Extra Basket-Chapter 78 - 65: White (21)

After Minute of playing

Score: Venganza 18 – Ordinary 15

Ethan jogged back on defense, breathing slow, calm. His eyes never left the movement of Venganza’s players.

Across from him, Vin Cruz dribbled up, his steps tight and precise. A rhythm player. But rhythm can be broken.

"He’s shifting again," Ethan thought. "Trying to bait me into biting early. I won’t."

Vin crossed halfcourt and called out a signal.

"Dante, screen!" Vin snapped.

Dante stepped up, solid and square.

"Switch it!" Ethan called out.

Evan rotated up, and Ethan dropped back—seamless switch.

Vin hesitated.

"They didn’t fall for it?" he thought, eyes narrowing. He kicked the ball to Zeke Monroe on the wing.

Zeke drove—hard. Louie met him at the arc, arms wide. Zeke twisted, spun—

"Collapse the paint!" Ethan shouted.

Evan helped, Louie pivoted, and Zeke had nowhere to go. He kicked it out to Kaia Volt in the corner.

Charlotte was already there.

"They’re reading us..." Vin gritted his teeth.

Kaia launched the shot under pressure—

Clang.

Rebound. Louie snatched it. Fast outlet to Ethan.

He was already sprinting.

The court opened wide.

"Again," Ethan whispered. "Same shape. Same bait. New result."

...

They reset at the top. Venganza hustled back. Vin motioned for tighter coverage.

Ethan waited for the five to get into position.

"(Louie, fake drag, then flare.

Charlotte, lift out, then dive.

Evan, cut then screen for Lucas.)"

The play started like before.

Lucas moved right, drawing Zeke.

Then—Ethan shouted.

"Now, Lucas!"

Time cracked.

Lucas exploded.

The court blurred. His legs blurred. A phantom.

"Allen Iverson Speed—!"

Zeke blinked—and Lucas was gone.

"W-what?" Zeke gasped, trying to turn.

Too late.

Lucas slipped through the gap like wind between trees. Charlotte’s fake dive dragged Kaia down. Louie flared, pulling Dante wider.

And in the gap, Ethan launched a perfect no-look pass—curved and timed to land just as Lucas arrived.

He caught it in motion.

One dribble.

Step.

Bang. Slam.

The rim shook.

Vin’s eyes widened. " That... speed...!"

Ethan stared back, calm. "Shocking, isn’t it?"

...

Back on defense, Venganza ball

Vin clenched his fists.

"He’s breaking our control. Our tempo."

Zeke looked at his hands.

"What’s wrong with me...

Dante glanced at Silas.

"We need to adjust. He’s seeing through everything."

But Silas just stood in the paint, unmoving.

"No..." he said. "He is controlling it."

.......

On the bench, Noah sat up straight, hands tight around his shorts.

He looked at Ethan, who now walked with slow purpose, like a general with the war mapped out.

"Just... how far ahead is he thinking?" Noah whispered.

And Ethan, without turning, almost as if hearing him, raised a hand.

"Get ready, Noah," he said quietly. "Next is your moment."

Noah’s breath caught in his throat.

"Y-yes."

He clenched his fists.

And waited for the storm to carry him next.

....

Meanwhile...

The low hum of machines filled the control room like a quiet storm—constant, pulsing, alive with tension. Fluorescent lights blinked in rhythm, their soft glow casting shadows against the metal panels and glass monitors.

On Monitor 6, the moment still played back in a loop—Lucas mid-air, his body curved toward the rim.

The man leaned back, rubbing his chin.

"You all saw that, right?" he muttered. "That wasn’t just some flashy pass. That was a message."

No one spoke. They didn’t have to. Every monitor told the same story.

On Monitor 1, the old man, leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his lips. His face was unreadable—just two sharp eyes beneath shadow.

"Jason Williams’s vision. Iverson’s speed. And now... what will he copy next?"

