Extra Basket-Chapter 74 - 61: White (17)

Monitor 6: A man in a gray blazer with sharp features leaned forward.

He murmured with interest, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Interesting... There’s someone at that level on Vorpal Basket? I thought only Lucas and Ethan were threats."

He sat back, crossing one leg over the other, lips curling into a faint smirk.

"I should keep an eye on that one. If he can do that under pressure, he’s got more than instinct. He’s trained."

In Monitor 8: A loud, unfiltered laugh rang out.

"AHAHAHA! To think your experiment is getting outshined by these so-called ’ordinary’ humans you kept brushing off!"

The man was in his early 40s, broad-shouldered and clad in a deep maroon suit with gold cufflinks. He spoke like a man who’d seen war and now enjoyed chaos as comedy.

"This is pure entertainment, Greg! You couldn’t have scripted this better!"

Highblood scowled from Monitor 9, but before she could retort, Greg’s voice cut through—calm, but with an edge.

"These kids... they’re the talented ones. The ones my team faced. They’re not just any street players."

The man on Monitor 8 raised a brow. "Then maybe you should start calling them talented instead of ’ordinary,’ don’t you think? HAHAHA!"

Greg’s lips curled, but he held his ground. His pride wouldn’t let him back down.

"I told you," He said, pacing in front of the screens now, "I told all of you from the start—I would prove something."

He turned to the monitor bank, eyes sharp, voice slicing clean through the laughter.

"These so-called talents? They’re just ordinary... the same as any untalented trash—"

He tapped the glass showing his enhanced players.

"—if the untalented have my pill."

Silence followed. A heavy silence.

Greg looked at the silent faces on the monitors, his gaze piercing through each of them, his confidence unwavering even as the air grew heavy with tension.

He broke the silence with a cold, calculated statement.

"They will win against the talented players."

His words hung in the air like a declaration, a challenge thrown into the midst of doubt. The camera angles flickered slightly as the higher-ups processed his bold claim.

....

1:19 remaining – First Quarter. Tie Game: 4–3

The ball bounced back to the Venganza side.

Silas Korrin picked it up and passed it to their point guard—Vin Cruz, the calm, calculating leader with eyes like stormclouds.

As they gathered in a quick formation near half-court, Zeke Monroe broke the silence.

"They’re really good... at this rate..." he said, his voice tight, sweat trickling down his jaw.

Vin didn’t answer at first. He reached into his waistband—and pulled out a small silver pill.

A flick of light hit it. Metallic. Unnatural.

"You don’t need to worry," Vin said coldly, his voice unwavering as he held it up.

Dante Cruz, the Vision Specialist and Vin’s younger brother, looked shocked. "Brother... this one... this isn’t the same as the last."

Vin gave a small smirk. "It’s stronger. This one was made just for us. With this—we’ll go beyond anything they can imagine."

Silas Korrin, towering and silent for most of the game, frowned. "But... what if there’s a side effect? Last time, we felt pain after it wore off."

Vin’s eyes narrowed. "You don’t need to worry."

He stepped forward into their loose huddle.

"Remember why we did this."

The pause was heavy.

Kaia Volt, who had been unusually quiet—her usual chaotic grin gone—looked down, lips pursed.

Dante scratched the back of his neck, voice low.

"Let’s do this, guys. As Brother said... we became experiments for a reason. Because we’re—"

"Orphans." Silas finished. His deep voice echoed slightly in the empty court.

He glanced up at the flickering overhead lights, shadows moving across his sharp features.

Vin nodded.

"Our parents died. Our blood relatives didn’t want us. They cast us aside like trash. But we all found one thing we loved—"

"Basketball," Kaia said quietly, her voice almost childlike.

Vin stepped back, eyes locked on the enemy team.

"We didn’t have the talent. We were weak. But then Sir Greg gave us this chance—to rewrite our fates. He gave us these pills, this strength."

He crushed the pill between his fingers. A faint blue light shimmered for a second before vanishing.

