Extra Basket-Chapter 86 - 73: Aftermath

The gym was no longer a battlefield — only a graveyard of echoes.

The blood hadn’t dried.

The lights hadn’t stopped buzzing.

But the danger... was gone.

The Sheep had vanished into the dark like a ghost, leaving behind a silence louder than any bullet.

Lucas slowly lifted himself off the floor, helping Charlotte steady her legs.

She was shaking, pale, her eyes still wide in disbelief.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

They could still feel their father’s memory bleeding through the image of Greg’s body.

Across the court, Noah broke into a run.

"Mom!! Aiden!!"

He dropped to his knees, arms wrapping tight around both.

Aiden clung to his big brother like a lifeline, his body still trembling.

Panny was silent, her hand gently resting on the back of Noah’s head.

Her cheeks were streaked with tears, but her expression was unreadable — as if part of her had been left back in the past.

Noah whispered, "It’s over... it’s over..."

But no one was sure if he believed it himself.

Across the gym, Venganza gathered around their fallen boss.

Greg lay sprawled awkwardly, like a puppet whose strings had been cut mid-sentence.

His blood had soaked deep into the floor beneath him. His face... was turned upward.

Tears.

Not the kind shed from pain.

But the kind that came from realization.

The kind that came too late.

Vin stared at him — his fists clenched at his sides.

He had always followed Greg’s orders, even when they were cruel.

Even when they made him question what they were doing.

And yet... seeing him now...

That face.

It wasn’t the face of a leader. Or a tyrant.

Just a broken man.

A child who had been consumed by rage until it became the only thing left of him.

Vin knelt down slowly and murmured,

"I didn’t know you could make a face like that."

Greg’s face — stiffening in death — still carried that trace of a sad, ugly cry.

Like he’d finally realized he wasn’t hated because he lost...

But because he forgot what it meant to protect the ones he claimed to love.

Dante approach Vin, said "Brother... He... He died..." as he cried his eyes filled with sorrow

Silas, arms crossed tightly, stood to Vin’s right.

Kaia was next to him, holding her injured arm, still sniffling but standing upright.

And Zeke just looked down at the body.

No words.

Just heavy breath, a tight jaw, and blood under his boots.

Kaia, voice barely audible, whispered,

"Was this... really the same Greg who saved us?"

Zeke didn’t answer.

Silas exhaled, slow and quiet. Then, in a voice steadier than it should’ve been, he said,

"Yes."

His eyes remained on Greg.

"That Greg died here... filled with sorrow."

No one spoke after that.

Not Kaia, not Zeke, not Vin.

The silence among them wasn’t for Greg’s honor... but for the tragedy that had once been a man who saved children — and ended up broken by the same world he tried to fight.

In the far corner of the gym, the blood still dripped.

A constant, cruel reminder: no matter how many wounds you cover, some stains cling forever.

From across the court, Louie and Evan exchanged a glance.

They both understood — without words, without motion — that they couldn’t stay back any longer.

Together, they walked over to the Venganza team, joining the ring of silent grief.

.....

Meanwhile, not far away, Ethan stood motionless.

His fists were clenched at his sides.

His eyes fixed not on Greg’s body, but on everything.

Everyone.

The blood.

The shaking breath of the children.

The way Charlotte avoided stepping too close to any fallen body.

How Lucas’s shoulders tensed whenever footsteps echoed too loud.

Ethan could see it all.

And he hated that he could.

He hated that they were only here because of him.

From the side, Lucas noticed him.

Then Charlotte followed, her eyes still glossy but focused.

Lucas stepped forward first.

"Ethan..."

Ethan turned slowly, his gaze distant, but his voice soft.

"Are you all okay?"

He looked at both Graves siblings with concern deeper than the blood on the floor.

He already knew the answer — but he had to ask.

He needed to hear it from them.

He needed to believe they were still sane after all of this.

Lucas hesitated, glancing briefly at his sister before answering,

"We... are."

Charlotte nodded faintly.

"Fine. We’re fine, Ethan."

It wasn’t true.

But sometimes lies are softer than truth — and right now, they needed softness.

Ethan gave a quiet nod, but pain carved into his face like a shadow.

