Chapter 17:Coonie the Clutch
[Noah White's POV]
The gym was alive with energy—the sound of sneakers screeching against the hardwood, the deep echoes of the ball bouncing, the roaring crowd reacting to every play.
But Noah White barely heard any of it.
His eyes were glued to the court.
To Vorpal Basket.
To his little brother.
Or rather—the empty spot where Aiden White should have been standing.
Noah clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palm.
He tried to focus on the game. He tried to just watch. But the pain—that old, familiar pain—never left him.
"(If only I didn't have this stupid injury back then… perhaps I could be like them.)"
A deep, aching regret swirled inside him.
Noah had once been one of the best. More of a prodigy than Alec Storm himself.
But fate didn't care about talent.
It didn't care about dreams.
The moment his ACL snapped, everything changed.
His entire basketball future—gone.
And now?
Now, he could only watch.
His gaze landed on Ethan Albarado.
A player he had never heard of.
Yet—
Noah's green eyes narrowed.
"This guy… he's different."
There was something about the way Ethan moved.
His ball-handling. His court vision. His passes.
Noah had seen elite passers before. But this?
This wasn't ordinary.
This was instinct.
Noah leaned forward slightly, eyes flicking toward the scoreboard.
[Score Update:]
Orlando Hoops – 76
Vorpal Basket – 62
[3rd Quarter – 1:00 Remaining]
He exhaled, gripping the railing in front of him.
"(Almost there…)"
He wanted this win.
Not for himself.
Not even for Vorpal Basket.
But for Aiden.
His little brother.
Noah may not have been able to continue his basketball dream.
But Aiden could.
And if he couldn't be out there—
Then at the very least, he wanted his brother to win.
Even if it was just this one game.
…..
[Ethan Albarado's POV]
The ball bounced rhythmically against the polished hardwood as Ethan dribbled up the court.
His movements were smooth—controlled—but his mind was racing.
His blue eyes scanned the floor, taking everything in.
He didn't need to look at the scoreboard.
He already knew.
"(We can't surpass their score. Not yet.)"
But winning wasn't the goal of this quarter.
"(We can stop them from scoring until the 4th. If I just play my cards right…)"
He sucked in a sharp breath.
The five players in front of him—Orlando's bench squad—weren't weak.
Even their reserves were a level above most teams' starters.
They were quick. Strong. Disciplined.
Ethan clicked his tongue.
"(Even their bench is strong…)"
He stole a quick glance at his own teammates.
Kai Mendoza.
Coonie Smith.
Jeremy Park.
Brandon Young.
They were panting.
Sweat dripped from their brows.
Their jerseys clung to their bodies.
But—
They were still standing.
Still fighting.
Ethan exhaled slowly, his lips curling into a small smirk.
"(Well, it's not like we're not that good either…)"
He locked eyes with Coonie Smith, who was watching him with a confused expression.
Ethan just grinned.
He already had a countermeasure.
He had been waiting for this moment.
One minute left in the third quarter.
The perfect time to shut Orlando down.
And when the fourth quarter came—
They wouldn't just defend.
They would strike.
...
[3rd Quarter – 0:40 Remaining]
[Score Update:]
Orlando Hoops – 76
Vorpal Basket – 62
Coonie Smith felt his breath hitch for a second.
Ethan Albarado had just passed the ball to Jeremy Park, one of the lesser-used bench players.
Why?
Ethan wasn't the type to make random plays.
There was always a reason.
Coonie narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything—
Ethan turned toward him.
And he stared.
A long, sharp stare.
Coonie frowned.
(What the hell? Why is he looking at me?)
His body tensed instinctively.
Did he do something wrong? Did Ethan expect him to move?
Before Coonie could figure it out, Ethan walked up to him.
"Coonie."
Coonie blinked. "Yes? I mean—what?"
Ethan's voice was steady, calm, but there was something in his tone.
Something serious.
"I have a plan… only you can do."
Coonie's brow furrowed.
"Only me?"
Ethan nodded, his blue eyes filled with confidence.
"Yes. Only you."
Something about those words made Coonie feel strange.
Not nervous.
Not pressured.
But… seen.
Like, for the first time, someone expected something from him.
Like someone actually believed in him.
Ethan's gaze flickered slightly.
His system screen was up—the translucent window only he could see.
And there it was.
A locked ability.
...
