Extra Basket-Chapter 182 - 169: Bad News

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and old metal.

The sound of the heart monitor was steady, almost rhythmic.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Lucas sat stiffly in the chair beside Ethan’s bed, gripping his knees, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

He had felt Ethan move. Just earlier.

A twitch in the fingers. A shift in breath. His eyes had fluttered open for a second.

Lucas had seen it.

That brief moment of consciousness.

"Ethan!" he had shouted.

Ayumi had nearly tripped rushing in, and Charlotte had dropped the water cup in her hands.

But then—

The doctor came in, checked the vitals again, calmly reattached a line to Ethan’s IV and turned toward them.

"He was awake, yes. But... it seems it was only temporary. His brain activity is consistent with a coma state now."

A pause. No apology. Just facts.

"He’s slipped back in."

And with that, the room fell silent.

Ayumi broke down crying in the corner, covering her mouth.

Charlotte stared at Ethan, her fingers trembling.

Ryan kicked the wall and left with clenched fists.

And Lucas?

Lucas just stood there.

Unmoving.

(Tsk... Damnit!)

His thoughts came like thunder inside his skull.

(You woke up... why does it always end like this? Everyone I care about gets hurt... first my dad... and now Ethan.)

He looked at Ethan’s face.

Peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Like someone sleeping on a lazy afternoon. Not someone who just got shot trying to save a friend.

(It should’ve been me. I was the one in the sniper’s line of fire... You knew that. That’s why you moved.)

Lucas gritted his teeth, leaning closer.

His voice was quiet, but raw.

"Ethan... wake up, man."

"We still have games to win."

"I can’t do this alone."

No response.

Just the steady rhythm of machines keeping his brother breathing.

A soft knock at the door.

It was Ayumi, her eyes puffy but determined.

She didn’t speak just placed a blanket over Lucas’s shoulders again.

He didn’t thank her.

He couldn’t.

He just stayed by Ethan’s side, unmoving, unmoved.

And thinking:

(You better come back, Ethan. Because this team... I... we’re not done yet.)

...

....

...

..

As the hospital waiting room had never felt so heavy.

White walls. Fluorescent lights. Chairs that squeaked when you shifted even a little. But none of them moved. Not really. Not after the doctor’s words.

"He’s in a coma."

It echoed in their heads like a cruel buzzer.

The whole team once loud, energetic, cocky now sat like statues carved out of heartbreak.

Evan Cooper, usually the one with the calm brain and calm hands, had both buried in his face.

His shoulders trembled as he cried quietly.

"Ethan..." he whispered.

No follow-up. Just his name. As if that word alone would wake him up.

Brandon Young sat beside Evan, eyes fixed on the floor.

He wasn’t crying, not obviously but his jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt.

His massive hands balled into fists.

"He’s supposed to be the one holding us together," Brandon muttered.

"Not the one lying in that bed."

Ryan Taylor, the usually relaxed one, had tears streaking down his cheeks, his nose red.

He didn’t wipe them.

Didn’t hide them.

He just stared at the wall across the room.

Blank.

Empty.

Like something had been torn out of him.

Louie Davas, Ethan’s number one fan, was still sobbing uncontrollably.

His voice cracked as he shouted:

"Why did he push Lucas?! He could’ve just let the bullet hit anyone else—why him? WHY?!"

No one answered.

Because deep down, they all knew:

That was just who Ethan was.

Jeremy Park stood in the corner, gripping the edge of the vending machine like it might crumble beneath his hand.

Tears dripped silently down his chin.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t have to.

The look in his eyes said enough: rage, sorrow, and helplessness...

Kai Mendoza slouched on a chair, his cap pulled down low over his face.

But the sniffles, the tremble in his shoulders it gave everything away.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Damnit, Ethan... You always act strong. This time, you can’t do it alone..."

...

Coonie Smith stood off to the side.

The one who had nearly been hit, the one Lucas saved.

He stared at his own hands, then curled them into trembling fists.

"Damnit..." he muttered.

Over and over.

"Damnit... damnit... damnit..."

Aiden White wasn’t crying.

But his fists were clenched so tightly, his nails dug into his palms until they turned red.

His voice was cold, low.

"I’m gonna find out who did this."

His eyes burned with fire.

"I swear... I’ll make them pay."

Josh Turner, usually the joker, the guy who’d laugh at anything...

Bit his lower lip so hard it bled.

He didn’t notice.

"We were supposed to win together."

"Together, damnit..."

They were the dream team.

The underdogs.

The ones who believed anything was possible.

But in this moment, they weren’t players.

They were just kids.

Hurting.

And all of them from the calm Evan to the wild Louie shared one thought:

(Come back, Ethan. Please... come back.)

...

