Extra Basket

After the game.. hours passed

The gym was silent except for the faint echo of bouncing basketballs outside. Inside Vorpal's locker room, the team gathered around a long wooden table Coach Fred Mason had dragged in himself. Whiteboard behind him. Markers scattered. The scent of sweat and determination clung to the air.

Ethan sat forward, elbows on his knees, eyes scanning every one of his brothers in arms. They weren't just players anymore. They were comrades, bound by fire, by near-defeat, by trust.

(Semi-finals. This isn't just a game. This is the threshold. Win, and we touch the finals. Lose, and all this sweat, all this pain, dies here.)

Lucas sat beside him, tying his sneakers tighter, eyes sharp. Louie leaned against the wall, bouncing a ball lazily with one hand, a grin half-hiding the storm in his chest. Brandon sat silently, his massive frame hunched, listening. Ryan twirled his headband with his usual smirk, though even his eyes showed gravity tonight.

Coach Mason cleared his throat, voice unsteady at first, but growing firm.

"The semi-finals… boys, this is it. Everything you've built since the start of the season—every drop of sweat—it comes here."

Ryan leaned back, arms crossed. "Coach, let's be real. You're nervous as hell. I can see your knees shaking."

A small ripple of laughter loosened the tension.

Fred sighed but chuckled. "Maybe I am. But I've got something better than nerves. I've got all of you." He turned, uncapped the marker, and scrawled three big letters across the whiteboard: W.I.N.

Louie smirked. "That stands for 'Watch Ethan Navigate,' right?"

The room erupted in laughter again, Ethan shaking his head.

"Idiot." But even he couldn't help the faint grin tugging his lips. (Still… he's not entirely wrong. I'll carry what I must. That's my role.)

Coach Mason tapped the board. "It stands for 'What's Important Now.' The team we're facing—national semi-finalists last year—they're no joke. They pressure full-court. They punish lazy passes. They eat weak players alive. If we don't focus on what matters in every possession, they'll dismantle us."

Lucas leaned forward, finally speaking. His tone was low but resolute.

"Then we adapt. We've faced pressure before. We bend, not break."

Ethan glanced at his best friend, catching that fire in his eyes. (Lucas… he's grown. Stronger than before. That near-death… it tempered him like steel.)

Ryan interjected, flipping his headband onto the table.

"Adapt, sure. But they've got shooters everywhere. If we collapse too much on their big, their wings will roast us from three."

Jeremy, quiet on the bench, pushed his glasses up. "Their offense runs on misdirection. High screens, false cuts, weak-side snipers. But they rely on rhythm. Break it once, twice, and they crumble into isolation plays. We can choke that flow."

Ethan nodded slowly. "Exactly. Our job isn't just to score—it's to disrupt. Lucas and I will bait their handlers, Brandon anchors the paint, Ryan, you switch faster. Aiden, you're the glue. Josh, you shadow their sniper."

Josh lifted his head, serious as ever. "I won't let him breathe."

Louie bounced the ball harder against the wall, eyes flashing. "And me? Don't say 'cheerleader,' or I'll dunk on you right here."

The room chuckled, but Ethan met his gaze seriously.

"Louie… you're not just energy. You're unpredictable. Streetball instinct. When the offense stalls, when we need chaos to crack their order, you'll be my wild card."

Louie froze, the grin faltering for just a moment before widening even more. "Heh… damn right. The storm's coming."

Aiden, calm as always, added, "And if the storm blows too hard, I'll anchor it. Count on me."

Ethan's chest tightened. Looking around, he saw it—the unshakable bond, the silent vows.

(These aren't teammates anymore. These are my brothers. My family. My reason.)

Coach Mason sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'll be honest. I can't out-strategize their coach. He's sharper. Cleaner. But Ethan…" He turned to the young forward, voice softer now. "That's why I trust you. You see the game in ways I never could."

All eyes turned to Ethan.

The weight fell onto his shoulders, but he didn't flinch. He breathed in, steady.

"We don't fear them. We don't bow to them. Every cut, every pass, every shot—we'll make it mean something. They'll try to overwhelm us, but remember…" He looked at

Lucas, then Ryan, then each one in turn. "We are Vorpal. We fight until the last second. And when it looks impossible—that's when we're most dangerous."

The room pulsed with energy. A shared heartbeat.

Ryan smirked, trying to lighten it. "Man, you talk like some shonen protagonist."

Lucas chuckled under his breath. "Don't joke. He means it."

Louie punched the air. "Then let's flip the script on them. Semi-final? No—this is just step one to the crown."

Ayumi Brooke, their manager, finally spoke, her voice calm but carrying a weight the boys always respected.

"You're not just playing for yourselves anymore. The school, the people who believe in you, even those watching from afar—they're with you. Don't waste that."

Ethan gave her a small nod. "We won't. I promise."

For a moment, silence lingered. Only the faint thump of a bouncing ball outside.

Then Brandon, usually quiet, finally spoke, voice deep. "One more thing. We win not because we're stronger. But because we refuse to lose."

The words struck like iron.

Coach Mason capped the marker, stepping back. "That's it. No long speeches. No overthinking. You already know who you are."

Ethan stood, raising his hand in the center. One by one, Lucas's steady palm joined, Ryan's sarcastic but strong, Brandon's calloused, Louie's trembling with excitement, Aiden's firm, Josh's silent but solid, and even the hands of the bench players—Coonie smirking, Jeremy thoughtful, Kai grinning wide.

A circle. A vow.

"Vorpal," Ethan said, voice low but burning, "this is our time."

"OUR TIME!" the team roared, the sound shaking the locker room.

And as they broke the huddle, Ethan caught Lucas's gaze once more.

"Ready, brother?" he asked quietly.

Lucas's eyes sharpened, lips curving into a grin.

"Always. Let's paint the court red."

Ethan felt his pulse quicken. The semi-finals loomed, a storm on the horizon. But with these men at his side, with this unshakable bond, he felt no fear.

Only hunger.

(National crown. We're coming for it.)

Evan broke the quiet first. He leaned against the wall, breathless but grinning, his mop of hair sticking to his forehead.

"So… we are gonna train now, right?"

Ethan tilted his head, saying nothing. Just that sly, knowing smile that didn't need words.

Evan chuckled, raising his hands.

"Yeah, yeah. Training."

The rest of the guys laughed softly, the tension from the duel with Darius still humming beneath their skin. Brandon slapped Evan's shoulder.

"Man, you're crazy. We just went to war and you're asking for more?"

Josh wiped his face with his shirt, smirking.

"That's Vorpal for you. We don't cool off. We just sharpen the blade."

To be continue