Extra Basket-Chapter 80 - 67: White (23)

Venganza 21 – Ordinary 18

2:40 minutes left

Timeout: Venganza

The underground court felt alive with tension.

The fluorescent lights flickered faintly, casting cold, sterile beams over the waxed floor.

There were no roaring fans.

No friends or families watching.

No camera flashes.

Only the players.

The solitary referee standing near center court, stone-faced.

And high above, hidden behind tinted glass walls, the quiet watchers from the Monitor Room — the real audience.

The entire space felt like a sealed vault.

A battlefield where only skill—and something darker—would decide the victors.

Near the Venganza bench, Vin Cruz stood with arms crossed, unmoving.

His shadow stretched long under the harsh ceiling lights, cutting across the floor like a blade.

His face was unreadable.

Calm.

Cold.

But those who knew him best could see it—the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, the storm raging behind his eyes.

Nearby, Kaia stirred restlessly.

No—Zaia had surfaced.

The shift in her was immediate, violent.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH! I WANT TO CRUSH THEM SO BAD!!!"

Her maniacal laughter echoed against the concrete walls, sounding almost feral in the empty underground court.

Somewhere across the court, a few of the Ordinary players glanced over, disturbed by the sudden eruption.

Vin simply lifted his hand.

"Everyone."

The single word dropped into the tense air like a hammer.

Silence slammed down.

Even Zaia, with her fractured mind, fell quiet.

Because no matter how wild they became, they all respected Vin.

Zeke Monroe scoffed under his breath, arms crossed.

"Tsk."

Dante Cruz, standing closer to him, shot Zeke a knowing glance.

"Looks like you woke him up, Zeke," Dante said softly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Zeke clicked his tongue again.

"Tsk... How the hell was I supposed to know that girl would block me?!" he muttered, glaring back at Dante.

Behind them, Silas — Venganza’s wall of muscle — cracked his knuckles one by one.

Each pop echoed through the empty court, sounding more ominous than it should have.

He rumbled low:

"What should we do... Captain?"

All their eyes were drawn back to Vin.

He hadn’t moved an inch.

Only his eyes, narrowed, flickered with decision.

"Don’t worry..." he said, voice low and steady.

"I’ll do what needs to be done."

Dante stiffened, sensing something was wrong.

Something different.

And then Vin reached into the waistband of his shorts.

Fingers curled around something small.

The team collectively leaned forward.

It wasn’t one of the usual pills that handed out with vague promises and a consequence.

This was different.

A prototype.

The rumors about it had spread among them in hushed, fearful whispers.

Stronger.

Faster.

But unfinished.

Unstable.

In Vin’s mind, Greg’s voice replayed itself, calm but carrying the weight of finality:

"You’ll be faster. Stronger. Beyond what they can handle. But the third pill..."

He had paused then, fixing Vin with an unusually grave look.

"It’ll tear you apart from the inside if you’re not careful."

Vin stared down at the pill lying cold and heavy in his palm.

His teammates watched, unmoving.

Even Zaia held her breath.

Dante stepped forward instinctively, voice rough with fear.

"Brother... that’s a—"

Vin silenced him with a single look.

"Don’t worry," Vin whispered.

"Everything... will be according to his plan."

His grip tightened.

For half a heartbeat, doubt flickered across his face.

But then—

He crushed the pill between his teeth.

Swallowed it dry.

The reaction was instant.

Fire tore down his throat and exploded inside his chest, like swallowing molten iron.

His muscles seized, his lungs burned, his heart roared in his ears.

He stumbled one step—

then caught himself.

The world blurred.

Tilted.

Then—

SNAP.

Everything locked into sharp, hyper-real focus.

The overhead lights burned brighter.

The faint buzz of the monitors high above droned louder.

Even the tiny shift of dust swirling above the court was visible to him now.

Vin exhaled.

Steam — real, physical steam — drifted off his shoulders in faint tendrils.

He rolled his neck slowly, every vertebra popping in sequence.

The ground beneath his sneakers seemed to crackle with barely restrained power.

"For my team," he thought grimly.

"For my family."

The others watched, wide-eyed and frozen.

They had seen it.

They knew what it meant.

The Captain had crossed the line.

And there was no going back.

The referee on the court—one of Greg’s own men—glanced briefly at Vin.

A hint of unease flickered across even his trained face.

....

Above, in the Monitor Room, Greg leaned forward slightly in his chair, fingers drumming against the armrest with sharp, deliberate taps.

On monitor 8, man called drew whistled under his breath.

"He actually took it..."

Another masked watcher laughed low and cruel.

"Now it begins..."

.....

The sharp blast of the referee’s whistle cut through the heavy underground air.

Time resumed.

Zeke moved first, snapping the ball into play.

A crisp inbound pass flew toward Vin Cruz, who caught it cleanly at the top of the key.

For a second—

just a breath—

Vin stood there motionless, his head bowed.

The ball rested against his palm, his fingers curling around it lightly.

He inhaled once, deeply—

—and exhaled, a faint mist rising from his mouth like smoke from a furnace.

The court itself seemed to shrink under the weight of his presence.

Ethan Albarado tensed, heart hammering in his chest.

"He’s different," Ethan thought, eyes narrowing.

"Something’s wrong. What’s going on...?"

Vin lifted his head.

And for the first time, Ethan saw it up close—

Vin’s irises had turned a ghostly, unnatural white.

No pupils.

No warmth.

No humanity.

Just a cold, blank void staring back at him.

"What the...?" Ethan whispered under his breath, a chill crawling up his spine.