[Clutch Instinct] – (Locked Ability)
A hidden talent only activated under high-pressure situations.
Boosts reaction speed, decision-making, and shot accuracy in critical moments.
Ethan's eyes glowed with determination.
(Time to unlock his ability!)
He needed Coonie to step up.
Not Lucas.
Not Evan.
Not Ryan or Brandon.
Coonie.
Because right now, only he could pull this off.
Ethan inhaled sharply, looking at the game clock.
0:40 seconds left.
Not much time.
He clenched his fists.
They had one last chance before the fourth quarter.
And he was going to make it count.
....
[3rd Quarter – 0:35 Remaining]
[Score Update:]
Orlando Hoops – 76
Vorpal Basket – 62
Jeremy Park—Vorpal Basket's Power Forward, number 42—dribbled up the court.
His eyes locked onto his defender.
A tall, muscular power forward standing in front of him.
Dark skin, sharp eyes, an intimidating presence.
And on his jersey—
#42 –Freeman.
Jeremy's fingers gripped the ball tighter.
He exhaled slowly.
"(42 like me, huh.)"
But before he could even process the thought—
Ralph smirked.
"But talented than you."
Jeremy's body stiffened.
"(Tch.)"
He didn't react outwardly, but inside?
He felt a spark of irritation.
Ralph wasn't just talking.
He meant it.
Jeremy could see it in his eyes.
That superiority.
That confidence.
Like he was already convinced that he was better.
That this wasn't even a competition.
Jeremy's jaw tightened.
He wanted to say something.
To throw something back at Ralph.
But—fuck that.
He let his actions talk instead.
Jeremy lowered his stance, dribbling aggressively with his left hand.
A hard pound dribble.
The ball bounced off the polished floor with a sharp thud, the sound echoing in the gym.
Ralph Freeman didn't move.
He just watched.
Waiting.
"(Tsk. He's testing me.)"
Jeremy took a quick jab step forward, selling the drive—
Ralph didn't bite.
Jeremy's eyes flickered.
"(He's patient… but I'm not stopping here.)"
A quick crossover.
Left to right.
Jeremy shifted his weight, pushing off his right foot—driving hard to the basket.
But—
Ralph reacted instantly.
His body moved before Jeremy even took his second step.
His footwork was sharp.
His lateral movement? Perfect.
He cut off the drive effortlessly.
Jeremy nearly stumbled.
(Shit—he read me?)
Ralph smirked again, his voice low and taunting.
"That all you got, number 42?"
Jeremy gritted his teeth.
He wasn't done.
He faked a spin—
Then pivoted back toward the baseline, trying to shake Ralph off.
But Ralph?
He didn't even flinch.
He stayed locked in, arms wide, stance strong.
Jeremy suddenly felt suffocated.
Like no matter what move he made, Ralph had an answer.
Like he was trapped.
Jeremy's heart pounded.
"(Fuck… he's strong.)"
His teammates were shouting for him to pass.
But he didn't want to.
Not yet.
Not against him.
Not against this arrogant bastard.
He clenched his teeth, switching the ball back to his right hand.
He had one more move left.
A desperate move.
A fadeaway.
Jeremy planted his feet—
Jumped—
Flicked his wrist—
The ball soared through the air.
For a second—just a second—Jeremy thought it might go in.
But then—
SMACK.
A massive hand slapped the ball mid-air.
A clean block.
Ralph Freeman had anticipated it.
Had read it perfectly.
The ball flew toward the sidelines.
Out of bounds.
Jeremy landed hard, his breath ragged.
He stared at Ralph, disbelief in his eyes.
Ralph?
He didn't even look surprised.
He just stood there.
Tall. Unshaken.
Then—he smirked.
"You're not on my level."
The gym buzzed with murmurs.
The Orlando bench clapped.
Coach Corson gave a satisfied nod.
Jeremy?
He gritted his teeth.
He felt like shit.
But more than that—
He felt pissed.
Ethan Albarado watched the whole thing from the three-point line.
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
(Damn it. That was rough.)
Brandon, standing beside him , clicked his tongue.
"That guy… he's on another level."
Ethan didn't disagree.
But—
He looked at Jeremy.
At the way his fists clenched.
At the way his eyes burned with frustration.
And Ethan smirked.
(Good. Get mad, Jeremy. Use that anger.)
Because the game wasn't over yet.
