Extra Basket-Chapter 184 - 171: Preparation and Pressure

Location: Oak Hill Academy – Indoor Gym

Time: 4:10 PM – The Day After the Shooting

The gym was quiet.

Not silent the hum of lights above, the faint squeak of a shoe against polished hardwood but not filled with the usual shouting, the rhythm of drills, or the laughter of boys chasing their dream.

Just a team... broken. Trying to breathe again.

Lucas Graves stood at the edge of the court, facing the rest of the Vorpal Basket team. His hands were clenched at his sides, his hoodie soaked through the back with sweat — not from practice, but from pressure. From the weight.

They were all there.

Evan Cooper, leaning against the wall, arms folded, but his usual spark was missing.

Ryan Taylor, staring down at the court like it had betrayed them.

Brandon Young, his eyes red, saying nothing.

Kai, Jeremy, Josh, Aiden, Coonie, all gathered... but it wasn’t the same.

And Louie Davas usually loud, cocky, the team’s wild heart — sat with his back against the bleachers, arms over his knees.

Lucas stepped forward.

"Guys..." he said, voice even.

No one looked up at first.

"I have an announcement to make."

That caught their attention.

Louie raised an eyebrow. "What for? Ethan’s not here... we can’t do it without him."

The words stung.

But they weren’t new.

Everyone had been thinking it.

That’s when Lucas’s fist collided with Louie’s cheek.

Crack.

Louie fell sideways onto the floor, stunned.

"WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?!" Louie shouted, clutching his jaw.

Lucas’s shoulders trembled.

But his voice didn’t.

"Is that what you think of Ethan, you idiot?"

Louie blinked, confused and maybe a little ashamed.

Lucas took a step forward, eyes burning.

"You think he’d want us to sit around and cry?! You think he bled on that street for us to give up?!"

No one spoke.

"Ethan..." Lucas’s voice cracked, but he kept going, louder, "...Ethan would stand right here and say—"

He stopped.

Closed his eyes.

Then opened them again, fire returning.

"’We don’t quit.’ That’s what he’d say."

The room held its breath.

Evan stood a little straighter.

Ryan and Brandon exchanged a glance and nodded.

Coonie looked down and muttered, "...Damn."

Jeremy and Kai shifted, unease melting into something stronger.

Aiden spoke next, soft but firm:

"He’s right. Ethan always said it — even if you’re limping, even if you’re benched, even if you’re broken..."

Josh followed up, finishing the thought:

"Don’t give up."

Lucas looked around, gaze locking with each one of them.

"Ethan trained us to be strong — not just on the court, but here." He pointed to his heart.

"So, we train. We fight. Not just for the Nationals — for him."

Everyone stared at him.

Then Louie slowly stood.

He rubbed his jaw... and smirked, just a little.

"...Damn, that hurt."

Lucas raised a brow.

"You deserved it."

Louie chuckled, voice still thick.

"Fine... I deserved it. Now let’s run plays."

The gym finally breathed again.

Balls began to bounce. Sneakers squeaked. Sweat returned to the floor.

The team began to move.

Together.

..

Meanwhile, at the hospital...

Charlotte Graves sat beside Ethan’s bed, gently wiping his forehead with a damp towel.

She didn’t say anything.

Just whispered,

"...They’re doing what you’d want, little genius. You gave them more than plays. You gave them purpose."

She looked at the monitor.

And smiled through quiet tears.

..

Meanwhile

Location: Oak Hill Academy – Equipment Storage Room, 5:15 PM

The sun was starting to dip behind the trees outside, casting long shadows across the academy grounds. But inside the equipment room, the fluorescent lights buzzed steadily as two people sorted boxes and checked inventory.

Ayumi Brooke, clipboard in hand, was in full manager mode.

Her usual cheerfulness was dimmed, her eyes tired but focused.

"Coach, that’s the wrong size again. We need the medium resistance bands, not the advanced-tier ones."

Coach Fred Mason, red-faced and sweating, grunted as he bent over another cardboard box. "Ah—sorry, sorry. Thought these were the right ones. Dang labels are too small."

