Extra Basket-Chapter 72 - 59: White (15)

A massive reinforced glass window stretched across the far side of the concrete room, cold and unfeeling. It overlooked a long, dim hallway where silence seemed to hang heavy in the air. Inside, two metal chairs were bolted to the floor. On them sat Aiden White, only fourteen, and his mother, Panny White, their hands tightly bound with steel cuffs that chafed at their skin.

Before them, a giant monitor played the ongoing game—The Ordinary vs Venganza. The glow of the screen lit their worried faces, casting deep shadows in the already grey room.

Aiden’s eyes were fixed on the screen. His voice cracked slightly as he muttered,

"Come on guys... win..."

Beside him, Panny, her eyes closed, head slightly bowed. She was praying—not just for a victory, but for something more. For escape. For hope. For her son.

Aiden turned toward her, his voice quiet but serious.

"Mom..."

She opened her eyes slowly and turned to meet his gaze.

"Aiden..."

Then, softly, almost like a whisper of defeat, she said,

"I’m sorry..."

Aiden frowned, confused.

"What are you sorry about?"

Panny hesitated, her lip trembling.

"If... we’re gonna die here, might as well say sorr—"

"No!! Don’t think like that, Mom..."

Aiden’s voice grew louder, sharp with emotion. He stared straight into her eyes, filled with conviction despite the fear lurking inside him.

"They will win... just trust them."

Panny looked at him for a moment, surprised by the strength in his voice. Then she broke down. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she nodded, slowly.

"If only I didn’t accept that offer... perhaps none of this would’ve happened—"

"That’s not true at all!" Aiden cut her off, his voice shaking now, eyes wide with anger and pain.

"It wasn’t about the offer. It was about Greg Tarrow, Mom... He wants revenge on our family because he thinks we ruined his life. But we didn’t even do those things!"

His fists clenched, the cuffs cutting tighter into his skin, but he didn’t care. His voice

trembled as he looked into his mother’s eyes.

"It wasn’t our fault that his business declined... It wasn’t..."

His voice cracked again as the tears came, unrelenting.

"This is fucking unfair... so fucking unfair..."

His ankle throbbed—still not fully healed from the basketball injury he’d gotten days before. And now this—kidnapped, chained up, trapped in a room like some criminal. No doctor. No medicine. Just pain. Just fear.

He was only fourteen.

Just a kid.

And yet, sitting there in that freezing, cement-walled room, Aiden tried his best not to break.

Not for himself.

But for her.

For his mom.

For his team.

Because somewhere out there, he knew his friends were fighting—not just for a win.

But for him.

....

Location: White Corporation HQ

Rain pattered gently against the towering glass windows of the White Corporation headquarters. The soft hum of machines was the only background noise in the dimly lit executive office.

John White, tall, sharp-featured, and usually calm, stood by his massive desk, tension written across his face. Papers and digital reports were scattered everywhere, glowing softly in the dim light. Across from him stood Eric Weck, his long-time assistant and most trusted man.

Eric cleared his throat, lowering his gaze.

"Still nothing, sir..."

John clenched his fist. His voice broke through the air with frustration.

"Shit!!"

He stormed back toward his desk, eyes darting across the report. It was everything they knew so far. The kidnapping. The disappearance. Aiden, Noah, Panny—gone. No traces. No demands. Just... silence.

John slammed the report down. His eyes locked with Eric’s.

"Aiden... Noah... Panny. They’re still out there." His voice was sharp, commanding.

"Find them. I don’t care what methods you use—just find them."

Eric nodded quickly, his face pale but focused.

But John wasn’t done. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"And make sure the police... or anyone else... doesn’t find out about this. If they do—"

He paused, eyes burning.

"They’ll use it against me. Against our family. I won’t let that happen."

Eric swallowed and said firmly,

"Understood, sir. I’ll handle it."

As Eric rushed out, the door hissed shut behind him. The room returned to silence.

John looked up at the rain again. The storm outside mirrored the storm brewing inside him.

