Ming You, weaving through the crowd, could feel people's gazes sliding over him. The noise of voices, laughter—it all blended into a dull roar, but he paid it no mind. Leaving his team by the court, he stepped closer to his goal, one stride at a time.
Taek Jung sat on the back bench, his head slightly tilted to the side. When Ming You's shadow fell over him, he didn't immediately look up, as if to make it clear he'd noticed him from afar.
"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up, heh." Taek Jung greeted him, his voice laced with light mockery and curiosity.
He slowly straightened up, studying Ming You as if trying to decipher what lay behind his calm expression.
"I wonder what kind of madness you've come up with this time, Ming You."
"As you can see, I've brought you players—or, to be more precise, live profit."
Ming You smirked at Taek Jung, jerking his thumb toward the new basketball club members.
"I'll never cease to be amazed by your shamelessness." Taek Jung laughed, and once he calmed down, he continued, "Alright, let's get down to business. What are the rules under your plan?"
Ming You's grin widened, knowing he'd be allowed to set the terms.
"Isn't it your job to organize games and schedule them?"
"Don't mock me! Even a baby who knows you could guess you'd impose your own rules. Besides, your schemes bring in the most profit, so stop dragging it out and explain. I'll arrange everything."
"Then let's begin," he said, leaning slightly forward. "My main team has a group of five rookies, just like me. That means there should be four games."
Taek Jung raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.
"Let me explain the bracket to make it clearer." Ming You crossed his index fingers, as if drawing invisible lines in the air. "The first branch is Lu Shen's team versus Haru Lin. Once one of them wins, they'll face the winner from the opposite branch—that is, whoever wins between Jung Ho and Hong Ren."
Taek Jung smirked, rubbing his chin.
"And what about your rookie team? Why four games instead of five?"
Ming You grinned, his eyes gleaming with greed.
"It's simple—it's about profit. The last team standing from both branches will play against my team. That way, I'll play for them and win the final bet. As a result, all these rookies will end up in debt—even those who played for me."
"So the bets only apply in the final against your team?" Taek Jung frowned.
Ming You suddenly spread his arms wide, as if revealing his cards.
"No. In the final against my team, they'll have a chance to halve their debt. But if they lose—and they *will* lose—the debt of all teams quadruples."
Taek Jung opened his mouth, but Ming You didn't give him time to think.
"But to make it seem fair and trick the audience into placing more bets, victory will only count if my team doesn't let them score a single point. We'll split the profit 50-50, and both of us can use these people however we want—just not against each other. Besides, they'd better get used to being proper slaves, so they'll need my help either way."
Taek Jung laughed, but there was something tense in his voice.
"You sure know how to make the most money. Unfortunately, you have no idea what reputation or morals are, heh."
"So, do we have a deal?" Ming You abruptly extended his hand, waiting for a response. "We've kept people waiting long enough—your audience is waiting for you, and my profit and team are waiting for me."
Taek Jung stared at his palm before slowly meeting his eyes.
"Fine," he finally said, gripping Ming You's hand. "But if anything goes wrong… it's your problem."
Ming You, satisfied that every detail of the plan was in place, headed back to his team. Meanwhile, Taek Jung approached the referee, meticulously discussing the terms and rules while arranging the matchups as Ming You had explained. Every word was measured, every move precise.
The two acted in sync, like parts of a single machine. While Ming You rallied his team, Taek Jung set the stage for their scheme.
"Alright, guys, time to warn your rookie groups and get ready to play. Don't forget to fake support," Ming You told his main team.
The team nodded and dispersed, explaining the bracket to the newcomers. The veterans quickly outlined tactics, emphasizing the opponents' weak points. The rookies listened intently, not wanting to miss a single detail—for many, this was their first chance to prove themselves.
Once the captains and rookies had split off to their respective courts, the referee made the announcement:
"The match between Lu Shen's team and Haru Lin begins now! Bets are closed—tip-off!"
Sung Wo tossed the worn street ball into the air. Haru Lin's tall center, with messy dark hair and equally dark eyes, leaped up, fingertips grazing the ball before slapping it toward his point guard—a nimble guy in a stretched-out jersey with a faded "19" on it.
"Mei Yu, run circles around them!" one of his teammates barked.
Mei Yu caught the ball smoothly, his sneakers squeaking against the cracked asphalt. He immediately charged forward, the ball seemingly glued to his palm as it bounced low and sharp. A tall defender with fingers wrapped in black tape and a cold gaze stepped up to meet him.
"Come on, show me what you've got, little mouse," the defender muttered, crouching into a defensive stance, his shadow looming over Mei.
"Little mouse? Heh, Xiao Li, you're losing your touch!"
He faked left—the ball smacked the pavement, rebounding at an odd angle, and Xiao Li jerked after it. But it was a feint. Mei Yu swiftly brought the ball behind his back, his body swaying right as his sneakers screeched against the asphalt. Xiao Li tried to react, but his feet tangled for a split second—Mei was already past him, half a step ahead.