Ayumi sighed and shook her head, but she wasn’t annoyed. Not today.

"We don’t have time to mess this up," she murmured, scribbling on her clipboard.

"Ethan might not be here, but the team’s still going to train — like he’s watching. We owe him that."

Coach Fred stopped rummaging.

He looked at her.

"Ayumi..."

She glanced up.

"I’m really sorry."

Ayumi blinked. "Sorry? You already Apologize?

Fred ran a hand through his thinning hair. His voice was quieter than usual.

"I know but I just want to tell my guilt more. You know ... I let Ethan carry too much. I let everyone carry too much. I watched instead of leading. And now..."

His voice trailed off, but the weight of it hung in the air.

Ayumi lowered her clipboard.

Walked over.

And handed him a pair of jump ropes.

"Then be the coach we need now. Not later. Not when it’s convenient."

She gave him a look not angry. Not even disappointed.

Just real.

"He believed in all of us. So let’s prove he wasn’t wrong."

Coach Fred stared at her.

Then, with a firm nod, he tightened his grip on the ropes.

"We’ll set up the gym tonight. Agility ladders, cones, resistance bands, weights. I’ll even clean the locker room myself if I have to."

Ayumi smiled faintly. "Let’s just not break your back, Coach. We still need you."

Fred laughed. "Deal."

Back in the hallway, outside the room...

A delivery cart full of new training materials was being wheeled in — updated cones, fresh resistance bands, tactical whiteboards, new hydration kits, and even extra jerseys with motivational quotes stitched into the collar.

A sign hung on the front of the box:

Property of Vorpal Basket – "Built by Grit. Led by Heart."

Meanwhile...

In the gym, Lucas glanced at his teammates mid-drill and thought:

(Ayumi... Coach... You’re keeping our foundation strong. Leave the court to us.)

...

Location: Oak Hill Academy – Main Gymnasium

Time: 6:00 A.M., Days After the Incident

The sound of sneakers squeaking on hardwood echoed like heartbeats.

It was early too early for most but not for Vorpal Basket.

Ethan’s spot on the bench remained untouched. His water bottle. His towel.

A chair marked with his jersey: #5.

Lucas Graves stood at the center of the court, a whistle around his neck, wearing an old Vorpal hoodie Ethan used to lend him during winter practice. It still faintly smelled like laundry soap and sweat.

He faced the team, his team now.

Ayumi sat cross-legged at the scorer’s table, notebook open, quietly tracking observations. Charlotte leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her younger brother silently take command.

Louie stood beside Brandon, fidgeting.

Evan bounced the ball softly.

Ryan, Jeremy, Kai, Coonie, Aiden, and Josh stood shoulder-to-shoulder, silent.

Lucas’s voice cut through the quiet.

"We start from where Ethan left us."

The others looked up.

"I remember what he said before the Roanoke game."

"Play through the chaos."

"So that’s what we’re going to do."

He walked to the whiteboard.

Drew the same crude diagram Ethan always used.

A circle. Arrows. Motion lines.

"This was Ethan’s method: Chaos Flow."

Training Routine – Chaos Flow Drill (Developed by Ethan Albarado)

Purpose: Simulate breakdowns. Force players to make decisions under pressure.

Method: 10-second shot clock. Rapid rotating defenders. Unstable floor assignments.

Goal: Improve instinctive reads, communication, and tempo recognition.

Lucas tapped the whiteboard twice.

"No more plays by memory. No more running like robots."

"Ethan taught us to read. So we read. We react. We respond."

Louie grinned, pounding a fist into his palm.

"Alright then. Time to cook."

Coonie cracked his knuckles.

"Let’s get uncomfortable."

Ayumi blew her whistle.

"Drill starts now. 3-on-3 chaos flow. Louie, Ryan, Josh — offense. Evan, Brandon, Jeremy — defense."

The first whistle blew.

And just like that—

It began.

The gym became a hurricane of movement.

Loose screens. Sudden switches.

Quick cuts. No time to think only respond.

