I dribbled lazily beyond the three-point line, pondering who to pass to. After what felt like ages, the crowd began showing bored expressions. Even Huang Li urged me a few times—but I ignored every word.
Finally, I glanced at Long Ge.
She’d been hopping around me the whole time, but thinking she couldn’t play, I’d deliberately tuned her out. She was sighing and wandering off when she caught me looking. She froze for a heartbeat, then leaped up like a monkey, eyes sparkling with excitement, hand shooting high.
I hesitated. With no better options, I tossed the ball to her.
Whatever mess she made, Lao Han would clean it up anyway.
The guys barely glanced at her before refocusing on me. I started drifting toward the paint—planning to jog later, find a spot, maybe get lucky.
Then I turned. Long Ge rolled up her new tracksuit sleeves, face lit with thrill. “Watch this!” she yelled.
“Wait! Don’t just charge in!” I shouted.
She ignored me completely, clutching the ball eagerly. The guys smirked, still guarding me. But the crowd erupted:
“Go, sis! Dribble!”
“Just toss it in the hoop!”
“Smash that little ball into his chest!”
I shuddered. Who’s plotting murder? If Long Ge hurls that tiny ball at someone’s chest, anyone would damn well end up with a cracked sternum.
Long Ge stepped back, readying a run-up. I sighed, moving inward to grab the rebound—
*Heh heh.*
The moment she sprinted past me, I forgot to breathe. I’d expected a shot-put heave, a charging foul… anything chaotic. But that petite blur shot by like lightning.
Silence fell the instant she leaped. As she rose onto her toes and sprang, Huang Li’s eyes widened slowly, awe dawning on his face.
Closer… closer…
***BANG!!!***
Seconds stretched like minutes.
I tilted my head up.
*Thump… thump… thump…*
The bounce of the ball was crystal clear. I stared at Long Ge—hanging from the rim with one hand.
Dead quiet. She gripped the rim, roaring triumphantly: “HOW AWESOME IS THAT?!”
Under forty stunned eyes, a petite white-haired girl had just soared higher than a man to slam one-handed. The sight was surreal—like watching a sow sprint up a tree.
Another beat of silence—then the crowd exploded. Someone sounded ready to scream bloody murder:
“SO AWESOME!! HOLY CRAP!!”
“Bro, am I hallucinating?!”
“She DUNKED?!”
“IS SHE AIR JORDAN?!”
Amid the roar, I looked up helplessly. “Get down. Return the ball. That was traveling.”
Still dangling, she peered down. “What’s ‘traveling’?”
I massaged my temples. “…Holding the ball, you can’t take more than two steps. You just sprinted fifty meters with it.”
Even Lao Han had sweat on his brow, watching speechlessly.
The four guys were shell-shocked. Huang Li stared up, eyes wide as saucers, frozen. Beside Ming Hai, Xue Ling—the cross-dressing boy—flushed red, mouth slightly agape, bright eyes shining with pure admiration.
Crowd swelling, faces burning, they called a timeout. After huddling, they returned for the second half with dead-serious eyes.
*Yeah, go home. Hit the sack. Stop pretending.*
The lanky guy passed to Huang Li. I moved to guard. He drove left—I followed—then *whoosh*, a sharp crossover between his legs left me stumbling.
I spun. The bastard was already at the rim. I stopped chasing.
Damn, he’s fast. School team, no surprise.
Just as he went for the layup—Lao Han darted past, swiped the ball, and dribbled out.
Gasps. Huang Li blinked, realizing the steal. He gritted his teeth, signaled sideways. Xue Ling jolted and followed.
Lao Han stayed calm, dragging four defenders. I rushed toward him—but useless. A short guy glued himself to me, blocking every lane.
Their strategy was clear:
Ignore Long Ge—fierce but foul-prone.
Lao Chu stood near half-court, staring blankly at the hoop, miming phantom shots. After that lucky three, she’d drifted farther out. Probably a fluke. Not a threat.
If Ming Hai neared the arc, they’d send a blocker. Lao Chu’s shot was weirdly accurate, but her wind-up too slow—just got swatted, yet she finished the imaginary follow-through… *Is she playing in another dimension?*
Score: 4-4. After I passed to Long Ge earlier, she played like a wild dog off its leash—ball-hogging, refusing passes. Her flashy fouls gifted them two free throws.
Their plan? Lock down Lao Han. Shadow me. Secure the ball. Win.
I sighed.
Winning didn’t matter much… but losing still sucked.
We just wanted to move a little. Never thought it’d drag this long.
…Basketball really is a team game.
Forty eyes watched. Four guys swarmed Lao Han beyond the arc. Only the short guy stuck to me.
Lao Han faked left, dodging Huang Li’s swipe—
*Pass already!* I stepped toward him. Another figure cut me off, perfectly positioned to block the lane without fouling.
My mind scrambled. “Dude, are you gay? Why you glued to me? Look at him—creepy! That’s a foul! Stop turning your butt at me!”
Whispers rippled: “Is he talking about himself? He was totally flirting with Xue Ling earlier…”
*Tch.*
If the trick failed once, it wouldn’t work again.
He smirked. “Not illegal screening. Call me gay all you want. You’re not getting this ball.”
I gritted my teeth. Damn, thick skin…
No one guarded Long Ge. She strolled the court like it was empty, waving behind them. “Lao Han! Pass! I’ll dunk again!”
Lao Han sighed. Possession timeout looming. He crouched low—defenders tensed—*fake!* He launched a high pass to Ming Hai near the arc, then charged the paint. Three guys scrambled after him.
Ming Hai stood far out, still staring blankly at the hoop. I sprinted inward, yelling: “Ming Hai! Pass! Stop staring—”
She snapped awake, leaped instinctively, and caught the ball.
I winced at the girlish motion.
I opened my mouth to shout “Lao Chu, pass to me!”—but the moment she held the ball, her aura sharpened. The words died in my throat.
Hands raised. Stance perfect.
Three-point line. Half a meter inside half-court.
Lao Chu’s eyes locked on the rim, lips murmuring. She rose slightly—
Flawless release. The ball spun backward off her index finger, arcing in a perfect parabola.
The crowd remembered her textbook form. Time froze. Thirty-plus held their breath, watching it sail closer…
Lao Han stopped mid-drive, watching the arc, a wry smile on his face.
I stared, dumbfounded.
*No way. This is half-court.*
***Swish…***
The net whispered against the ball.