Vin looked at his teammates—his brothers and sister in arms.

"Now we’ll show them. Why we’re still here. Why we play."

...

After they take the pill on the court

The atmosphere... shifted.

It was subtle at first. Like a cold draft in a sealed room. But then...

Kaia’s laugh broke the silence.

Not loud. Not wild.

Just soft... and strange.

She turned her head to the side like a doll, her eyes wide with a flicker of something off.

Zeke’s muscles tensed.

His movements, which had been reactive and human, now had a calculated stiffness—like a machine learning mid-motion.

His stance dropped lower. His eyes—sharpened.

Dante Cruz exhaled slowly, then blinked. Once. Twice.

And suddenly... his gaze became cold. Distant. As if he wasn’t seeing the court anymore—but possibilities. Probabilities. Paths.

Silas let out a slow breath—his back straightening, neck cracking with an audible pop.

The ground beneath him seemed smaller. His presence... heavier.

And then Vin.

He just stood there. Still. Calm.

And yet, Ethan felt it.

He felt it like a wave crashing into the air around him—an invisible force. Pressure.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

(No... They took something. Is it Another pill?.)

He gripped the ball tighter, sweat dripping from his temple.

Louie noticed it too. His instincts from the street courts kicked in. Something was wrong. This wasn’t just adrenaline or hype—this was power. Artificial. Raw. Twisted.

Charlotte, still adjusting to the pace of the game, stepped closer to Ethan.

"Something feels wrong..." she whispered, more to herself than anyone.

Lucas, trying to suppress the shiver down his spine, nodded slightly.

(The old man... the pill I took... is this the same? Are they the same as me?)

Only Noah, sitting alone on the bench, knew exactly what this meant.

He stood. His fists clenched.

"They..." he said quietly, voice filled with dread.

"Greg... you bastard. You pushed them too far."

Back on the court, Vin took a single dribble.

It echoed.

Not loud.

But with finality.

Vin Cruz raised his eyes toward Ethan.

"Let’s see how long your will lasts," he said softly.

And then, Venganza moved. freewebnσvel.cѳm

All five of them—simultaneously.

Not just in sync.

In perfect, inhuman coordination.

Like they’d rehearsed this play a thousand times. Like they could feel each other’s thoughts.

Like something inside them had clicked into place.

Ethan’s eyes widened.

"Shit," he muttered.

(This... isn’t just basketball anymore.)

...

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The echo of footsteps wasn’t normal anymore. It was heavier. Rhythmic. Calculated.

(They’re faster... more precise... this isn’t the same team I was just up against seconds ago.)

Ethan gritted his teeth, eyes scanning the court like a hawk.

Vin didn’t need to say anything now.

His presence was screaming.

His dribble? It was like thunder in a tunnel.

(He’s baiting me.)

Ethan took a breath.

Focus. Focus, dammit.

You’ve seen this. You’ve read plays. You know how to break through pressure.

Vin’s body moved with something different now. Not just speed—but refinement, like

someone had removed the limiter from his instincts.

Like the court bent slightly around him.

Ethan backed up slightly, his knees bent, eyes locked on Vin.

"Watch him," he called out.

"They took something. He’s not the same."

Vin dribbled up, slow—calculated.

He didn’t rush.

He didn’t need to.

Zeke cut left, dragging Charlotte with him.

Dante motioned to the elbow, setting a moving screen on Lucas.

Kaia darted into the corner she then turned into Zaia—her smile became disturbingly wide.

And Silas? He planted in the post like a damn boulder.

(They’re running a triangle... no—something faster. Modified. Sharper. Coordinated.)

Vin passed it to Dante, who barely looked—then immediately lobbed it up—

To Kaia.

She caught it mid-air.

Turned.

And shot from the corner.

No hesitation.

Nothing but net.

Venganza was now in the lead.

Ethan clenched his fists.