Evan darted to the corner, then faked out.

Ryan missed a layup but immediately pivoted into a midair tap to Josh, who buried the shot.

Ayumi marked a note:

"Josh learning spacing recognition... good."

Kai called out switches. Jeremy adjusted positioning mid-rotation.

Brandon tried a post-up, got blocked, but didn’t stop—he fought for the rebound and kicked it back.

Lucas watched everything.

Then whispered to himself:

"This... is what you wanted, Ethan. A team that thinks for itself."

After a full hour of scrimmage-based drills, the team was bent over, panting.

Ayumi walked in and handed Lucas a water bottle.

"You’re doing great, Coach Graves."

Lucas looked down.

"Don’t call me that..."

She blinked.

"...Call me stand-in. Just until he wakes up."

Charlotte grinned from the side, arms crossed.

"You’d better hold that title well, Lucas. He’ll want it back."

Lucas smirked.

"I know."

"And until he does... I’ll guard it with everything I’ve got."

...

Meanwhile

Location: Chicago Raptors Gym

Time: 7:00 A.M., The Same Day

The hardwood echoed under rhythmic dribbles.

A lone figure moved at the center of the court quick feet, locked eyes, and that dangerous calmness.

Jalen "Flash" Carter, jersey #2, age 15, stood with the ball bouncing under his palm.

6’2", lean and hungry, the kind of athlete who made space feel small.

"(I can’t wait for the game,)" he thought, eyes narrowing as his pace quickened.

"(I’ve been waiting for this... for him.")

He spun, passed behind his back to nobody — just muscle memory.

Even his ghosts could catch up to him.

Then he turned to the shadows forming near the gym entrance.

They came in one by one.

Tyrese Lang – SG (#3)

"The Ghost Shooter"

Fog before sunrise.

That was Tyrese.

He moved like vapor, breathing space where none should exist.

16 years old. 6’1". Always with that blank stare like he was already thinking five shots ahead.

He didn’t talk much.

Didn’t need to.

His numbers spoke:

3PT Shooting – 23

Off-Ball Movement – 21

Composure – 20

He stopped near the arc, rolled the ball across his shoulders, then flicked it.

Swish.

"Still too easy," he murmured.

Malik Ryker – SF (#9)

"The Lock"

5’10" of pressure and muscle. 16 years old.

Malik was defense carved from hardwood and fury.

You didn’t drive past him. You prayed he blinked.

"Flash," he nodded toward Jalen, tying his black sleeves.

Defense – 22

Driving/Dunks – 21

Lateral Speed – 20

He leapt and slammed one through the rim with a snarl.

"Anyone guarding Graves better watch the rim."

Zion Vale – PF (#8)

"The Chessboard"

Smooth and surgical.

Zion Vale, 15, 5’11" — was a walking playbook with eyes two pages ahead.

Not the loudest. Never the fastest.

But if you were one step slow, he’d already made you obsolete.

Basketball IQ – 23

Passing – 21

Versatility – 22

He passed a bounce to no one it still hit Tyrese in stride.

A ghost read.

"Lucas Graves, huh?" Zion muttered.

"Can’t out-muscle a mind game, Copycat."

Kobe "Tower" Morales – C (#11)

"Twin Pillar"

Last to arrive. First to anchor.

Kobe Morales, 6’4", 16 years old. A mountain in sneakers.

The kind of center that didn’t shout. Didn’t taunt.

He simply stood there, hands on hips, and waited for the challenge to crumble.

Shot Blocking – 23

Post Defense – 22

Rebounding – 21

When he walked, the gym felt smaller.

He picked up a ball and dunked it without momentum.

Jalen turned toward his team. All five stood aligned now.

Jalen grinned.

"They’re down a captain. That don’t mean they’re weak."

Tyrese nodded.

Zion folded his arms.

Malik rolled his shoulders.

Kobe? He just stared.

Then Jalen said it.

"But that means we hit harder. We hit faster. And we leave no doubt."

He spun the ball into his palm again.

"Let’s get ready."

To be continue