Side Chapter: Ethan Little Memories

Before Ethan Albarado regained the memories of his past life as Jonathan Brandit, before he knew about fate, about the novel world he now lived in, he was just a kid who loved basketball, a kid who played with his family on weekends, laughing, running, and enjoying the game that bonded them all together.

It was a warm Sunday afternoon. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the driveway of the Albarado family home. A basketball hoop was mounted above the garage, slightly worn out from years of use. The sound of sneakers squeaking on the pavement, the rhythmic bounce of the ball, and the occasional laughter filled the air.

"Alright, who's ready to lose?" Alfred Albarado, Ethan's father, spun the ball on his finger, a confident smirk on his face. He was a former champion basketball player, a man whose skill on the court was undeniable. Even after retiring, he never lost his touch.

Ethan, 10 years old, grinned up at him, holding his own basketball tightly. His eyes sparkled with determination. "No way, Dad! Today's the day I finally beat you!"

"Oh?" Elle Albarado, Ethan's mother, chuckled from the sidelines as she stretched. "You boys always talk big, but don't count me out yet."

Anna, Ethan's little sister, clapped her hands excitedly. "Go, Ethan! Beat Dad!"

The family set up teams—Ethan and Anna versus their parents. It was a friendly match, something they often did to keep the love for basketball alive in their home.

As the game started, Ethan's heart pounded with excitement. He dribbled the ball, his father guarding him closely. Alfred was bigger, stronger, and more experienced, but Ethan wasn't afraid. He amateur fake left, then quickly shifted right, trying to drive to the hoop.

But—

Smack!

His father blocked his path effortlessly, laughing. "Too slow, kiddo!"

"Ugh!" Ethan pouted but didn't back down. "Just you wait!"

Anna giggled from the corner. "Pass it to me, Ethan!"

With an amateur motion, Ethan flicked the ball to Anna. She caught it and threw up a shot—

Swish!

"Nice one, Anna!" Elle cheered, giving her daughter a high-five.

Ethan turned to his dad with a determined expression. "I'm not losing this time, Dad."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then show me what you've got."

The game continued. Ethan was fast, eager, and full of energy, but no matter how hard he tried, his father was always one step ahead. Alfred blocked his shots, stole the ball with ease, and moved like a seasoned professional.

Ethan was frustrated. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't win.

At one point, after missing another layup, Ethan stopped, panting. His small hands clenched into fists. "Why can't I beat you?" he muttered.

Alfred, seeing his son's frustration, knelt down beside him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Ethan," his father said gently, "it's not about winning or losing. It's about loving the game."

Ethan looked up, confused. "But I want to win."

Alfred smiled. "Then you keep playing. Keep improving. You think I got this good overnight? No way. I practiced every day, I failed hundreds of times, and I learned from every mistake."

Ethan stared at his father, listening intently.

"You don't get stronger by winning all the time," Alfred continued. "You get stronger by losing and learning. So don't be frustrated. Enjoy it. The game will always teach you something if you're willing to listen."

Ethan's hands slowly unclenched. He looked at the basketball in his hands, then at his father.

"Keep playing, son," Alfred said, ruffling Ethan's hair. "One day, you'll be strong enough to beat me fair and square."

Ethan took a deep breath, then nodded. His determination burned brighter than before.

"Okay," he said. "Let's keep playing."

The game resumed, and though Ethan still couldn't beat his father, he played with a smile on his face because, deep down, he realized something.

He didn't love basketball because he wanted to win.

He loved basketball because it made him feel alive.

And that feeling… never left him.

Not even when he remembered his past life.