(That wasn’t just good execution. That was perfect timing. Perfect movement. They’re not reading us anymore—they’re anticipating us. Like they’re always one second ahead.)

He glanced at the others.

Lucas’s eyes widened. Charlotte looked stunned. Even Louie’s jaw clenched.

Ethan took a step toward the inbound.

"This isn’t just talent," he muttered.

(It’s the pill. It has to be. Their presence, their awareness, even their strength—it’s all enhanced. Artificially.)

"Ethan!" Lucas called.

Ethan snapped out of it—looked to his teammate.

(Right. This isn’t over. They scored, but that’s not the end.)

He caught the inbound from Evan.

Palmed the ball.

Took a breath.

(Alright Ethan...We’re still in this. No matter what they took, they bleed like anyone else. We just need to fight smarter.)

He looked at Vin again.

Their eyes locked across the court.

Vin smiled.

"Let’s see if you can keep up now."

..

Ethan stood at the baseline, gripping the ball tightly for the inbound.

Across from him stood Lucas, already signaling for the pass, guarded loosely by Vin Cruz—but Ethan could feel it.

Vin wasn’t relaxed. He was baiting. Waiting.

Ethan’s eyes darted across the court—Louie on the left wing, Evan near half court, Charlotte curling off a slow screen—but Lucas was closest.

"Heads up," Ethan muttered, and bounced the ball hard to Lucas.

The moment it touched his fingers—

Vin pounced.

Not a second late. Not a step wasted.

SLAP—!

The ball was gone before Lucas could even gather it.

"What the—?!"

Vin scooped it in one clean motion, his body already twisting into the lane.

No dribble wasted. Just a straight line to the basket.

Ethan tried to cut him off, sprinting back, but Vin had the angle, the speed, and the confidence.

Layup. Clean.

The ball kissed the glass and dropped through.

Score: 6 – 3

(Venganza leads by 3 points now.)

Lucas stood frozen at the top of the key, arms still in catching form, staring at the empty air where the ball used to be.

Ethan clenched his jaw.

(Vin didn’t just steal that... he predicted it. Lucas’s rhythm, my timing....it’s like he already knew.)

He jogged back, patting Lucas on the shoulder as they regrouped.

Lucas whispered, "He was too fast. I couldn’t even move..."

Ethan nodded, thoughts racing. (shit... they became even more troublesome)

Charlotte stepped in, voice calm but sharp.

"He read your rhythm."

They turned to her.

"What do you mean read?" Lucas asked.

Charlotte crossed her arms, eyes locked on Vin. "Lucas, you telegraphed it. You always shift your right foot before you catch, Ethan’s pass was sharp, But... Vin’s seems like using vision reading, like Dante. They’re syncing."

Lucas furrowed his brow. "Vision reading? What does that even mean?"

Charlotte didn’t flinch. Her tone was low, fast—focused.

"It’s when a player reads not just one person but everyone’s positions, tendencies, and tiny muscle movements. A twitch. A breath. A shift in weight. They process it in real time, almost like instinct. And it’s not just seeing, it’s understanding what’s coming next."

Lucas’s eyes narrowed. "Like predictive movement?"

Charlotte nodded. "Exactly. It’s like they already watched the play five seconds before it happened."

Evan muttered, "That’s insane... how would you even know that?"

Charlotte’s gaze didn’t leave Vin.

"Because that’s how I learned to survive in my own game.

Lucas said, with understanding "Sis..."

Ethan stared at Charlotte "(Hmm... Vision Reading huh? .... It looks like she was right...)"

Across the court, Vin grinned wide, jogging backward into position, holding up one finger with a smirk.

Zaia laughed from the side, spinning playfully on her heels.

Dante adjusted his headband. Silas cracked his neck. Zeke nodded, already locking onto Charlotte again.

Louie muttered, "We can’t keep playing like this..."

Ethan exhaled slowly.

"Then we change the pace."

He glanced at the clock.

0:44 remaining. First quarter.

Still time. But the war had begun.

To be continue