Sinbad
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Chapter 7: Family
🕑 Added 2025-11-13 17:01:55 +0000 UTCThe camera shutters started before Ethan and Durant even sat down.
Flashbulbs popped like fireworks. Dozens of reporters stood crowded against the rope line. ESPN, CBS, Rivals, even a few foreign outlets with handheld recorders. The moment that two players walked onto the small platform, the room lit up like a red carpet.
A long table. Two name placards. One bottle of water each. The NCAA backdrop in deep navy behind them.
Durant sat down first, looked up, blinked at the swarm of cameras. “Damn,” he muttered. “Didn’t think it'd be this many.”
Ethan took his seat beside him, the flashes almost blinding him.
Durant leaned toward him.
“Lot of reporters.”
“Yeah,” Ethan said without turning. “So don’t say anything stupid.”
He trained Kevin in PR but even with that KD was still KD. He’s gonna say what he wants to say. PR be damned.
The media handler stepped to the podium and tapped the mic.
“We’ll begin with questions for the student-athletes. Please state your name and outlet.”
A forest of hands shot up.
“Tom Walters, CBS Sports,” a voice said quickly. “Ethan, let’s just get right to it what were you thinking on that crossover? Did you know you had him?”
Some chuckles broke out across the front row, one reporter even shook his head, grinning like he still couldn’t believe what he’d seen.
Ethan blinked, then leaned back in his chair. His mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to answer or laugh.
“I mean… I was just trying to create space. I didn’t plan it. The trap was late, and he gave me a lane, so I took it.”
“Yeah, but you sent him to the floor, man,” Walters said, laughing now. “Is that something you actually work on?”
Ethan scratched his jaw, eyes narrowing a bit like he was weighing how cocky he wanted to sound.
“No, it’s not something I practice or plan on doing every single game. My handles are just that good.”
Durant turned his head slow, squinting at him like he’d just heard someone lie under oath. “Nah. This man’s lying. He’s in the gym every day, working on that same move. Been doing it since we were kids.”
That cracked the room. A few reporters leaned back in their chairs, laughing loud enough to echo.
Ethan shook his head, smiling down at the table. “Don’t expose me like that.”
“Next question?”
“Charlotte Mason, Rivals. Kevin did you guys say anything to McGee after the play?”
KD raised an eyebrow. “I mean… nah. What do you even say to someone after that? ‘You good?’ That’s just rude.”
Ethan leaned into the mic again. “I didn’t mean to embarrass him. That’s not what I’m about. I was just trying to control the tempo. That’s it.”
But he didn’t sound fully convincing. A few reporters picked up on it.
“Aaron Kim, The Athletic. Ethan, serious question now. You’ve had 28, then 24. You’re running the offense, defending top guards, drawing double teams. At what point do you consider yourself the best college player instead of just the best freshman?”
Ethan exhaled, leaned forward, and adjusted the mic with his thumb.
“Yeah. I’d say so.”
“I mean, look at the numbers. Scoring? Playmaking? On-ball defense? Pick a stat, I’m probably near the top. I take pride in doing everything. Not just highlights. Controlling games.”
He glanced sideways at Durant.
“But I also got him on my team. Kevin is like a 6 '9 demigod with a jumper from outer space. So it’s not like I’m carrying this thing alone.”
Durant shrugged like it wasn’t even a debate.
“And look I’ve got respect for Oden. He’s a historic-level talent. Big body, crazy timing, already built like the next Admiral.. But me? I’m not scared of the spotlight. I’m not waiting my turn.”
Ethan’s voice settled low, serious.
“If I don’t believe I’m the best, who’s gonna believe it for me? Coaches? Scouts? Nah.”
His gaze swept the room.
“Why can’t it be me? Why can’t I be the best player in the country? Why not the best player in the world one day? That’s how I see it.”
Durant leaned back and smirked.
“Y’all better write that down.”
.
ESPN College GameDay Studio
Faint audio rolled beneath the camera feed: Ethan Cross’s voice coming through the press room speakers.