Then—

without warning—

Vin moved.

The ball slammed into the hardwood as he dribbled once, low and violent, then exploded forward.

Ethan lunged to meet him—

but Vin wasn’t there.

A brutal cross-over whipped the ball from left to right, and Vin slipped past Ethan like mist, leaving him staggering off-balance.

Ethan whipped his head around, desperately trying to track him—

—but Vin was already two steps ahead.

Lucas Graves cut across the lane, arms wide, trying to intercept.

For a split second, it looked like he had the angle.

But Vin never intended to go through him.

With a blur of motion, Vin feinted left—

—Lucas bit, shifting his weight—

—and Vin spun violently to the right, the ball a natural extension of his body.

The rotation was so tight, so fast, that Lucas stumbled, completely fooled.

Now clear, Vin surged toward the rim.

Evan Cooper and Noah White reacted instinctively, sliding over to form a desperate double-team.

They leapt—

arms reaching, fingers stretching—

—but they were a beat too slow.

Vin rose into the air—

high, effortless, almost gliding—

and released the shot with chilling precision.

The ball arced cleanly, almost lazily, above their fingertips.

Swish.

The net snapped sharply as the ball cut through.

The scoreboard flickered.

Venganza 22 – Ordinary 18.

The sound of the ball striking the floor after falling through the hoop echoed loud in the near-empty underground court.

For a second, no one moved.

Ethan stared at Vin across the court, his heart pounding.

Vin stood there, chest heaving slowly, his white eyes locked ahead like he didn’t even recognize them anymore.

Like he was something else.

Something monstrous.

The silence stretched—

then Zaia’s giggle cut through it, soft and broken, from the Venganza bench.

Ethan swallowed hard.

They weren’t just fighting a team anymore.

They were fighting something unnatural.

Something unleashed.

....

2:20 minutes left – 3rd Quarter.

The referee’s whistle pierced the heavy underground air again.

Ethan Albarado wiped the sweat from his brow, his mind spinning, his body tense.

He took the ball from the referee with a frustrated grunt, muttering under his breath.

"Tsk... what’s going on..."

Without wasting a second, Ethan inbounded the ball sharply toward Louie Gee Davas.

Louie caught it cleanly, bouncing once on his heels before dribbling past half-court.

Across the gym, Zaia—the wild, unleashed side of Kaia—shrieked in glee.

"Let’s play! Play! Play!!"

Her laughter scraped at their nerves like nails on glass.

Louie winced, glancing toward her and muttering under his breath:

"You psycho girl..."

But there was no time for distraction.

As Louie crossed midcourt, weaving the ball between his hands—

—a shadow loomed.

A hand shot out—

fast as a whip—

slap!

Louie’s eyes widened in horror.

The ball was gone.

Vin Cruz stood there, his form hunched slightly like a predator about to pounce, the stolen ball cradled in one hand.

White-eyed.

Breathing heavy.

Thin trails of white mist leaking from his mouth like some ancient engine running on rage and fire.

Louie stumbled back instinctively, a curse tearing from his lips:

"Shit... this guy’s eyes... they’re not human..."

But Vin wasn’t waiting.

Without hesitation, Vin exploded forward, the ball pounding against the ground like thunder.

Ethan moved to intercept, planting his feet—

trying to cut Vin off.

For a split second, their eyes locked.

Or what was left of Vin’s eyes.

Blank. White.

Emotionless.

Cold as death.

Ethan tensed, muscles coiling.

Vin twitched—

—and vanished.

At least, that’s what it felt like.

A blur of speed.

Speed-blitzed.

Before Ethan could even blink, Vin was already past him, leaving nothing but a gust of cold air and the sound of squeaking shoes in his wake.

Ethan turned, heart hammering, teeth gritted.

"Tsk... this bastard..."

"He’s not human anymore... he’s a fucking robot..."

"My plan—!"

Ethan clenched his fists, the realization slamming into him like a punch to the gut.

"My plan is ruined now!"

Across the court, Vin rocketed toward the rim, an unstoppable force barreling toward their broken defenses.

And the clock kept ticking down.

....

Meanwhile...

Across the court, Lucas Graves stared at Vin.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, the leather of his shoes creaking against the polished floor.

The sight of Vin moving like a storm—white-eyed, unstoppable, monstrous—sent a ripple through Lucas’ chest.

Not fear.

Not despair.

Resolve.

Lucas clenched his jaw.

His breathing steadied.

His heartbeat slowed.

"(I will...)"

He turned his head slightly, eyes finding Ethan across the court.

His best teammate. His anchor.

And in that moment, Lucas made his decision.

A low voice, sharp with determination, broke from his lips:

"Ethan..."

Ethan, still recovering from being blitzed by Vin, whipped his head around at the sound.

For a second, their gazes locked.

Lucas’s golden eyes burned with a fierce, unshakable light.

A silent understanding passed between them — no words needed.

But Lucas said them anyway, firm and unwavering:

"I’ll surpass my limit."

The weight of it wasn’t just bravado.

It was a vow.

The gym felt like it tightened around them.

Even the humming monitors up in the control room seemed to quiet for a heartbeat.

Lucas straightened his shoulders, feeling something stir deep inside him—

something wild. Something waiting.

The blood in his veins felt hotter.

The court beneath him sharper.

Time itself seemed to slow around his body.

Ethan’s eyes widened slightly.

There was a different aura about Lucas now.

Not just determination—

–but ignition.

Lucas Graves was about to evolve.

And whatever was about to happen next...

would change the flow of the game.

To be continue