On Monitor 7, a man, He pointed directly at Lucas’s frame on screen.

"He waited," he said, voice dry with disbelief. "He didn’t even use the speed at first. He let them think they were still in control. That’s psychological warfare."

Monitor 8 crackled to life.

"It seems like your team cannot beat them, Greg," a younger voice said, followed by a smug laugh.

Greg clenched his jaw.

"No... they can. They just..."

"They just what?" the old man from Monitor 1 cut in, voice cold and sharp. "Greg... don’t disappoint us. We fund your experiment. We give you your machines, your models, your simulations. If this is all your little project amounts to..." He paused. "Then you disappoint us."

Greg’s hands curled into fists. He stared at the scoreboard

VENGANZA: 18

ORDINARY: 16

Two points. A breath of distance. A breath from losing control.

"No," Greg hissed. "This isn’t over. They just need to wake up."

His hand slammed a button.

...

The court.

A voice suddenly boomed from hidden speakers all around the arena. It echoed over the court, chilling, artificial.

"VENGANZA!! Don’t make me disappointed!!"

Vin Cruz’s eyes twitched. He looked up at the speaker.

"Tch," he muttered, teeth grinding. "Even the Control Room’s panicking."

He turned back toward the court, gripping the ball like it owed him something. He glanced at his teammates.

Kaia Volt. Locked and loaded.

Zeke Monroe. Eyes focused, jaw tight.

Dante Cruz. Calm, already moving into position.

Silas Korrin. Silent, arms crossed like iron bars waiting to collapse.

Vin threw the ball to Dante for the inbound.

Dante caught, scanned, then passed it back immediately.

Vin walked the ball up.

"Focus," he said, low but sharp. "Forget the noise. Forget the flair. They’re not better than us. We’re the system. We are Venganza."

He scanned the defense. Ethan stood front and center, crouched low, reading everything.

"Let’s see how well you read this," Vin thought, eyes narrowing.

"Zeke—cross. Kaia—curl in. Dante—screen then pop. Silas—seal and crash."

It was their old reliable. A play called Pulselock.

They’d run it a hundred times.

Perfect every time.

Vin drove right, then snapped a no-look pass behind to Kaia—curling in hard.

But Ethan had already rotated.

Kaia caught and hesitated—he wasn’t open. Louie was there now, arms up.

Kaia forced it anyway.

The ball left his fingers—

Smack!

Charlotte tipped it midair.

Evan caught it. Turned. Passed it to Ethan without looking.

Transition.

Ethan didn’t even slow down.

Ethan stormed down the court like lightning bottled in sneakers. Every bounce of the ball was measured, precise. His eyes scanned everything—Vin shadowing the middle, Zeke rotating right, Kaia recovering, Silas already stepping in to clog the paint.

Another Clarity Card active.

Time felt slower.

The court looked wider.

Options bloomed like blueprints in his mind.

"Now."

"Flow Trigger."

A faint golden shimmer flickered in his eyes.

Speed +3. Rhythm unlocked.

His breath synced with his heartbeat.

Evan curled toward the wing—drawing Zeke just enough.

Louie dragged Kaia with a cut to the left.

Charlotte sprinted wide, then stopped, selling a fake and yanking Silas’s attention with her.

Lucas still waited at the top, baiting. Watching.

Then came the gap.

A crease barely visible between Dante and Vin. A gap born from milliseconds.

To most players, it wouldn’t matter.

But Ethan wasn’t most players.

He dropped low.

"Exploit it."

One dribble. Two steps.

He sliced through the seam like a knife through silk.

Vin reached out—too late.

Dante turned—too slow.

Silas rotated—too far.

"Charlotte!"

The ball fired out of Ethan’s hand like a bullet.

Charlotte caught it in the corner—wide open

"Shoot it."

One heartbeat. One breath.

The shot soared.

Swish.

The net snapped like a whip.