“Why can’t it be me? Why can’t I be the best player in the country? Why not the best player in the world one day? That’s how I see it.”
The footage paused.
Split-screen.
Left side: still image of Ethan mid-press conference, mic near his lips, eyes calm but sharp.
Right side: the ESPN College GameDay set.
Rece Davis turned to camera, eyebrows lifted.
“Whew.”
Jay Bilas chuckled first, a hand running across his chin. “You better believe they wrote that down.”
Digger leaned forward, holding up a highlighter. “That’s some confidence. And frankly? He’s not wrong. He is that guy. He should fully believe he’s that best player when he is the best.”
Hubert Davis nodded.
Rece tilted his head. “Jay, let’s go deeper. Is it premature? He’s a freshman.”
Bilas didn’t care that he was a freshman. “So what? Why does that matter? When was it a rule that says a freshman couldn’t be the best? Ethan is the best college player I have ever seen in my lifetime. You can compare him to any players like Tim Duncan, MC, Caremlo Anthony and I would still say 100% with no question in my mind, hes better than all of them. There's a reason NBA teams are tanking this season and its best of this man.”
Digger blinked. “Hold on now, Jay. You’re really saying Ethan Cross is better than Tim Duncan? Then Carmelo? In college?”
Jay leaned forward, eyes steady. “Yes. And I’ll say it again Ethan Cross is the best college basketball player I’ve seen in the modern era. Period. Besides Kareem, who’s untouchable, this kid’s résumé is absurd.”
Rece glanced at the screen behind them. Stats appeared in bold white lettering over a burnt-orange background:
Ethan Cross – Freshman Season (35 games)
28.4 points, 6.0 assists, 5.6 rebounds, 2.4 steals per game
994 total points, 210 assists, 196 rebounds, 84 steals
350 FGM (50%), 82 3PM (39%), 179 FTM (85%)
Awards:
Big 12 Player of the Year
Big 12 Freshman of the Year
Big 12 Tournament MOP
National Freshman of the Year
NCAA Scoring Champion
Consensus First-Team All-American
Hubert jumped in. “And he’s doing it all while running the offense. He’s the floor general. He’s guarding top guards every night. And he just crossed a Louisville defender so bad they had to sub the guy out. You can make a solid case that he is the second best college player in history.”
Digger still wasn’t sold. “He’s great, I’m not arguing that. But let’s not act like Carmelo didn’t carry Syracuse to a title. Or that Duncan wasn’t a four-year rock at Wake.”
Bilas shook his head. “I’m not saying those guys weren’t elite. But Melo had help — Hakim Warrick, Gerry McNamara. Duncan played four years. This kid? Ethan’s 18. He’s doing this as a freshman with pro-level poise, reading defenses like a vet, dropping 52 points in his first two tournament games.”
Rece looked up. “And let’s not forget — he’s doing all this with Kevin Durant on the team.”
That made Hubert laugh. “Exactly. And neither of them care. There’s no ego. KD’s a once-in-a-generation scorer, and even he’s giving Ethan the ball to run things. That tells you everything.”
Jay tapped the table once.
“He’s the most NBA-ready college guard I’ve seen. Ever. That includes guys like Chris Paul, Derron Williams, even Magic and I’m not saying he’s better than all of them right now, but at this stage? As a freshman? He’s ahead.”
Digger raised a brow. “Ahead of Magic?”
“He’s ahead of Magic as a freshman. That’s what I said.”
Digger’s mouth opened then closed. He held his highlighter in the air like it might call a timeout. “You can’t just throw out Magic Johnson and act like it’s nothing. Jay, c’mon.”
“Digger,” Bilas said, tone level, “I’m not talking about careers. I’m talking about where they were when they were freshmen. Magic was special. Ethan is even more special. This is a 6’5” freshman scoring leader, elite defender, with an NBA-ready frame and mind. Nobody’s doing what he’s doing right now.”
