Extra Basket-Chapter 67 - 54: White (10)

Deep underground, the air was thick and stale, lit by the flickering yellow bulbs lining the metallic walls. A massive reinforced glass window stood before a room, casting its cold reflection onto the cemented hallway. Behind it, Greg Tarrow stood with his arms crossed, looking down into the chamber that held two figures—Aiden White and Panny White, bound and seated on metal chairs.

Aiden’s head hung low, still unconscious.

But Panny raised her head, her eyes burning with defiance and confusion.

"Why are you doing this, Greg!!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the chamber walls.

Greg didn’t respond at first. He simply stared, his face tight with bitterness and rage. Then, slowly, he turned toward her with eyes that no longer held the warmth of the man they once knew.

"Seriously, Panny... You and John took everything from me."

His voice trembled slightly—not with fear, but fury.

"My wife died. My daughter died. Because of you lot!"

Panny’s brows furrowed, struggling to comprehend.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Greg snapped his gaze away, jaw clenched.

"You don’t need to know."

He stepped toward the side panel.

"The only thing you need to understand is... you’ll both die today."

Without another word, Greg pressed his hand to a scanner near the side of the room. A panel slid open, revealing a narrow passage that led to a secret control room. He entered swiftly, shutting the panel behind him with a metallic hiss.

Inside the control room, the air buzzed with static. He approached the central console and pulled out a remote device from his coat pocket. With a press of a button, nine monitors flickered to life—each screen displaying a different figure.

Some were younger, in their 30s, others middle-aged or late 50s. Each face had one thing in common: power. They weren’t present physically, but their presence on-screen was just as sharp and commanding—a council of elites from the shadows.

At the center screen sat a stoic old man, eyes half-lidded but dangerous.

Greg stood tall before them.

"Hello, everyone."

They didn’t greet him back.

One woman, early 50s, with striking silver hair and a sharp tone, leaned toward her camera.

"The Sheep informed us. You’ve taken teenagers, Greg. You know what happens if this leaks—"

Greg cut in, voice calm but confident.

"Rest assured. None of this will ever trace back to the organization."

A sharp-faced man in his late 30s leaned forward, clearly agitated.

"What do you mean, Greg?! You’ve taken Romanov’s children! The Graves siblings. You do understand who you’ve messed with, right?"

His voice cracked with intensity.

"Romanov is the CEO of BAC—Basketball Asian Company. You think she’ll stay quiet when she hears her children are hostages?"

Greg’s eye twitched, but he held his ground.

"Jed, I know what I’m doing. I’ve taken precautions. They won’t trace this to you. To any of you. They’ll only see me."The old man in the center finally spoke. His voice was cold, deliberate.

"Hmmm... You better be right."

He leaned slightly forward, as if pressing his will through the screen.

"If this causes trouble for the organization..."

A beat.

"...You know what comes next."

Greg’s cocky demeanor flickered for a moment. He swallowed hard, his pride clashing with the gravity of that single threat.

"...Yes, sir."

A man in his early forties, sitting comfortably on one of the screens, decided to change the subject.

"Anyway, Greg... this pill of yours. The one that’s supposed to ’revolutionize’ things. What exactly are we looking at?"

As he heard those words, Greg’s eyes regained their spark. With a quick click on his remote, another monitor lowered from the ceiling and lit up with a live feed.

A high-ceilinged gym appeared on screen, dimly lit with two groups standing at each end of the court. One team wore sleek black and red jerseys labeled "Venganza." The other team wore plain, mismatched jerseys with no logos—clearly unprepared, confused, and out of place.

11 teenagers.

Five of them looked cold, precise, almost mechanical—like soldiers.

The other six ... were just kids.

The man in his 40s leaned in, intrigued.

"Hoh... What’s this?"

Greg’s voice brimmed with pride.

"As you can see, the ones wearing the Venganza jerseys are my test subjects. Five 14-year-olds who were talentless, overlooked, completely average. After taking my pill, however..."

He smirked.

"They’ve become something else entirely. Faster. Stronger. Sharper."

He gestured toward the others.

"And the rest? Ordinary players. Naturally gifted, some even trained. But I wanted to prove something..."

He looked directly at the monitors.

"No matter how good you are—without the pill, you’re obsolete."

The old man rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Hmm... interesting."

But the man in his late 30s suddenly leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the screen.

"Wait a minute... that’s Lucas Graves. And his sister... Charlotte, isn’t it?"

Greg chuckled darkly.

"Correct. They sneaked into my facility along with a few others. So I figured... why not use this intrusion as an opportunity?"

