Extra Basket-Chapter 187 - 174: Minutes before the storm

Vorpal Basket Locker Room

Lucas Graves stared into his reflection. His yellow eyes were calm, but under the surface was a storm.

"Round of 16... If we lose here, it’s over."

Ayumi Brooke sat nearby, checking the player towels. She glanced at Lucas.

"Are you okay? ...Are you feeling pressured?"

Lucas looked at her, then slowly nodded.

"Well... I can’t say I didn’t..."

He met her eyes.

"I feel pressured. But then I realize—this is what Ethan feels."

"Back then, it was supposed to be Coach Fred leading us, right?" Lucas said with a faint, tired laugh. "But Coach Fred was... well, an incompetent lazy-ass coach."

Ayumi blinked, then gave a crooked smile.

"Yeah... I know. That’s why I feel thankful for Ethan. He stepped up. Changed the team. Even made me the manager."

Lucas chuckled under his breath, then nodded solemnly.

"They’ve changed a lot... even Coach Fred. He’s trying, at least. Trying to change for the better."

Outside the room, the buzzer sounded.

It was time.

...

Meanwhile on the other side

The sharp scent of eucalyptus lingered in the air, carried on the sleeves of the green and white jackets worn by Forest Basket. Calm. Collected. Like monks heading into war.

At the head walked Elijah Rainn, point guard and captain. His eyes were as still as water—dangerous in their clarity.

Coach Nguyen, silent and observant, followed closely behind.

Carter Lewis leaned over to whisper to Dean Koji.

"First game, huh?"

"Let’s make it their last."

Elijah heard them but didn’t turn.

"Eyes forward. Vorpal isn’t the same as before."

Vorpal Basket walked in with tension in their chests but fire in their eyes.

Forest Basket arrived like a wall of silence and discipline.

Lucas stepped to the front. Elijah did too. They faced each other

Elijah tilted his head, then said coolly:

"There is no Ethan to bring you to glory... You can’t win against us."

Lucas didn’t flinch. He held his ground, fists tightening at his sides.

"That doesn’t mean we can’t win against you."

I’m not Ethan... but that doesn’t mean I’m nothing.

Elijah’s gaze narrowed, a flicker of amusement passing through his calm demeanor. He stepped slightly closer.

"Hoh... let’s see if you’re good..."

"Or if you’re just all talk."

The words hung in the air like a guillotine.

Lucas didn’t look away. His voice was steady.

"Then I guess it’s time to prove it."

No handshakes. No friendly nods.

Just a silent understanding.

This wasn’t just the start of a game.

It was a test of everything they had become.

The center court cleared, the tension briefly loosened by the referee’s steady voice echoing through the arena mic.

"You have twenty minutes before the game starts. You can begin warm-ups or go over final plans if you want."

His tone was professional, but even he couldn’t hide the anticipation in his voice.

Both benches nodded.

Forest Basket players calmly moved to their side, their green-accented uniforms flowing with every step like leaves in sync with the wind. Meanwhile, Vorpal Basket regrouped in a tight circle near their bench.

Lucas looked over at the other side.

They’re calm. Focused. Just like us.

Ayumi Brooke, clipboard in hand, stood beside them, her eyes darting between players and the opposing bench.

The countdown began.

20 minutes.

Then everything changes.

The arena lights shone down with a quiet hum, illuminating the polished floor as sneakers began to squeak against hardwood. Each bounce of the ball echoed louder in the players’ hearts than in the stands.

Elijah Rainn stood near center court, arms crossed, watching the other team warm up. His Forest Basket teammates were efficient—passing drills, defensive footwork, mid-range shots. Precision and repetition.

But Elijah wasn’t watching them.

His eyes were locked on Lucas Graves.

The boy who wore the number 10 on his back.

The boy who now carried Vorpal’s banner.

The boy who wasn’t Ethan Albarado.

A quiet wind blew through Elijah’s thoughts.

(We are going to win this... for my... family.)

His fists tightened slowly at his sides, the edge of his fingernails pressing lightly into his palms.

Coach Nguyen had told him to keep a level head. Not to underestimate Vorpal, even without Ethan.

But Elijah wasn’t thinking about underestimation.

He was thinking about survival.

About proving that his sacrifices mattered.

About showing the nation that Forest Basket wasn’t just smart—they were ruthless when they had to be.

Across the court, Lucas Graves took a deep breath as he spun the ball slowly in his hands.

He let it glide off his fingertips calm, focused.

Then, as if drawn by invisible tension, his gaze lifted.

And locked eyes with Elijah Rainn.

No words were spoken.

No gestures exchanged.

Just silence and fire.

Elijah’s smirk didn’t waver. But beneath it, his thoughts surged like a silent storm.

(Lucas Graves... I watched their last game. He’s a prodigy, no doubt about it. He can mimic a move just by seeing it once. That’s scary. Really scary.)

His eyes narrowed as Lucas stretched his arms, casually catching a bounce pass from Ayumi.

(But luckily... he’s not the one I’m truly afraid of.)

His mind darkened for a brief moment—thinking of the ghost that haunted the bench.

(That guy... Ethan Albarado.)

A cold breath passed through his lungs.

(They say he got shot in the head... ended up in a coma. So he’s out of the picture now. Gone. Hopefully for good.)

Elijah’s smirk briefly faded, his eyes sharp.

(But Ethan... he’s not just some player. He could analyze team patterns mid-game—like some kind of machine. When he was done analyzing, that team lost. Every time.)

His jaw clenched. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple not from nerves, but from memory.

(If Lucas is a prodigy... then Ethan is a genius. A monster in disguise. A player who turned a lazy, broken team into national contenders.)

He let out a slow breath.

(But he’s not here.)

The smirk returned.

(We can win this game.)

The atmosphere pulsed with the rhythm of shoes hitting the court.

Balls bounced. Coaches shouted. Managers barked orders.

The final countdown echoed.

Five minutes left.

The storm was coming.

And both teams stood at the edge of the battlefield staring straight into each other’s souls.

To be continue