Extra Basket

The gym buzzed with post-game chatter. Sneakers squeaked as players stretched, laughed, or muttered about close calls. Coaches clapped shoulders and exchanged notes while the scoreboard's final numbers still glowed: 103–97.

Lucas jogged over to Ethan, a wide grin plastered across his face, chest still heaving from the final sprint. "We won… against a team that's strong," he said, voice full of awe and excitement.

Ethan leaned back against the bleachers, towel draped over his shoulders, letting his pulse slow. He met Lucas's gaze and shrugged lightly. "Well, it was the team effort that won us this… Even if this is a practice match, it's still a match," he said, voice calm but carrying the weight of analysis and pride.

Lucas nodded slowly, absorbing the words. He couldn't help but glance at their teammates, who were now clustered in groups, talking animatedly. Louie and Kai were reliving the highlight plays, gesturing wildly, while Coonie quietly shook his head, muttering something about Ethan's control of the floor. Jeremy jotted notes, probably replaying the movements in his mind. Even Brandon Young, stoic as ever, allowed himself a small smile as he rumbled, "We held it together."

From across the gym, Charlotte Graves' sharp gaze cut through the crowd. She strode toward Ethan and Lucas, her poise effortless even after her own team's match. "I'm surprised you're not rusty, Ethan," she said, crossing her arms, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips.

Lucas stiffened slightly. "Sis…" he started, a blush creeping up his neck, clearly embarrassed but proud.

Ethan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I was in a coma for a week, not a year. Not exactly enough time to forget how to play."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow but nodded, conceding the point. "Well, you do have a point." Her expression softened just a fraction, and there was a spark of curiosity behind her usual confident demeanor.

Ethan's eyes flicked toward her, curiosity mirrored in his tone. "I heard your team also passed the National tournament—you're heading toward the semi-finals now, huh?"

Charlotte's grin widened, a mix of pride and competitive fire lighting her features. "Also your team too, I suppose. Looks like Oak Hill Academy's not slowing down either."

Ethan glanced at Lucas, a quiet, proud smile tugging at his lips. "Lucas did it… while I was in a coma," he thought, a sense of admiration and gratitude swelling in his chest.

Lucas looked back at Ethan, eyes sparkling with humility and excitement. "We both did it… together. Even if you weren't awake, I felt like I had to make sure everything you taught me wasn't wasted," he said quietly.

Charlotte shook her head, almost laughing. "You two… always making things sound so heroic. I swear, Lucas, you're going to give Ethan an ego boost he doesn't need."

Ethan chuckled but stayed quiet, letting Lucas take the subtle credit. Inside, he felt a rare sense of peace seeing his teammate grow, seeing their efforts come together even when he couldn't be fully present. (He did more than I imagined…) he thought, eyes scanning the team as they recounted plays, laughed, and patted each other on the back.

The air was thick with sweat and adrenaline, but also something softer—a shared pride, a quiet sense of accomplishment. Players from both teams mingled now, exchanging congratulations, teasing, and respect. Even the Piedmont Spartans lingered, Darius and Malik nodding toward Ethan and Lucas, acknowledging their skill and orchestration of the game.

Ethan's mind drifted slightly as he watched the interactions, analyzing, remembering, reflecting. (We're still young… but if we keep this up, the National tournament won't be easy for anyone else.)

Charlotte's voice broke through his thoughts again. "So… what's next for you two? Going to train more? Or are you planning to just stroll through the next matches?"

Lucas's grin widened, energetic as ever. "Training. Always training. Right, Ethan?"

Ethan nodded, a calm determination settling over him. "Right. We keep improving. Practice matches, national tournaments… it doesn't matter. Every game is a chance to test ourselves."

Charlotte gave them a measured look, the kind that mixed amusement, pride, and a hint of respect. "I'll be watching. Don't disappoint me," she teased, but there was an unmistakable warmth beneath her words.

Lucas leaned slightly toward Ethan, a conspiratorial grin spreading across his face. "See? Even the Commander Hawk's keeping tabs on us. Pressure's on, buddy."