"Damn it!" Xiao Li spat, spinning around.
But Mei Yu didn't drive to the hoop—Lu Shen's second defender, a stocky guy with short blond hair, was already cutting off the lane. Instead, Mei abruptly stopped, the asphalt grinding under his soles. His eyes darted to the side—a teammate stood open on the wing.
"Score!" Mei hissed through his teeth, whipping the ball in a sharp bounce pass.
The ball bounced off the asphalt, flew straight into a player's hands, and without aiming, he immediately threw it toward the hoop.
The ball slipped cleanly through the net without even touching the rim.
After the ball thudded back onto the asphalt, Xiao Li snatched it up with his calloused palm. He was already charging forward, his sneakers—with foam soles peeling out—digging into the court's surface, leaving faint marks on the sun-scorched pavement.
"I'd suggest getting out of my way!" Xiao Li bared his teeth in a grin, dribbling low, almost scraping the ball against the ground. Mei Yu crouched in a defensive stance, sweat trickling down his temples.
"You haven't seen where I can go yet."
Mei Yu lunged left—but it was a feint. At the last moment, Xiao Li pulled the ball behind his back, his body shifting right.
As soon as he crossed the three-point line, two of Haru Lin's defenders closed in on him like scissors—one from the left, a long-haired guy with a bandaged hand, the other from the right, tall and lanky. Xiao Li didn't even slow down. At the last second, he whipped the ball behind his back, making the left defender jerk forward uselessly, then instantly changed pace—a sharp stop, sneakers squeaking against the asphalt—before bursting right, leaving the lanky guy with outstretched arms and a blank stare.
Mei Yu rushed to intercept, his eyes narrowing to slits, sweat flying from his damp temples. Xiao Li felt his breath on his back. Instead of speeding up, he suddenly took a step back, pressing the ball to his stomach—Mei flew past, losing his balance.
"Damn, you're good, heh," he smirked, watching as Xiao Li took another step back toward the three-point line.
Xiao Li didn't even jump. He just straightened up, the ball resting on the fingertips of his right hand, his left barely guiding it. A defender was already flying at him, hand reaching for the ball. Xiao Li released it at the last moment, just as the bandaged palm blotted out the sun.
The ball soared in a high arc, spinning so slowly you could see every seam. It peaked, seeming to hang in the air for a heartbeat, then began its descent. The net didn't even rustle—just a soft whisper.
"Yes!" Lu Shen jumped off the bench, waving a towel with exaggerated theatrics. His voice sounded fake, like he'd rehearsed the line in front of a mirror. "We're in the lead!"
The game's pace intensified by the minute. Both teams moved swiftly, trading precise shots, and the score steadily climbed. But gradually, the initiative shifted to Lu Shen's team—their plays grew more coordinated and aggressive.
Xiao Li stood out especially. After deftly faking out Mei Yu with a sharp feint, he broke into open space and made a pinpoint pass to a teammate. Without wasting a second, the teammate sent the ball straight through the hoop, widening their lead.
Their opponents tried to adjust their defense, but Lu Shen's team's attacks grew more dangerous. They seemed to read each other's minds, their plays yielding results again and again.
"Hah-hah! Take that, Haru!" Lu Shen cheered from the bench, his grin twitchy. "Keep up the pace!"
"It's not over yet!" Haru Lin shouted, gathering his team a short distance away. "We can turn this around!"
Their acting was top-notch, but their smiles were too forced.
Despite Haru Lin's "efforts" and his team's real struggle, they couldn't turn the tide. Lu Shen's team played like a well-oiled machine, each player fulfilling their role, and in the end, victory was theirs—the scoreboard near the referee showed 12:9.
When the final whistle blew, players from both teams, unaware of the hidden tensions between their captains, genuinely embraced, exchanging congratulations.
"Great game!" Lu Shen said, rubbing his hands. "Now, we've got our next match to prepare for."
After a short break, only four participants remained on the court. Aside from Ming You's team and Lu Shen's team—who had already finished their match—the others watched from the sidelines. Now it was time for the remaining duos: Jung Ho and Hong Ren.
"Get ready, Jung!" Hong Ren called, winking. "I'm about to show you who the real master is here!"
"Don't underestimate me," Jung Ho replied, stretching his lips into a smile. "I'm not giving up without a fight."
His expression seemed overly rehearsed, and for a moment, his gaze flickered sideways, as if distracted by something important. But no one else noticed—all eyes were on the coming game.
Referee Sung Wo tossed the ball up, and the match began with a fierce start. The players immediately locked into a brutal struggle for control, elbows out, legs tense. Hong Ren's team showed instant aggression—their point guard, deftly dodging defense, made a sharp dash toward the center.
The opposing defenders closed in, but he didn't falter. A feint left, then a sharp crossover right—and the defender was left flailing, slipping on the asphalt. The bespectacled player, receiving the pass at the three-point line, didn't even look at the hoop—his arms remembered the motion. A quick jump, a soft release—swish!