Then Ethan look at Noah

"(Noah...)" Ethan thought. "(Sorry it seems It’s not the time yet... until I completely make that plan)"

....

The scoreboard glowed ominously:

VENGANZA: 18

ORDINARY: 17

The underground buzzed with tension.

Then the static crackled.

Greg’s voice boomed from the hidden speakers above the court.

"What the hell is this?! Is this the best you can do, Venganza?! Remember what I said!"

Everyone froze for half a second.

Vin Cruz clenched his teeth as Greg’s words echoed in his head.

"No... We have to win this game."

He took the ball from the referee, hands tighter than before.

His eyes were shadowed—not by fear, but pressure.

Kaia Volt stepped beside him. "How?" she whispered. "He—Ethan—he predicts everything we do..."

Dante Cruz looked down, his voice low and heavy.

"That Ethan Albarado... he’s reading our setups like he’s inside our huddle."

Then, Zeke Monroe broke the silence.

"I know how... we just have to fucking do it."

His tone was sharp, eyes blazing.

Silas Korrin turned toward him, confused.

"You mean..."

Zeke gave a slow nod.

"Yeah... that’s what I meant."

Vin turned sharply, locking eyes with Zeke.

"No. We don’t have to do those kinds of things."

Zeke’s jaw tensed.

"But we can’t defeat them if we play fair—"

"Enough. I said no!"

Zeke didn’t argue. He looked away and clenched his fists.

"Fine..."

.....

Back on the court, the possession began.

Vin passed to Kaia.

Kaia quickly moved left, trying to create separation.

Charlotte tracked her closely—eyes sharp, footwork tight.

Kaia faked a step-back, then drove baseline.

Silas set a quick off-ball screen.

Zeke cut toward the elbow.

Dante floated right, spacing the floor.

Kaia stopped short, pivoted, and passed back to Vin—who was now at the top of the arc.

Vin hesitated.

Ethan stood in front of him like a wall of calm chaos.

Not reacting. Not flinching. Just waiting.

Vin faked right, crossed left.

Ethan mirrored. No bite.

"He’s not guessing... he knows..." Vin thought.

Dante shouted from the wing.

"Now! Switch it!"

Zeke came curling around Silas for a pass.

He caught it, eyes burning with rage—dribbled once, planted his foot—

"I’ll end this!"

His voice rang out across the gym, loud, furious.

But—

"Not on my watch!!"

Charlotte burst into view like lightning. Her feet moved before her thoughts did, body driven by instinct and duty.

Zeke’s eyes widened for half a second.

"(Shit... What should I do?)"

He didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

He jumped.

Charlotte leaped with him, arms outstretched—clean contest.

But Zeke had already committed.

He swung his elbow out for balance. Whether he meant it or not—

CRACK!

His elbow slammed into Charlotte’s face mid-air.

She didn’t cry out—just fell.

Blood flew in an arc like paint on canvas.

Zeke released the ball. It left his fingertips with perfect rotation.

Swish.

The basket counted.

But no one cheered.

Because Charlotte’s body crumpled to the floor, lifeless for a beat, a pool of crimson blooming beneath her short black hair.

"SIS!!!"

Lucas’s voice ripped across the court like a thunderclap.

He was already moving, running toward her.

The ref raised his whistle—blowing hard.

"Defensive foul! Count the basket!"

Silence.

Then chaos.

"The fuck?! Defensive foul?! What’s that for!!"

Louie roared from behind the arc, stepping toward the ref.

On the bench, Noah stood frozen. Evan’s hand covered his mouth.

Zeke stepped back, breathing heavy—looking down at his hands. A flicker of something passed through his eyes.

Ethan didn’t move at first.

He wasn’t just shocked—he was pulled back.

Pulled into something deeper.

A memory. A trauma. Something he hadn’t faced in a long time.

But Charlotte’s soft voice cracked the haze.

"I’m... okay..."