The monitor beside him lit up with another voice—gruff and suspicious. A man in his late 40s leaned into the camera.

"That yellow-haired kid... blue eyes... I’ve seen him before."

Greg didn’t miss a beat.

"Ethan Albarado. Yes, the one who interfered with our project. The one who gave that ointment to the White family’s children."

A woman in her 30s visibly reacted on her screen.

"He’s the reason the Phase I..."

Greg nodded solemnly, then looked at the screen, his voice low and seething.

"Exactly. A thorn in our side from the beginning. But now... he’s here. They all are. And I’ll eliminate them. Every last one."

Another man, late 40s, sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"You better not make this mess bigger than it already is, Greg..."

Greg turned to the glass window, where the arena lights now flared to life.

"Don’t worry. I told you—I planned all of this."

He clenched the remote in his hand and smirked with the weight of obsession.

"This is my show. My revolution. And now...

Sit back, and enjoy the demonstration."

.....

Underground Arena – Metal Floor Court, Dim Lighting, Surveillance Cameras Watching From Above

Six teenagers stood in the middle of a strange, wide-open court, surrounded by towering walls of steel. Overhead, bright lights snapped on, revealing the glossy floor beneath them. On the far end of the court stood five players, each dressed in sleek black-and-red jerseys bearing one word: VENGANZA. They stood like statues, eyes cold, motionless—like predators waiting for the signal to strike.

Ethan Albarado scanned the court, his breath steady. His eyes locked onto the opposing players, then glanced toward the ceiling.

"Calm down... everyone."

His voice was quiet but firm, trying to bring some sense of control to the chaos.

Inside, though, his thoughts were storming.

"(Tsk... There was no ’Venganza’ team in the novel. This... This must be the ripple. Because of me... the plot’s completely off the rails.)"

Louie Gee Davas stumbled forward, hands on his knees, panting.

"What the hell? Where are we?! What is this place?!"

Lucas Graves looked at Ethan, the tension in his face barely hidden.

"What should we do?"

Evan Cooper knelt beside Noah White, checking him over.

"Are you okay, man?"

Noah was shaking—not from fear, but fury.

"Where’s Aiden... and Mom?!"

He whipped around, eyes darting toward every dark corner.

Charlotte Graves stood behind her brother, arms wrapped around herself.

"None of this makes sense. This... this isn’t just a game."

And then, like poison laced in the air, a voice echoed across the arena, amplified and omnipresent.

"You’re probably confused by now." ƒrēenovelkiss.com

Noah’s eyes widened. That voice—

That voice.

He clenched his fists, trembling with rage.

"BASTARD! WHERE DID YOU TAKE MY MOM AND MY BROTHER?!"

A crackling laugh followed. It was Greg.

"Now now... chill. Your mother and brother are safe... for now."

His voice turned darker, more venomous.

"They won’t be safe for too long."

"YOU BASTARD!!" Noah roared, his voice echoing off the metal walls.

Ethan stepped forward, lifting his chin.

"So... why did you bring us here? Is this about playing some game?"

Greg chuckled.

"As expected of you, Ethan Albarado. I know you..."

Ethan’s jaw tightened.

"...You know me?"

"Hmm... well, let’s not spoil everything at once," Greg teased.

"I’ll keep it simple. You six... versus my team: Venganza."

The lights shifted, illuminating the five enhanced players. Their muscles twitched with anticipation, eyes unblinking.

"Beat them in a basketball match... and I’ll let you all go. That includes Aiden and your mother, Noah White."

Noah’s breath hitched. His hands shook, not from fear—but desperation.

"But..." Greg’s tone twisted like a knife.

"...If you lose?"

He paused for effect.

"Then every single one of you... dies."

There was silence. Crushing, suffocating silence.

Then Greg laughed—long, loud, and cruel.

"Of course, I don’t think you’ll win. Because the ones you’re facing... are no longer just players. They are my masterpiece."

The five players from Team Venganza stepped forward—each one distinct, each one exuding a different kind of danger. Their jerseys clung to their well-built frames, and their eyes glowed faintly under the lights, a side effect of the pills coursing through them.

The one at the front—a tall boy with slick black hair and a wicked smirk, spoke first.

"So, these are the people we’re up against?"

He clicked his tongue.

"Tch. I thought they’d at least look like a challenge."

His name, Vin Cruz, the captain of Venganza.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

The pressure coming off Vin alone was suffocating. His presence screamed power and unnatural precision.

Once again, Greg’s voice appeared.

"Now. Show me your spirit.

Or die trying.’"

To be continue