[3rd Quarter – 0:17 Remaining]
[Score Update:]
Orlando Hoops – 76
Vorpal Basket – 62
The gym was electric. The atmosphere tense.
Every second on the clock felt heavier.
Ethan Albarado's sharp blue eyes flickered toward the scoreboard.
"(Seventeen seconds left.)"
Just one more possession.
One last shot before the quarter ended.
Ethan turned his gaze toward Coonie Smith.
Coonie was panting, tense. His fingers twitched.
But Ethan?
He grinned.
(I'm counting on you, Coonie.)
Coonie's heart pounded hard in his chest.
The weight of the moment crashed down on him.
He wasn't the star player.
He wasn't the go-to scorer.
But—
Right now?
The ball was going to come to him.
And he had to make it.
He had to.
He remembered Ethan's words.
....
"Coonie, if I pass you the ball, you need to shoot it. No hesitation. No overthinking. Just shoot."
Coonie had scoffed at first.
"So that's your plan?"
Ethan had nodded, his voice steady.
"Yes. Just leave it to me. I guarantee you can shoot it without fail."
...
Coonie's fingers curled into a fist.
Back in the present, he swallowed hard.
He glanced at the game clock.
0:17.
(No more doubting myself.)
Ethan dribbled up the court, eyes scanning the floor.
Lucas Graves was on the bench now, he loves to stand and watch the game. A basketball addict.
Evan Cooper? Resting for the fourth quarter.
The starters were out.
This was on him.
The Orlando Hoops bench unit wasn't weak.
They still had athletic, capable players.
But they weren't Alec Storm, Mason Hayes, or Julian Cross.
Which meant—
They could be exploited.
Ethan kept his dribble steady as he moved toward the right wing.
His defender, Terrance Woods, a long-armed shooting guard from Orlando's bench, shadowed him tightly.
Ethan bounced the ball low, waiting.
Reading.
The defense was overcommitting.
They were anticipating a drive.
"(Perfect.)"
With 0:12 seconds left—
Ethan made his move.
A sudden explosive first step toward the left, forcing Terrance to shift.
Then—a quick spin back to the right.
Terrance's body tensed—he was half a step too late.
Ethan had created just enough space.
Now—he just needed to draw them in.
With 0:08 seconds left—
He drove hard into the paint.
Orlando's backup center, Darnell Fox, a bulky 6'6" player, stepped up to contest.
(Gotcha.)
Ethan jumped—
But he didn't go for the layup.
He whipped a no-look pass behind his back.
The ball shot straight toward the left wing.
Right into Coonie Smith's hands.
Coonie's eyes widened.
The ball was there.
In his hands.
The clock ticked down.
0:05…
He could hear the crowd. The footsteps. The shouting.
His mind screamed at him—Shoot. Now.
Coonie sucked in a sharp breath.
And then—
He rose up.
0:03…
Orlando's defenders lunged toward him.
Jared Wallace, a scrappy defensive forward, was closing in fast.
0:02…
Coonie released the shot.
The ball soared through the air.
The gym fell into a hushed silence.
0:01…
Every eye was locked onto the spinning ball.
The buzzer blared.
And then—
SWISH.
Nothing but net.
The crowd EXPLODED.
Coonie froze.
For a split second, he didn't move.
He just stared at the rim.
The ball had gone in.
He had made it.
His shot.
He hit the buzzer-beater.
Ethan, still standing at the top of the key, grinned.
(Told you, Coonie.)
Lucas punched the air from the bench.
Kai Mendoza grabbed Coonie's shoulders, shaking him.
"Holy shit, you hit that!!"
Brandon Young rushed over, grinning.
Coonie staggered back, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
Then—
A sharp exhale.
And a grin.
He pumped his fist in the air.
"Fuck yeah!"
The bench erupted.
Even the Orlando Hoops players were caught off guard.
Jared Wallace clenched his jaw.
"Tch. That was lucky."
But deep down—he knew.
It wasn't.
Coach Corson's lips pressed into a thin line.
"Instinct…"
Meanwhile, Ethan Albarado?
He just wiped the sweat from his chin.
And smirked.
"(I told you I'd guarantee it.)"
The scoreboard updated.
[End of 3rd Quarter – Score Update:]
Orlando Hoops – 76
Vorpal Basket – 65
And just like that—
Vorpal Basket was back in the game.
To be continue