It was praise delivered in a childish tone.
Utterly unmasked.
Pei Yan had heard plenty of overt and covert compliments about himself over the years, and of course, he’d overheard curses and gossip muttered to his face or behind his back. But he never paid them any mind.
There was no reason to.
He had no need to let others’ emotions sway him.
Yet facts proved that there were always exceptions.
Perhaps because this praise hadn’t been voiced aloud, yet he’d caught it anyway—the effect was inevitably a little different.
Considering the other was just a third-year high schooler, Pei Yan thought, he’s still a kid, after all.
The second half began.
Just as Pei Yan had predicted, even though Shen Ju stuck to defending Ma Rui, the guy had adjusted based on prior experience. And shamelessly, whenever he couldn’t match Shen Ju’s strength, he’d flirt with fouling—edging right up to the line. He’d broken through the defense several times, helping his side claw back a bunch of points.
Pei Yan had been the star of the first half, marked tightly.
In the second, his scoring dropped off sharply.
Though Ma Rui’s team revolved around him, their teamwork was solid.
Unlike Ke Sheng’s ragtag crew—what a bunch he’d scraped together. Some barely knew each other, others nursed grudges; they played with awkward clashes, grinding friction between them like squeaking gears. Without their tactical edge—and excluding Shen Ju, every one a skilled player in their own right—they wouldn’t have held out the first half.
But now, the second half looked dicey.
The score was neck-and-neck, even tighter than before.
Time was running out.
One final possession to decide it.
Luckily, Pei Yan snagged the ball.
But he was double-teamed hard, no shot. Out of the corner of his eye, Ma Rui barreled through Shen Ju’s defense again—fouling on the edge—charging straight at him.
Ten seconds left.
If Ma Rui’s side got this one, they’d snatch victory from defeat.
Pei Yan was shut down.
He lowered his gaze, wrist snapping as he dribbled.
A fake-out, then he hurled the ball toward Pei Haochuan.
“Catch!”
Pei Haochuan was guarded too—no good for a shot.
But his spot was perfect for one pass.
Pei Haochuan “tsk”ed.
The ball barely touched his hands.
He lofted it toward Shen Ju.
Shen Ju stood beyond the three-point line.
Catching it, his instinct kicked in—jump, raise up.
“Can’t play for real?” Pei Yan had asked during solo practice.
Shen Ju had looked sheepish: “Haven’t touched one much, but does secretly practicing the motions count?”
“At our school—I mean Yude—a senior invited me back in second year.”
“Said my strength would launch the ball miles.”
“But I turned him down in the end.”
Pei Yan hadn’t asked why.
But in this final moment, he’d passed to Shen Ju.
Bang!
The basketball slammed the backboard.
Then, under everyone’s stares, it dropped cleanly through the hoop.
Three-pointer.
In.
They could’ve won just by stopping Ma Rui’s last shot, but nailing a three at the buzzer ignited cheers across the court.
Shen Ju stood there, breathing hard.
Sweat plastered his bangs to his forehead, but his eyes shone impossibly bright.
The instant it swished, he whipped his head to Pei Yan, grinning wide—little white teeth flashing in obvious glee.
Shen Ju bolted straight to him.
“I made it!”
He skidded to a stop in front of Pei Yan, suddenly shy: “Bro, did you mean for Haochuan to pass it to me? What if I missed?”
Ke Sheng, beaming, called for water.
Pei Yan took a bottle, handed it to Shen Ju first.
Shen Ju twisted it open, passed it back—Pei Yan couldn’t help chuckling.
He grabbed another: “No big deal if it missed.”
“Hm?”
Shen Ju’s hands came up instinctively, cradling it with Pei Yan’s, and took a sip.
Only after did he realize.
“Huh?”
Pei Yan low-laughed: “If we were still stressing your shot after all that hustle, what was the point?”
“Hold it—I’ll grab another.”
He placed the much-passed bottle back in Shen Ju’s hands.
Finally, it had a home.
Meanwhile.
Bang! Pei Haochuan slammed the basketball at Ma Rui’s crew. Ke Sheng, Han Chengfeng, and Guan Mulin closed in.
“What? Lose and slink off?”
Han Chengfeng snorted: “You think we’ll let you?”
Ma Rui’s face was ashen, teeth gritted: “So what do you want?”
“Simple. Apologize.”
Ke Sheng pocketed his hands.
Guan Mulin chimed in: “Forgot what you said and did pre-game? Lose, apologize. Basic stuff—no need for lessons, right?”
“Exactly!”
