Yichen caught another pass from his teammate, spun around, and shot. But just as he released the ball, the opposing guard’s massive frame blocked his view like a mountain. The guard had already leaped high. Yichen hadn’t even processed it.
Bang!
The ball was slammed hard from Yichen’s hands. Dazed for a moment, he watched the opponent charge toward their basket with the ball. Yichen snapped back, sprinting to reposition.
Chengkong Academy’s strategy was pure disruption. They’d seen through Yichen—his skills beyond shooting were average. Block his shots, and his killer move was sealed.
Yichen’s next attempts were either thrown off-target by interference or swatted away. Only once did luck grant him a make.
No matter how he ran, the opponent always held the better spot. No matter how he shot, they disrupted or blocked him precisely.
Zheng Hong saw Yichen was locked down. He took more offensive duties himself.
90-94. 100-106. 110-120.
The gap wasn’t closing—it was widening.
Damn it! Am I useless now? Yichen gritted his teeth, darting to create space for a shot.
But the guard clung to him like glue. Yichen’s shots were still contested or blocked. He even crashed into the guard and fell.
Gasping heavily, Yichen stood up and kept moving. He finally broke free—a clean spot, no defenders nearby. His teammate passed perfectly. Yichen’s heart leaped. This time, it’ll work!
As he reached for the ball, an opponent cut across, snatching it mid-air. The thief passed to a teammate under the hoop. That player soared, catching the ball mid-flight.
Boom!!!
A thunderous slam shook the rim.
Yichen panted, sweat soaking his entire body.
“Yichen!”
Bang!
Zheng Hong’s shout rang in his ears. Yichen’s head jolted—a sharp pain and dizziness flooded his skull.
A teammate had tossed the ball without noticing Yichen wasn’t looking. It smashed straight into his head.
“Yichen! You okay?” Zheng Hong yelled. Yichen shook his head.
“I’m fine!”
The game raged on. Dizzy from the hit, Yichen shook himself clear and pushed to reposition.
But his body was fading. Shaking off the guard grew harder.
Yichen sprinted, gasping, sweat dripping in beads. He refused to quit. Zixuan was watching. He had to show his best self—not this pathetic version.
Faster. Sharper. Only then could he lose the guard. Yichen drove his body relentlessly. Yet fatigue was undeniable. No matter how hard he pushed, his body wouldn’t obey.
The crowd stared in shock. Yichen had stunned them all at first. Now, he was shut down. Some sneered—he was overrated. Others waited, hoping for another miracle.
Cheers and noise swelled from the stands. Rong Tianyu clenched his fists, eyeing Yichen’s state. He considered subbing him out.
In a corner of the stands, Shiyue sat with her tennis club friends. She’d come at their invitation and spotted Yichen and Zixuan entering. When Yichen dazzled everyone with his shooting, Shiyue’s heart had bloomed with joy. Now, seeing him struggle, she bit her lip, gripping her skirt tightly, worry etched on her face.
On court, Yichen felt his strength draining. He knew his limits now.
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! He cursed inwardly, sprinting harder. Zixuan was watching. He couldn’t give up.
Dizziness hit again. He wobbled. The guard still clung to him, unshakable.
Crowd roars, teammate footsteps, the ball’s thud against the floor—swirled in Yichen’s ears like a dizzy reel.
Helplessness washed over him. Was he really too slow to escape this guard?
Damn. I wanted to show off for my sister. Instead, she’s seeing me like this.
That thought made his body feel heavier, harder to move.
Just as everyone thought Yichen was done—and Rong Tianyu decided to pull him—
“YICHEN!!!! KEEP GOING!!!!!!”
Zixuan, quiet moments before, shot up from her seat. Hands cupped like a megaphone, she screamed with all her might toward the court. The arena’s noise nearly drowned her out, but her clear, crisp voice pierced straight into Yichen’s mind.
“YICHEN!!!! KEEP GOING!!!!!!”
Her second cry was almost lost in the chaos.
Yichen looked toward her. He’d never seen Zixuan so fired up.
“YICHEN!!!! KEEP GOING!!!!!!”
Zixuan panted, chest heaving, nothing like her usual calm self. Nearby spectators stared, stunned.
Her voice hammered Yichen’s heart. Exhaustion clung to him, yet a strange power surged through his veins.
My sister’s fighting for me. How can I quit? As long as I can move, as long as I’m standing—I’ll find a way. Because the sister I love most is screaming for me.
Dizziness struck again. Yichen staggered back a step. A flash sparked in his mind. His eyes snapped wide.
This feeling!
In the stands—
“Senior Shiyue… that girl… is she the chairman?”
Du Xiaoyi, a tennis club underclassman beside Shiyue, asked uncertainly.
Shiyue didn’t answer. Her mouth hung open, words trapped in her throat.
She wanted to shout for Yichen like Zixuan did. She wanted to send her feelings to that beloved boy.
Seeing Yichen’s eyes ignite at Zixuan’s cheers—his slump vanishing—should’ve made her happy. But her heart ached sourly.
Blocked. Bitter. Shiyue’s throat felt clamped by iron jaws. The harder she tried to yell, the tighter they squeezed.
On the court—
“Zheng Hong!”
Yichen roared at his teammate dribbling nearby. Zheng Hong met his gaze, smirked, and passed without hesitation.
Yichen caught the ball cleanly.
“Hmph. Think you can break my defense?”
The guard sneered, his towering frame looming over Yichen.
He’d glimpsed Zixuan too, but this was a game. Full effort was respect.
Yichen stayed silent, a confident smile spreading on his face.
He pushed off hard, leaping at a 45-degree angle to shoot. The guard sprang upward. Before everyone’s eyes, the ball sailed over his outstretched hand.
Swish.
Nothing but net.