Her words were slurred, blurred.

She was trying to sit up.

Her eyes unfocused, blood dripping down her cheek, hair stuck to her temple. She looked more ghost than human.

But Ethan knew.

She wasn’t okay. Not at all.

Ethan then took a steadying breath, the noise of the crowd melting into static. His hand slid casually toward his waistband—anyone watching would’ve thought he was adjusting his jersey.

But in his mind, a silent command echoed like instinct.

[Basic Healing Ointment x1 — Used]

A faint shimmer pulsed beneath the fabric of his shorts, and then, like warm breath in cold air, the ointment materialized in his palm. Soft and glowing with a gentle golden-blue hue, it looked almost divine.

He lowered himself beside Charlotte, who was half-sitting, half-swaying—her hands trembling, her short black hair streaked with blood.

His eyes—sharp and unwavering—softened as they met hers.

"You’re not okay," he said, barely above a whisper. A tone meant for no one but her.

Charlotte didn’t argue. Didn’t nod. She just blinked, slowly. Her lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something, but the words never came.

Ethan moved gently.

He pushed aside the blood-matted strands of hair on her temple, exposing the gash where Zeke’s elbow had landed. His fingers were precise, careful. He dabbed the salve onto the wound in circular motions.

The ointment shimmered for a heartbeat—then vanished into her skin, leaving only a faint glow. The bleeding stopped. The swelling faded. The color began to return to her cheeks.

As he worked, a shadow dropped to his side.

Lucas.

He hit his knees beside Charlotte without a word. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, but his face remained unreadable. Calm—but only on the outside.

He watched Ethan’s hands. Watched the salve. Watched his sister breathe.

Ethan, without glancing up, said softly:

"Don’t worry. You know what this ointment does, right?"

Lucas’s jaw tightened.

"Yeah..."

He nodded once. The tension didn’t leave his body, but something in his shoulders relaxed—barely.

Just a few feet away, Louie, Evan, and Noah had gathered. The game had paused. But no one moved, no one spoke.

They all just watched Ethan.

Meanwhile Ethan mind heard those words again when he was still Jonathan Brandit in that accident...

"Help!!!... Help me!!"

The words echoed again in his head, words from his past—his real past. Before this world. Before the name Ethan Albarado meant anything.

His jaw clenched, and his fists curled at his sides. He felt helpless again—trapped in a memory he’d buried under a hundred layers of smiles and second chances.

Then—

A voice.

So soft it barely cut through the fog.

"Ethan..."

Charlotte. Barely a whisper. But it was like a crack of thunder. A thread in the dark pulling him back.

Ethan then wiped the sweat from his brow, slipped back into calm, and with a quiet chuckle, added—

"Guess you’re tougher than you look."

Charlotte blinked slowly confused. Her silver eyes found Ethan’s, soft but tired, almost glassy.

Ethan then gently brushed a streak of blood from her cheek and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Then, without a word, he stood.

He turned toward the bench.

"Noah. Sub in for Charlotte."

Noah blinked.

Then nodded. His hands were shaking, but he clenched them into fists.

"It’s time for you to shine."

Noah jogged toward the scorer’s table, his movements gaining confidence with every step.

Ethan extended a hand to Charlotte. She took it, and he helped her gently to her feet, keeping her steady as her balance returned.

Lucas stood too, towering slightly over Ethan, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

He didn’t say anything right away.

But his eyes—

Those golden eyes.

They weren’t tired anymore.

They were burning.

With anger. With clarity. With intent.

He stared across the court at Zeke, who stood by the three-point line.

And then Lucas spoke, his voice low, cold, and razor-sharp:

"I’ll crush you."

Zeke froze.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face.

He tried to brush it off, act unfazed—but there was something about Lucas now that made his stomach twist.

Something that didn’t feel human.

Golden eyes, glowing like fire beneath a calm surface.

They weren’t ordinary.

They were something else.

To be continue