"I’m sorry..." he said. "For dragging you into this. If I hadn’t—"

Lucas stepped forward.

"No. Don’t say that."

His voice was firm.

"I followed you. I insisted. I chose this."

Ethan lowered his gaze, jaw clenched.

He didn’t respond.

But the guilt... never left his eyes.

He turned from them and began walking slowly — toward the center of the court — toward the circle of mourning where Venganza stood around their fallen leader.

Vin looked up as Ethan approached.

So did Dante, whose face was stained with both dirt and tears.

Greg’s body still lay motionless, his blood darkening the wood below him.

Dante stepped forward, desperate, voice rising with each word.

"Ethan Albarado... you can save him, right?!"

He grabbed Ethan’s shirt, eyes wild with hope.

"You have that ointment — the one Boss Greg talked about — the one that heal my brother! Please! PLEASE!"

"Use it on him!"

"You can bring him back!!"

Everyone turned toward Ethan.

Even Vin, even Kaia, even Silas... even Zeke

But Ethan didn’t flinch.

He only looked Dante in the eyes and said, quietly —

"I’m sorry."

A breath.

A silence.

Then:

"I can’t revive the dead."

His voice was hollow.

"The ointment only works on the living... once the heart stops — it’s over."

Dante’s grip loosened.

His fingers slipped from Ethan’s shirt.

And he stumbled backward.

"No... no... no..."

He fell to his knees beside Greg’s body, crying harder than any of them had ever heard from him.

Vin looked away.

Silas closed his eyes.

Zeke said nothing.

And Kaia just hugged herself tighter.

Ethan stood there, shoulders heavy with guilt not even death could take from him.

The worst part wasn’t that he couldn’t save Greg.

The worst part was knowing that even if he had the power to turn back time...

This ending might have still happened.

And in the corner, the blood continued to drip.

....

The gym was quiet now.

Not the kind of silence that comforts —

But the kind that wraps itself around your throat.

The air felt heavier than ever. The blood had stopped dripping... ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

But its presence was everywhere.

After minutes of mourning, people finally began to lift their heads.

Lucas turned to Ethan, his voice fragile — unsure, but needing direction.

"What should we do now, Ethan...?"

All eyes slowly drifted toward Ethan.

He didn’t answer immediately.

He looked back at Greg’s lifeless body, then at the blood-stained court, then at each face

— bruised, tired, shaken.

So many of them still had tears drying on their cheeks.

Finally, he spoke.

"First... we get out of here."

His voice was quiet, but clear.

"This place isn’t safe anymore."

There was a collective nod, but not everyone moved right away.

Kaia looked around, hugging her arms.

"Where... where do we even go? What if that masked guy comes back?"

Silas, always the realist, replied,

"Anywhere is better than standing in the middle of a crime scene."

"He’s right," Ethan added. "We’ll regroup outside. Somewhere open. We’ll check who’s injured. And call for help."

Vin slowly stood up, wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket, still visibly shaken.

"...We have... uh... van’s parked in the back," he muttered. His voice cracked slightly — whether from grief or shock, no one could tell.

But Dante was still on his knees, unmoving beside Greg. His hands were clenched, knuckles white.

"We’re just... leaving him here?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

Evan stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Dante’s shoulder.

"We’re not abandoning him." His words were soft but firm. "We’ll come back. We’ll report this to the authorities. Greg deserves a proper burial... But right now, we need to survive. That’s what he’d want."

Across the room, Charlotte slowly walked over to Lucas, her voice barely a breath.

"Lucas... I don’t want to be here anymore... Let’s go."

Lucas then turned to Ethan.

"What about you, Ethan...?"

Ethan looked back at the group, his expression unreadable.

"I’ll stay here. On the underground. Just for a while."

There was a beat of silence. Then...

"Captain!! Are you crazy!!!"

Louie blurted out, eyes wide.

"Did you see what that Sheep guy did?! He—he shot Greg! Then the ref! That guy’s insane!"

His hands were shaking. Not just from fear — but from care.

Louie Gee Davas wasn’t just any 13 years old kid. He looked up to Ethan.

To him, Ethan wasn’t just a captain — he was family.

