He Siheng had been waiting for him to make the first move. His hand at his side clenched into a fist when a basketball suddenly flew in from the side, smashing precisely into Xu Weiyang’s head.
Everyone on and off the court froze for a moment, then turned toward the thrower in unison, jaws dropping.
Xu Weiyang’s head buzzed from the impact. He subconsciously released He Siheng’s collar and cursed. “Who the fuck threw that ball at me!”
“I did.” Tan Jing walked over and casually apologized. “Sorry, my hand slipped.”
The apology carried zero sincerity or emotion—his thirst for revenge was plain as day.
He Siheng, standing beside him, was the first to crack, bursting into laughter.
He had to admit, this guy was weirdly satisfying when he pissed off others.
The other guys from Class One on the court laughed too. Xu Weiyang got even angrier from their laughter and glared at Tan Jing with furrowed brows. “You little—”
The curse died in his throat the instant his eyes met Tan Jing’s.
Tan Jing looked at him, his tone flat. “I already apologized. That not good enough for you?”
Though his face showed no anger and his tone was the same as always, his eyes held no warmth—just sharp, oppressive pressure.
Xu Weiyang had heard rumors about how terrifying Tan Jing, the S-Rank Alpha, could be, but he’d brushed them off. Even when he’d seen Tan Jing effortlessly hurl a several-kilo shot put nearly twenty meters at the sports festival, he’d only thought the guy was a bit stronger than him.
But now, facing him head-on with just a look, Xu Weiyang’s heart skipped, suffocation maxed out.
This was the suppression of an S-Rank Alpha. And Tan Jing hadn’t even released his pheromones.
Xu Weiyang swallowed hard, visibly losing his nerve. “If you apologized… then we’re good…”
He turned to leave the court, but He Siheng called out. “The game’s not over yet. What’s the rush?”
Xu Weiyang turned back. “You guys lost a player to injury. How’re you supposed to keep playing?”
He Siheng slung an arm over Tan Jing’s shoulder, drawling lazily. “Class Monitor, you hear that? He just called you less than human. You gonna take that?”
Xu Weiyang: “…”
Don’t stir the pot like that!
Tan Jing glanced at He Siheng’s hand on his shoulder, saying meaningfully, “This mess is your fault. You think a little reverse psychology will get me to clean it up for you?”
“…What do you mean ‘clean it up’? Gross.”
He Siheng jumped back in disgust. He hadn’t expected Tan Jing to be so sharp even now, picking up that his jab at Xu Weiyang was really meant to goad Tan Jing into taking small forward.
But honestly, this whole thing had started because of him anyway, and it wasn’t Tan Jing’s problem.
Seeing him actually about to walk away, He Siheng finally made an offer. “Fine, I owe you one. Deal?”
Tan Jing turned decisively, a smile tugging at his lips. “Deal.”
He Siheng: “…”
This jerk was satisfying when he went after others, but he really held his own accountable too!
Tan Jing’s entry into the game electrified the crowd even more.
The two rumored rivals were actually teaming up to play ball. Even if someone blew up the school right now, they’d finish watching this game first.
Off-court, plenty of people shouted Tan Jing’s name, cheering excitedly.
He Siheng scowled at the chants.
This guy stole his spotlight the second he stepped up.
Because of Tan Jing’s presence, Xu Weiyang didn’t dare pull any more dirty tricks, but Class 10 stuck to their strategy of swarming He Siheng. The moment he got the ball, he was trapped in midcourt.
Facing a double-team from two burly guys, He Siheng couldn’t break through. His best passing option was also blocked one-on-one.
Irritated, he caught a glimpse of Tan Jing—the farthest from him—in his peripheral vision.
Their eyes met for less than half a second. He Siheng tsked, raised his arm, and feinted a jumper.
Class 10 players lunged to block, but it was a fake-out. The next second, he flung the ball backward to Tan Jing in the distance.
Tan Jing caught it, rapidly passed the defender under the basket, and nailed an Instant Step layup for two points.
A perfect pick-and-roll.
The crowd erupted in wild screams.
“Nice shot!!!”
“Ahhh, President is hot as hell!”
Even Wang Yizhou yelled excitedly. “That teamwork is insane, holy shit!”
Pick-and-rolls were basic basketball tactics, but pulling them off required high synergy—especially He Siheng’s fake-out, which fooled not just his defenders but even his own teammate in prime passing position. Only Tan Jing seemed to anticipate it, snagging the long toss.
Wang Yizhou turned to Song Lin in disbelief. “Am I seeing things? This their first time playing together?”
Song Lin replied, “This is what they call—husbands in sync, unbreakable.”
Wang Yizhou spat. “Bullshit ‘brothers.’ You haven’t seen these two bicker from childhood. If they became brothers, I’d eat shit standing on my head.”
Song Lin shoved his phone in Wang Yizhou’s face. “Go on, say it again. I’m recording for evidence.”
Wang Yizhou: “…”
The game continued on court. After that first play, He Siheng and Tan Jing kept using pick-and-rolls, their chemistry improving with each exchange. They dominated, and with a final whistle, Class One won 30-16—a crushing victory.
The crowd boiled over like bubbling water, screaming wildly. “Ahhh, President is hot as hell!”
“Heng Bro is insanely cool!!!”
The game had been exhilarating. He Siheng felt great too, panting as he walked over to Tan Jing. “Not bad. We synced up pretty well.”
He remembered elementary school, when Tan Jing couldn’t play basketball due to health issues and just watched from the sidelines. He hadn’t expected the guy’s skills to be this solid now.
Tan Jing shrugged it off. “Gotta keep up with a former champ, after all.”
He Siheng paused mid-wipe of his sweat. “How’d you know I won a basketball championship?”
As he asked, he kept tugging at his sweat-soaked collar without letting it drop, his T-shirt hem hiked up to reveal a slim, pale strip of waist.
Tan Jing’s gaze flicked down, catching a glimpse of faint, toned abs.
His eyes returned to He Siheng’s face as his thin lips curved. “Nice abs.”
“…” He Siheng yanked his shirt down to cover up, snapping irritably. “I compliment you once, and you go full creep again. You really that desperate?”
Seeing him successfully distracted, Tan Jing chuckled without arguing. As they prepared to leave the court, a loud voice called He Siheng’s name from behind.
They both turned to see the musclehead approaching.
He Siheng hooked his thumbs in his waistband lazily. “What, not had enough? Wanna rematch?”
Xu Weiyang had played dirty on court, but he’d been convinced by the end. Deep down, he was a man of his word.