Hubert Davis nodded slowly. “I’ve seen Melo in ‘03. Lebron. Duncan, KG. All of them incredible talents… but Ethan? The floor feels different when he’s on it. I do believe Ethan has a higher ceiling than Lebron James. Call me crazy but thats what I fully believe.”
Digger crossed his arms. “You’re all drinking the Kool-Aid. One ankle-breaker and a few buckets, and we forget Greg Oden exists? And I don’t even feel like arguing about the Lebron line.”
A pause.
Bilas raised a brow. “No one’s forgotten Oden.”
Rece looked to camera as Oden’s face flashed up, next to his season line:
Greg Oden – Ohio State (Freshman)
18.5 points, 9.7 rebounds, 3.5 blocks per game
“Still the second or third projected pick,” Rece said. “Still dominating both ends.”
Bilas nodded. “And he’s earned it. I’m not slighting Oden. He’s a generational center — strength, footwork, shot-blocking instincts like a vet. But if you're asking me right now, who’s the best player in college basketball this second?”
He tapped the table.
“Ethan Cross.”
The panel fell quiet for a second.
Then—new voice off screen.
Doug Gottlieb leaned into the segment via satellite from a remote studio, earpiece visible. “Hey, I like the kid too, he’s got poise, shift, vision, the whole thing. But let’s not crown him yet. We’ve seen freshmen flame out. What happens when he has a cold night? When he sees a real Big Ten defense? When teams double him from tip-off?”
Hubert waved a hand. “He’s already getting that, Doug. And he’s still giving teams 24 and 28 while running the show. He’s not some streak shooter. What are we talking about. We are acting like the media hasn’t seen this kid grow up in front of our very eyes since he was like 12 with KD.”
Rece looked between the feeds. “Alright, alright, alright let’s pause before Jay starts saying he’d take Ethan over Jordan.”
That drew some laughs.
Digger grumbled into his mic. “Don’t tempt him.”
Rece shuffled his notes. “Look the bottom line is we’re watching something special. Durant’s getting the headlines, and rightfully so he’s Kevin Durant — but Ethan Cross talent and ceiling is legit Jordon or Kobe.”
“Alright. Let’s talk brackets.”
The graphics shifted on screen.
Sweet Sixteen Matchups — East Region
(1) North Carolina vs (4) Southern Illinois
(2) Georgetown vs (3) Washington State / (6) Pitt*
South Region
(1) Ohio State vs (5) Tennessee
(2) Texas vs (6) Pitt / (3) Washington State
Rece looked back at the panel.
“Texas will get the winner of that Pitt–Wazzu game. Greg Oden’s Buckeyes will take on Tennessee. And Carolina’s still rolling. So before we go, quick hits who’s in trouble?”
Gottlieb spoke first. “Honestly? Texas. If they get Pitt, that’s a grind-it-out, physical game. They’ll test Cross’s legs. He’s carried a lot.”
Digger agreed. “And Washington State plays slow. That pace can frustrate young players. If they can force Texas into a halfcourt game, watch out.”
Jay Bilas shook his head. “If anything, Texas is built for that. Cross can operate in tight windows.”
Rece smiled. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
Camera zoomed out.
“We’ll be back after the break with Clark Kellogg joining us from the West Region and later, a live check-in from San Antonio ahead of Ohio State vs Tennessee. Don’t go anywhere.”
March 21, 2007 | Atlanta, Georgia – Hartsfield-Jackson Airport
The arrival board flashed. Flight 3724 from D.C. landed.
Ethan leaned against a steel pillar by Delta baggage claim, arms crossed, hood up. A few feet away, Durant paced near the sliding doors, checking his phone every once in a while.“They just got off,” Kevin said, not looking up.
Ethan shrugged. “Told you we didn’t have to rush.”
Kevin didn’t answer. He kept moving, phone still in his hand, thumb hovering like he was waiting for another update.