Location: Oak Hill Academy – The Next Morning

Time: 7:45 AM

The usually electric campus of Oak Hill Academy felt... muted.

Not silent students still walked the halls, lockers still clanged, footsteps still echoed through the corridors but the energy was off. Different. Heavy.

Word had spread.

Fast.

And painfully.

"Ethan Albarado’s in a coma."

"He got shot"

"They don’t know if he’ll wake up."

...

Homeroom.

Students whispered in tight groups, some covering their mouths, others wide-eyed.

The name "Ethan" floated between desks like a ghost.

A girl near the back, trembling, murmured:

"We just made it to Nationals... and now this?"

A boy next to her looked pale:

"What happens to the team now? They said he’s the heart. The brain."

...

Hallway B – Near the Gym Entrance

The basketball banners swayed softly from the ceiling.

Below them, students clustered in circles, phones in hand, some still replaying the news clip from last night blurry footage of flashing lights and sirens. One even had a picture of Ethan being carried on a stretcher.

A junior point guard whispered:

"We’re cursed, man. That’s the only explanation."

Another argued:

"No. He was targeted. Someone went after him. That was an assassination attempt!"

A silence followed that.

No one could deny it.

Not after seeing Lucas Graves break down in front of reporters, blood still on his hands, screaming for help.

...

Cafeteria – Before First Bell

The usual chatter and clatter of trays was gone.

Some students wore black armbands.

Others had drawn "EA" on their shoes in marker.

The announcement over the PA crackled.

Principal Whitaker’s voice came through low, slow, careful.

"Students of Oak Hill Academy... please send your thoughts and prayers to Ethan Albarado and the entire Vorpal team. As of this morning, Ethan remains in a coma. Counseling services will be available in the guidance wing for those who need them."

No applause. No reaction.

Just silence.

And then whispers.

...

Outside the Gym — Basketball Court Window

Freshmen stood peering through the glass at the court — empty now, where the team once trained.

One kid muttered:

"I heard he blocked a sniper bullet with a rock."

"That’s not possible."

"It’s Ethan. Anything was possible with him."

..

Back in Classrooms...

Teachers paused their lessons.

Some said nothing — letting the tension sit in the room like a ticking clock.

Others tried to distract the class with routine.

But it didn’t matter.

Because every student in Oak Hill had the same thought on their mind:

"What happens to Vorpal Basket now?"

"What happens if Ethan... doesn’t wake up?"

And in that moment...

Hope felt like it was balancing on the edge of a buzzer-beater.

One second left.

One shot.

And the team’s heart was lying in a hospital bed.

...

Meanwhile Coach Fred Mason had never run this fast in his life.

Not during college sprints.

Not during any game.

But this time his heart pounded not from cardio...

But from guilt.

He didn’t wait for his car.

He didn’t tell anyone.

He just ran.

Down the faculty hall.

Out the school gates.

Across the slope leading to the main road.

His legs burned.

His chest heaved.

But he didn’t stop.

Inside his mind:

"(Ethan... that kid...)"

"(I should’ve done more.)"

"(All those times he carried this team... and I was on the sidelines... watching like a damn spectator.)"

The memory of Ayumi’s voice replayed in his head from the night before.

"Coach Fred... Ethan’s been shot."

"He saved Lucas."

It had hit him like a truck.

And now—

His shoes pounded against the sidewalk.

Every breath was ragged.

He didn’t care.

Not if his knees gave out.

Not if he looked like a fool.

Not if he had nothing to offer.

He needed to be there.

Hospital Entrance

Fred Mason burst through the sliding doors of Imperial Valley Hospital.

Sweat pouring. Shirt clinging to him. Hair wild.

The receptionist looked up, startled.

"Sir—?"

Fred slammed his palms on the counter, gasping:

"Ethan... Albarado. Where is he. I’m—Coach Fred. Oak Hill."

The nurse hesitated. Then softened.

"Sixth floor. ICU. Room 613."

Fred didn’t wait.

He ran again through elevators, past nurses, doctors calling after him.

...

Room 613 – Outside the ICU

When he reached it... he stopped.

His chest heaved. His hands trembled.

Through the small glass window...

He saw Ethan.

Pale.

Still.

Tubes hooked to his arms.

The heart monitor beeping steadily each sound like a whisper of hope... and a reminder of danger.

And around him Lucas. Charlotte. Ayumi. Evan. Ryan. Louie and the others...

All quiet.

Eyes red.

Spirits hollow.

Coach Fred leaned his forehead against the glass.

And finally... his knees gave out.

He knelt there breathless.

Tears falling silently onto the tile.

"I’m sorry, Ethan... I should’ve been better. You deserved better..."

He didn’t care if the others heard.

Because now?

Coach Fred Mason wasn’t running anymore.

He was just praying.

To be continue

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