Ethan smirked lightly, shaking his head. "Pressure or not… we'll keep moving forward. That's all that matters."

The gym began to empty slowly, the echo of the game lingering in the squeaks of sneakers and the chatter fading into the background. Coaches gathered their notes, players grabbed water bottles and towels, but for Ethan and Lucas, the energy of the match still hummed beneath their skin.

(We survived this war… but the next one is coming.) Ethan thought, eyes meeting Lucas's. (And we'll be ready.)

Lucas smiled faintly, fists tapping lightly against his thighs. "Yeah… ready. Always ready."

Charlotte gave one last glance over her shoulder before leaving with her team, shaking her head with a mix of admiration and disbelief. (Those two… they're going to make Oak Hill Academy terrifying.)

As the gym doors closed behind the last of the spectators, Ethan and Lucas lingered, side by side, silent but speaking volumes through their presence. No words were necessary. The war was over for now, but the bond forged on the court and the lessons learned would carry them forward into the battles yet to come.

(We did it… together.)

(And we'll do it again.)

Meanwhile Darius Coleman, still catching his breath, wiped the sweat from his brow with the hem of his jersey. His chest heaved, and the adrenaline from the match still coursed through his veins. His eyes flicked to Coach Ron, searching for the spark of disappointment or a flash of critique anything to fuel his drive to get better.

Instead, all he found was a smile. A calm, knowing smile.

Darius's brow furrowed. "Coach… are you serious? After that game… we lost by a wide margin!" His voice carried a mixture of disbelief and frustration, the kind that comes when a player's pride clashes with reality.

Coach Ron leaned back slightly, folding his arms, eyes still on the fading Vorpal team in the distance. "I know," he said, voice soft but steady. "You gave it everything. And that's what matters."

Darius blinked, taken aback. "But… we've been training all year, and we played our best… and still—still, they beat us."

Coach Ron's smile didn't waver. "Exactly. And that's the point, Darius. You fought them head-on, no shortcuts. That fire, that resilience… that's what will make you stronger. Every loss, every close call, it's a lesson. You just need to extract it."

Darius's fists clenched at his sides. (Extract it… yes, I need to learn from this.) He looked back toward the court where Vorpal's players were slowly packing up, Ethan and Lucas walking side by side, calm, collected—but radiating the undeniable aura of mastery. (They're not just good… they're… something else.)

Coach Ron's eyes followed Darius's gaze. "Remember, Darius, a game like this isn't just about the score. It's about understanding limits. Yours, theirs, and the ones in between. You've learned a lot today."

Darius exhaled sharply, letting the tension seep from his shoulders. "I… I get it. We weren't ready for that level of coordination." His voice was quieter now, tempered by the realization that there was more to basketball than raw skill and speed.

Coach Ron nodded. "And that's exactly why I didn't sub the bench in the fourth quarter. I wanted you to face it, to push past it, to see the difference between good and… the kind of smart, adaptable play Vorpal showed. You needed that test."

Darius swallowed, processing the weight of those words. (So it wasn't just about winning… it was about forcing us to understand what we're missing.)

Malik Johnson, Tyler Brooks, and Cody Wilson drifted over, exchanging glances. They were sweaty, bruised from the grind, but their expressions mirrored Darius's—thoughtful, focused, and hungry. Even Brick Thompson, stoic as ever, gave a subtle nod toward Coach Ron, acknowledging the lesson hidden in the loss.

Coach Ron's smile widened slightly, more a reassurance than pride. "You're going to take this and build. Trust me. This isn't the end of anything—it's the start of what you'll become."

Darius's jaw tightened. "Start… right. We'll get stronger. We'll take this lesson, and we'll be ready next time. I won't let them—or anyone—surprise me like this again."

Coach Ron simply nodded, eyes twinkling with a mix of calm authority and quiet confidence in his team. "Good. That's what I wanted to hear."

And as the gym emptied, leaving the echoes of squeaking sneakers and distant chatter, Darius felt a spark reignite within him. The loss stung but it wasn't defeat. Not really. It was fuel.

(Next time, we'll be ready. I swear it.)

To be continue