When it came to their moms, they didn’t play. Ethan’s was his whole world—raised him solo, held down two jobs, barely missed a game for two different lifetimes. His dad had died in a car accident a few months after he was born, so it was always her.
Kevin’s situation wasn’t that much different as he was by his mom since his bum ass dad left.
“I said we should’ve been here earlier,” Kevin muttered, more to himself than anything.
Ethan shot him a look. “Yeah, well, you act like you gave birth to her.”
Kevin didn’t bite. Just kept pacing.
Ten minutes later, the doors hissed open. Two women stepped through, wheeling carry-ons, scanning the crowd and just like that, the tension left Kevin’s shoulders.
Wanda Durant walked out first, tall, full of confidence. She had on black jeans, a charcoal Nike hoodie, and white sneakers. She scanned the terminal once before her whole face lit up.
“My baby!” she called, arms already open.
Kevin didn’t say anything. He just walked straight into the hug.
Behind her came Emily Cross with the same striking blue eyes as Ethan, dark black hair pulled into a neat twist, pale skin glowing in the overhead lights. She wore a fitted gray coat over matching slacks.
Ethan’s face broke into a smile the second he saw her. Real, full, the kind he hadn’t cracked in weeks. He moved fast, meeting her halfway.
“Hi, Mom,” he said, voice catching just a bit. “I missed you.”
Emily pulled him in with one arm, her chin resting briefly on his shoulder. Then she stepped back, giving him a once-over with those surgeon’s eyes.
“You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
“You been sleeping?”
“I’m trying.”
She raised an eyebrow, already gearing up for more, but Ethan cut in before she could really get going.
“Let’s grab your bags.”
Emily shifted her bag into Ethan’s hands before he could offer.
“I’m not fragile, you know,” she said.
“Yeah, but you’re still my mom,” he muttered.
A few feet away, Wanda was fussing with the zipper on her carry-on when Kevin cut in and took it without a word.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know,” KD said. “Just let me.”
The four of them fell into a rhythm instantly.
As they started toward the parking structure, Kevin slowed, then turned back toward Emily. “Hey.”
She looked up.
He pulled her into a hug, one arm around her shoulders like he’d done it a thousand times. Because he had.
“It’s good to see you, Mama E.”
Emily smiled, brushing her hand through his curls. “You’ve gotten taller again, I swear.”
Wanda chuckled, watching it play out. “He’s always been lanky. Came out with legs longer than the doctor’s.”
Ethan shook his head. “He keeps growing and won’t stop lying about his height so he won’t play center.”
They walked in pairs across the pickup loop—Kevin and Wanda ahead, Ethan and Emily trailing behind.
A black rental sedan waited at the curb. Ethan popped the trunk and started loading bags while Kevin held the doors open.
Wanda climbed into the back first, then Emily slid in beside her, smoothing out her gray coat.
She looked up at the front seat and raised her voice just enough.
“Should I be worried for my life?”
Kevin laughed. “Just wait until you see him take a left turn with two hands and a prayer.”
Ethan got in, clipped his seatbelt. “I’ve never crashed.”
“Yet,” Kevin replied back. “He drives like he’s got nine lives and his mama gave him all of ‘em.”
Wanda smacked his shoulder lightly. “Don’t talk about Emily like that. She’s in the car.”
The whole car cracked up.
Ethan shook his head, pulling out from the terminal. “Y’all want a ride or a roast?”
The city unfurled in front of them, skyline rising beyond the road. Emily and Wanda kept trading comments in the back. Kevin fiddled with the radio. And Ethan, for the first time all week other than pressure felt happy.
He felt home.
Comments
noname
Eh no it’s not I saw the first few chapters of it saw the Yao Ming glaze and was like fuck this shit I’m not translating it so it’s a original from the first chapter besides the premise
Kylberg
this is a translation right? but done like the football one, where you make it actually readable, cuz I found one on web novel that is exactly this premise. Haven't read it but, in that one the FL is Taylor Swift, I hope you change this.
Anderson
Thanks for the chapter