He closed his eyes, resting one trembling hand on the desk.

"(Please... be safe, everyone... Just hold on a little longer...)"

His heart ached with guilt and worry. He was the head of the White family. A titan in the

business world. But at this moment, he wasn’t thinking like a CEO.

He was thinking like a father.

...

Meanwhile

1st Quarter – 6:00 In

Score: Thunderhawks 11 – Vorpal Basket 7

The scoreboard flickered. The crowd was deafening.

Coach Fred was screaming again, clipboard flapping in the air like a dying bird.

"CUT! WHO’S ON LENA?! KAI, GET BACK—WHY ARE YOU SHOOTING?!"

But no one was listening.

Because on the court, something else was happening.

Coonie Smith had taken control.

.....

Before that day.

The gym was quiet now, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights buzzing as Ethan and Coonie sat on the bench, catching their breath after a tough practice.

Coonie wiped his face with a towel, looking worn out but also thoughtful. "So... what’s the deal with this ’Two-Two’ play you’ve been talking about? It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before."

Ethan looked at the court, his eyes narrowing as he mapped out every movement in his head. "It’s a rhythm thing, Coonie. This is all about control and pressure."

Coonie tilted his head, confused. "What do you mean?"

Ethan pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his hoodie pocket and unfolded it, revealing a hand-drawn court diagram with arrows and instructions scrawled in the margins. He slid it across to Coonie.

"Here, take a look. This is ’Two-Two.’" Ethan leaned in, pointing at the diagram.

"Two guards up top. That’s you and Josh—normally, Lucas, but today it’s you. The point guard. You’ll have the ball. The key is the spacing."

Coonie studied the diagram, his finger tracing the lines. "Okay, so I’m bringing it up, right?"

Ethan nodded. "Yeah, but you’re not just running a typical offense. Here’s what you’re going to do: You’re gonna start the play by calling for a quick screen from Brandon at the top of the key. He sets the pick, but it’s not a standard screen. He’s going to pivot to slip, giving you a window to drive left or dish out."

Coonie frowned, following the arrows on the paper. "So... we get the pick, and then I go to the basket?"

Ethan smirked, but his eyes were sharp. "Not exactly. You’re going to fake the drive first. Act like you’re going in for the layup, but make the defense bite. The real magic comes when we set the second half of the play in motion."

He pointed to the far side of the court.

"Kai, Josh, and Lucas—when he’s here—have to be ready on the wings. If you drive, they’ll spot up for the shot. If the defense collapses, you kick it out. But if they don’t react fast enough?"

Ethan’s eyes flashed with a quiet confidence. "Then you finish the layup. Simple as that. The pressure of constant movement will wear them down, even if they’re stronger. You’ll make them second-guess every decision."

Coonie looked up from the diagram, processing. "Okay, so we keep cycling through, resetting each time if we don’t score? What if it doesn’t work the first time?"

Ethan’s smile was faint but knowing. "We reset. We run it again. The ’Two-Two’ play isn’t about a single shot. It’s about forcing them to adjust until they crack. That’s where Kai and Josh come in. They’re your wild cards. They’ll start their cuts as the defense shifts."

He turned his attention back to the court, as if seeing it all unfold in his mind.

"The key here is control, Coonie. They’ll want to trap or double you, and when they do, you know what to do—pass. Keep it moving. Just like I told Lucas and Evan. The more they chase, the easier it gets for you to spot the open man."

Coonie leaned back against the bench, thinking hard. "So it’s not just about us. It’s about them playing our game. Our speed. We control the tempo."

"Exactly," Ethan said, standing up. "We play smarter, not harder. They’re not ready for this."

Coonie stood up too, eyes now full of purpose. "Alright. I’m in. But you’ve got to be there when I need you."

Ethan gave a quiet chuckle, patting him on the back. "Don’t worry. Even if I’m not on the floor... I’m always there. Just trust it. And when you hit that shot... I’ll be watching."

.....