"Why are you staying?!" Louie’s voice cracked, frustrated, brimming at the corners of his brown eyes.

"You could get killed too!"

Ethan didn’t flinch. He stepped forward slowly and placed a hand on Louie’s shoulder, meeting his gaze.

"It’s okay."

Just those two words.

But the way Ethan looked at him — the calm weight of his blue eyes — told Louie everything.

Ethan wasn’t being reckless. He had to stay.

Maybe for answers.

Maybe for a reason only he understood.

Louie stared at him, breath catching in his throat. He wanted to argue.

"Captain..."

In the end... he nodded. Even if it hurt.

One by one, the others turned to leave.

Evan, running a hand through his undercut hair, glanced at Ethan before motioning to the others.

"Let’s go, guys... Ethan told us to."

But Lucas didn’t move just yet.

He stared at Ethan for a long moment.

"...Make sure to follow us after this, alright?"

Ethan gave a small nod.

"I will."

Charlotte, quiet but fierce, spoke without turning around:

"Don’t die. Or I’ll kill you myself."

That actually made Ethan smile — just a little.

And then, they left.

The gym slowly emptied, the sound of footsteps echoing, fading into the distance.

Ethan stood alone.

Just him.

The blood.

And the silence.

And deep in his chest...

A burning weight he couldn’t name.

As Ethan remained, standing in the center of the now-empty gym, bathed in flickering fluorescent light and blood that had begun to dry. The air was heavy. Not just with grief—but with something else. Something he couldn’t shake.

He looked around slowly, then moved.

Step after careful step, Ethan began walking across the underground facility, boots crunching on broken glass and debris. Shadows clung to the corners. His breathing was steady—but tight.

He didn’t know what he was looking for.

But something was calling him forward.

Eventually, he found it.

A metal door, scratched and faded, tucked behind a collapsed bleacher wall.

A sign above it, rusted but legible, read:

CONTROL ROOM

Ethan tried the handle.

Locked.

He stared at it for a long moment. Then slowly, silently... turned around.

His eyes drifted back to Greg’s body.

Wordless, Ethan knelt beside him. Greg’s eyes were still half-open, dried tears etched into his face. Ethan hesitated—just a moment—before reaching into Greg’s pants pocket.

His fingers wrapped around cold metal.

A key.

He stood, almost mechanically, and walked back to the control room door.

Click.

The door swung open with a groan, hinges screeching like something wounded. Inside: a dark, narrow room lit only by the soft blue glow of screens.

Nine monitors. And one big screen.

Arranged in a 3x3 grid. All black—except one.

Ethan stepped inside.

The air in the control room was colder than outside, like the past itself was preserved here.

He walked forward slowly, eyes scanning the screens.

"Nine of them... and 1 big screen?"

Each monitor looked like it had been recording, or maybe observing.

But what froze Ethan in place—

—was the second monitor.

It was still on.

And someone was staring back.

A man. Wearing a mask, with blond hair. The eyes behind the mask glinted—cold and sharp.

Then, the voice came.

Low. Calm. And terribly aware.

"I know you came, Ethan Albarado."

Ethan’s blood chilled. He didn’t move.

The voice echoed, not through the speakers—but inside the room itself. Like it was here.

He stared at the masked figure on the screen. The man tilted his head slightly, as if examining Ethan like a specimen.

Ethan narrowed his eyes.

"...Who are you?"

For a moment, there was only the soft hum of the machines.

Then, the masked man’s lips curled into a subtle smile beneath the porcelain white surface.

"We meet again soon... in the tournament."

The words struck Ethan like a cold wind.

He blinked.

"...What?"

But the figure didn’t clarify.

Click.

The second monitor flickered—once.

Then, it went dark.

Static. Black. Nothing.

Ethan stepped forward quickly, as if getting closer would bring it back.

"Wait!!"

No response.

His reflection stared back at him from the now-dark monitor screen. Just him—and the questions burning behind his eyes.

He clenched his fists slowly.

The room felt colder than ever.

"...Tournament...?"

He looked back at the other eight monitors. None of them came back on. Whatever system controlled this place... it had already shut him out.

He turned away, the word echoing again in his head.

Tournament.

To be continue