report had just come in.

"You’re telling me..." he growled, grinding his teeth, "some goddamn ointment is jeopardizing everything we worked for?"

The man in the sheep mask stood calmly beside him, arms folded, his head tilted ever so slightly as if this was all... amusing.

"Now, now, Greg," he said, voice smooth, almost condescending. "Let’s not destroy the furniture."

Greg’s face turned red with rage.

"I’ve poured millions into this project! Your connections, your freak show of a network—my drug was supposed to be their only option!"

The sheep-masked figure let out a faint chuckle. Then, slowly and deliberately, he reached up and removed the mask.

Beneath it was the face of a man in his early 40s—clean-shaven, calculating eyes, and the kind of smile that never reached his pupils.

This was no common conspirator. This was someone powerful. Dangerous.

"Relax," he said, still grinning. "Your drug is the future. Mass-market addiction in the name of ’performance enhancement’—a golden product. We’ll make billions."

Greg breathed out through his nose, his jaw unclenching.

The reassurance worked. Slowly, a smirk began to form on his lips.

"Damn right," Greg muttered, leaning back in his chair. "They’ll beg for it once they see what it can do. That little pill’ll be in every high school gym bag from here to Tokyo."

The masked man—now replacing the sheep mask over his face—turned back toward the others in the room.

"Still," he said, tone colder now, "we need to know who this Ethan is. The one who gave the boy that ointment."

His voice echoed slightly in the silence that followed.

"If he can produce something that effective—*" he paused, then added, *"—and he’s not one of ours... he becomes a threat."

Greg’s eyes lit with new intensity.

"I want to know everything about that kid."

He jabbed a finger in the air, as if pointing right at Ethan’s name.

"Where he lives. Who his parents are. What he eats for breakfast. If he sneezes, I want to know about it."

The sheep-masked man nodded slowly.

"Don’t worry. He’s already on our radar."

He turned to one of the others sitting silently at the table—an older woman with gray-streaked hair and a black notebook in front of her.

"Tail the boy discreetly."

The woman simply nodded, flipping open her notebook and writing a single name.

ETHAN.

....

Location: Lucas Gym

Time: 7:50 AM

Date: July 5, 2010 – Sunday

The hardwood squeaked faintly under shoes as the boys gathered in a loose semicircle around Ethan Albarado, who stood at the center of the gym with a clipboard in hand. The

morning sun cast long lines of light through the high windows of the private gym—courtesy of Lucas’s mother, the former pro baller Romanov Graves.

Sweat already glistened on their brows.

They’d been running drills for almost an hour.

Lucas Graves, wiping his forehead with his forearm, stood next to Louie, a wiry kid with fast hands. Evan, Ryan, Josh, Jeremy, Kai, and Coonie filled in the circle. The energy was still high, though a few of them were catching their breath.

Ethan cleared his throat and raised his voice a bit.

"Alright, now for Phase 3: Situational Response & Rotations."

Coonie, stretching his arms lazily, blinked.

"Wait—what’s that?"

A smirk tugged at Ethan’s lips.

"It means we stop thinking like it’s practice and start reacting like it’s game-time." He flipped the page on the clipboard. "Game situations. Fast decisions. Defensive instincts. No do-overs."

He stepped forward, gesturing to the court.

.....

🛡 Drill 1: 4-Second Closeout War

Ethan explained, walking them through the setup:

"You’ll start from the help-side. Coach—aka me—will be holding the ball at the wing."

"On the whistle, you close out on me. You’ve got 4 seconds max."

"If you’re not in front of me by then?" He raised an eyebrow. "Automatic bucket."

Lucas nodded, focused.

Jeremy cracked his neck.

Josh grinned. "Bet. I’ll make it in three."

"Hands up, feet under you, no lunging," Ethan reminded them.

"Balance and speed. Everyone gets six reps. Let’s go."

.....

🔄 Drill 2: Rotational Command Drill

After the closeouts, they reset into defense-only groups. Ethan raised a finger.

"Now for the tougher one—Rotational Command."

"Five defenders on the court. No ball. Just formation."

"I’ll randomly point and yell ’DRIVE!’—the player I point at attacks. The rest of you? React, rotate, help. All without me calling your names."

Louie blinked. "Wait, no ball at all?"

"Nope. It’s about habit, instinct, communication." Ethan said.

"If you can’t call for help when there’s no ball, you’ll freeze when there is."

Kai, nodding slowly, whispered to Jeremy.

"Damn. This is different. But I like it."

Ethan smiled slightly, catching the tone shift. He saw it in their posture—they were buying in.

"Three reps each group. Full effort. Communicate. Trust each other. This isn’t solo ball—it’s survival ball."

Lucas rolled his shoulders, eyes narrowing.

"Let’s run it."

And with that, the gym filled with movement again—shoes squeaking, calls bouncing off the walls, players shouting "Help!" and "Switch!" as the drills came alive with the same energy they’d face on real hardwood, under real lights.

..

Ethan turned toward Josh, who was crouched low, ready to explode into the next defensive drill. His expression was focused, almost too serious. That’s when Ethan raised a hand.

"Josh," he called out, stepping forward, his tone shifting just slightly—less coach, more concerned friend.

Josh looked up, a bit surprised.

"Yeah?"

Ethan’s gaze dropped briefly to Josh’s right foot, then back up.

"Be careful. Your ankle’s still healing, you know that."

His voice wasn’t scolding—just steady, like a quiet warning with weight behind it.

Josh blinked, caught off guard by the reminder. He opened his mouth like he was about to argue—then thought better of it.

He flexed his foot lightly, feeling the slight tug where the strain had once flared up last week.

"I’m good," Josh muttered. "But yeah... I got you."

Ethan gave a small nod, but his eyes stayed on Josh for a moment longer.

"Just don’t push it too early. You want to be there when it really counts, not sidelined again."

Josh nodded slower this time, the reality sinking in.

He turned back into position, less reckless now—still hungry, but smarter.

Nearby, Lucas watched the exchange without saying a word. He could tell Ethan wasn’t just running drills—he was leading. Like someone who knew this wasn’t just practice.

This was the start of something.

And Ethan was making sure none of them got left behind.

To be continue