Back in the Present - Game Time

The whistle blew, signaling the start of the game.

On the court, Coonie called out confidently:

"TWO! TWO!"

Josh Turner and Kai Mendoza quickly moved into position, as Brandon Young slid into his spot near the top of the key.

Coonie dribbled the ball up, eyes scanning the defense. He could already see the Thunderhawks’ defense shifting, just like Ethan said they would. Lena Kowalski was glued to him, but she was starting to move more predictably. They were reacting to him.

Coonie hit the top of the key, just as Brandon set the pick, pivoting toward the basket.

He faked the drive—Lena bit on it—and Coonie’s eyes flicked to the wing where Kai was already starting his cut.

"Just like Ethan said... pressure. Keep moving."

He kicked it out to Kai, who caught the ball mid-air, his form perfect as he launched a three-pointer.

The ball sailed through the air. Swish.

Score: Thunderhawks 11 – Vorpal Basket 10

...

Meanwhile, on the court...

The score stood at 4:2—Venganza was leading.

The timeout buzzer echoed through the arena as both teams hustled back to their respective benches.

The atmosphere was tense. The game had a different rhythm here compared to regular school basketball. The quarters were only four minutes long, which meant each second counted more than ever. Every possession, every shot, every defensive play held more weight.

Vin Cruz, the captain of Venganza, stood at the edge of the court, glancing at the scoreboard with a self-assured smirk. His eyes drifted toward the Ordinary Team—Ethan and his teammates, all looking determined but clearly outmatched in this high-stakes game.

"No matter what they do," Vin muttered, his voice dripping with arrogance, "they can’t beat us."

Beside him, Kaia Volt, the lightning-quick Shooting Guard, glanced nervously at Vin, her usual confident demeanor faltering.

"Um..." she began, unsure of herself.

Vin turned his attention to her, eyebrow raised.

"What?" he asked, his voice slightly impatient.

The moment the words left Vin’s mouth, Kaia seemed to shrink under the weight of everyone’s gaze. The intensity of the moment was too much for her, and suddenly, her entire body language shifted. She didn’t just get nervous—she became a completely different person. Zaia, her alternate personality, emerged. Her posture straightened, and her shy demeanor was replaced by something more feral, more unsettling.

With an almost manic gleam in her eyes, Zaia smiled, her tone childishly eager.

"Can I play them? Can I crush them? Crush them!" she giggled, her excitement almost disturbing.

Vin observed her briefly, unfazed by the sudden switch. He didn’t mind if Zaia played a little rough—after all, that was part of her nature. But he knew the game was delicate, and one misstep could cost them.

"You can play with them, Zaia," Vin said, a smirk tugging at his lips, "but don’t foul them... or else there will be consequences."

Zaia’s face immediately dropped, her pout turning her childlike demeanor almost comical.

"Aww!!" she groaned, but despite the disappointment, her energy was still charged.

Then, out of nowhere, Zeke Monroe, the team’s Small Forward, spoke up, his voice roughly calm but carrying an underlying edge of confidence.

"Not fouling them doesn’t mean you can’t crush them."

Zaia blinked, clearly intrigued.

"Hmm?" she hummed, trying to process Zeke’s words.

Zeke, elaborated with a sly grin.

"You can crush them and foul them without actually fouling them," he said, the tone of his voice suggesting a deeper, more dangerous approach.

Zaia’s eyes lit up, now fully onboard with the idea. She nodded enthusiastically.

"Ooooh, I get it now!" she said, her excitement returning full force.

From across the court, Silas Korrin, the massive Center and the team’s Paint Protector, furrowed his brow, clearly confused by the conversation.

"The hell does that mean?" he asked, not entirely following.

Dante Cruz, the sharp-eyed Power Forward, and the Vision Specialist of the team, just glanced over at Silas, keeping his cool as always. His eyes locked onto the court, seemingly lost in thought, not even bothering to respond.

The rest of the team settled into their huddle, the tension thick.

To be continue