Han Chengfeng huffed, thinking, sun rising in the west? Guan Mulin sticking up for me?
But before the thought finished, Guan Mulin yanked Shen Ju over.
“…”
Self-indulgent assumptions smacked Han Chengfeng’s head.
Guan Mulin hadn’t spared him a glance.
Shen Ju seemed reluctant, yanking his arm free, mumbling: “Why drag me? Let go—I can walk.”
Guan Mulin had learned to tune out Shen Ju’s words. Right now, Shen Ju needed their “reactions” to sell his persona. A solo act wouldn’t cut it—the task hinged on how they bought into it.
For Guan Mulin alone, ignored overtures—dismissed, suspected—would eventually make him back off with boundaries.
He’d note Shen Ju’s status, keep distance.
No trouble from Shen Ju? No extras from him.
But his retreat might fuel Shen Ju’s dissatisfaction, escalate it. Guan Mulin could picture Shen Ju pushing further, overstepping—tolerance has limits, especially since he wasn’t alone. Shen Ju’s targeting would bring fallout, make him “reap what he sows.”
In that process, Guan Mulin would realize who truly cared, who gave without reserve—and thus…
Guan Mulin shivered.
This scripted “fate” left him speechless.
If he were oblivious, unable to hear Shen Ju and 996’s chats—would his guesses play out?
What drove Shen Ju?
It wasn’t thankless—it was self-sabotage, plunging into “irreversible doom.”
What was Shen Ju thinking?
Why submit to this control, take this task?
Did he know his acting was stiff, awkward—forcing “villainy”? What did that feel like?
Guan Mulin couldn’t imagine.
Recalling Grandpa’s words—maybe Shen Ju seeks something.
For the first time, Guan Mulin realized deeply: his and Shen Ju’s lives weren’t just a twisted swap. Not that wealth meant no woes, but growing up where everything came easy kept him from such desperation, from going all-in for scraps.
So right now…
“Fine, fine.”
Guan Mulin indulged: “Come yourself.”
“Did I pull you too hard?”
Shen Ju: “…”
Sometimes I really can’t figure where it goes wrong. Is my acting not enough? Need to amp it up?
But those thoughts aside for now.
Shen Ju eyed Ma Rui.
No words yet—Ma Rui’s face hit rock bottom.
He’d long beefed with two alley locals: one he couldn’t beat, one outscored him—always lectured via comparisons. Now the fighter had “flown up the branch a phoenix,” rich kid. Ma Rui hated admitting it, but jealousy soured him like pickled cabbage—squeeze, and acid dripped.
His taunts now slapped his own face.
No way he’d swallow it willingly.
But unwilling or not, he gritted out an apology.
Otherwise, total humiliation.
By leaving, Ma Rui’s face was unrecognizable.
Shen Ju realized he and Jian Yi weren’t at the same school anymore, frowning. He fished for his phone to message Jian Yi—then his shoulder got bumped.
“Little bro! C’mon! Dinner’s on me tonight!”
Han Chengfeng crowed, tinged regretful: “School starts tomorrow—last night to cut loose!”
Guan Mulin tsked inwardly. Who’re you calling little bro?
“Starving anyway. Count me in.”
Han Chengfeng smacked his lips, pointing: “Class prez, you crashing my dinner? Wait, are we even dinner buddies?”
Guan Mulin: “More than basketball buddies?”
Fair point.
Basketball together? Dinner followed naturally!
“Fine!”
Han Chengfeng puffed his chest—host supreme.
Duh—feed ’em, and mouths soften, tempers shorten!
He roped in Ke Sheng and Pei Haochuan too.
Shorten their mouths and spines!
No need for Pei Yan—he’d come regardless.
The chaos derailed Shen Ju’s phone hunt. Pei Haochuan and Han Chengfeng bantered, Ke Sheng piled on, Han Chengfeng dragged him in, Guan Mulin juggled, then clammed up; Pei Yan tuned out entirely. No openings.
By the time Shen Ju snapped back, it was late.
Bro’s probably asleep?
Shen Ju sprawled on his bed, decided against waking him.
Just a heads-up like to a kid—tomorrow worked.
He wanted Jian Yi to dodge Ma Rui lately.
But Jian Yi wouldn’t anyway—Shen Ju nodded to himself, ditched the phone, and crashed.
Next day at school, Jian Yi got cornered in an alley by Ma Rui and crew.
Old grudge, fresh revenge.
Ma Rui had long itched to school Jian Yi; yesterday’s flop at Shen Ju’s hands? Time to vent hard on Jian Yi!
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