"Two-zero!" he yelled, fists raised in triumph, as his team mobbed him, shoving his shoulders and laughing.
Jung Ho's team, trailing early, managed to seize the momentum with tough defense and quick counterattacks. One of their taller players, using his long arms, intercepted a pass meant for the sharpshooter in glasses.
A quick dash, two powerful dribbles, and he was already under the hoop. The defender tried to block his way, but a shoulder fake—and a close-range shot. The ball gently touched the backboard and slipped through the net.
The opponents barely had time to react before Jung Ho's team stormed into their half again. This time, the defense reacted faster, but the tall player used his body to push the opponent aside, received the pass, and without aiming, tossed the ball upward. A perfect arc—swish! Another point.
"Tied score!" he said with a smile, winking at his opponent.
"Don't celebrate too soon!" shouted a sturdy guy with short chestnut hair, adjusting his red cap. The response came immediately:
"Hey, Jen Ryu, going all out as usual, huh?"
"You bet!" he shot back defiantly.
One of the forwards grabbed the ball and charged toward the hoop, trying to break through the defense, but he was intercepted, sending the ball back to midcourt. There, Jen Ryu caught it.
He didn't hesitate. Quickly assessing the situation, he executed a sharp crossover, confusing his opponent, and dashed toward the three-point line. The defender tried to block him, but it was too late—the ball left Jen Ryu's fingertips in a flawless arc.
The opponents weren't giving up. They inbounded the ball, and their point guard tried to organize an attack, but Jung Ho's team's defense worked like clockwork. A steal, a quick pass, and the ball was back in Jen Ryu's hands.
He didn't take any risks. Two powerful bounces, a sudden stop—and an unexpected jump shot. The defender raised his hands but didn't even graze the ball. The ball sailed through the net, and Sung Wo blew the final whistle.
"I knew I could do it!" Jung Ho shouted, hugging Hun Ren and relaying the message, "We'll be taking those newbies' money soon, heh. Tell them good game."
"Good game," Hun Ren replied with a hypocritical smile. "But next time, I'll beat you for sure!"
Now came the moment for the penultimate game: Jung Ho's team versus Lu Shen's team. Both captains knew they were in for a predictable battle.
"This will be the deciding match," Xiao Li said, looking at Jen Ryu. "Good luck, my friend."
"You too," he replied, gripping the ball. "But I'm here to win."
Right after the tip-off, the game exploded with incredible energy. The ball flew from one player to another in a rapid exchange of attacks, like a spark igniting the flames of rivalry. Xiao Li instantly took advantage of the slightest defensive lapse. Catching a quick pass, he launched a lightning-fast shot, and the ball, tracing a perfect arc, sliced through the net with a clean swish.
Jen Ryu felt a drop of sweat trickle down his back, but the fire in his eyes only burned brighter. He wasn't about to let his opponent dictate the pace. Stealing the ball after a quick inbound, Jen charged forward, fooling the defender with a sharp fake. His powerful drive to the hoop ended with a spectacular dunk—he slammed the ball into the basket with such force that the rim trembled from the impact.
"Tied score!" he yelled, jumping down from the rim.
The game was neck and neck, the score constantly shifting as neither team wanted to back down. Xiao Li and his teammates moved with precision, like a well-oiled machine, their passes sharp and accurate, while Jen Ryu's team countered with bold drives and unexpected shots.
The ball flew from hand to hand, bounced off the backboard, and returned to play. The players' feet slid across the worn asphalt, leaving traces of their rapid movements. The spectators around the court held their breath, watching every move.
Final seconds. The score was tied.
Jen Ryu caught the ball at the three-point line, his eyes darting toward the hoop. Xiao Li rushed forward, trying to block his view, but it was too late. A light jump, a flick of the wrist, and the ball left his fingertips in a flawless arc.
Silence.
The rim shook, the net snapped upward—swish!
"We won!" he shouted, embracing his teammates.
On the other side of the court, Lu Shen's team froze for a moment, but then smiles touched their faces. They approached their opponents, extending hands—firm handshakes, pats on the back.
"Great game, you really showed your skills," Jen Ryu said, looking at Xiao Li. "See you next time!"
"You're one hell of a bruiser, Ryu," Xiao Li replied, gripping his rival's hand.
Meanwhile, Ming You stood up from the back bench. He ran a hand through his hair before stepping forward. From the other side of the court, Jung Ho approached him, his steps confident, his gaze calm, but with a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.
They met at center court, and Ming You flashed an exaggeratedly sly grin. His voice was slightly louder than usual to cut through the noise:
"Well, guys, great game." He nodded toward the rookie teams, then turned to Jung Ho. "After the break, we'll face off, Jung."
"Can't wait to play against you."
As soon as the two teams gathered on the court, something unexpected happened in Ming You's team.
Ming You carefully scanned the players, his gaze stopping on one of them. Casually stepping closer, he tilted his head slightly, studying the guy's face.
"Hey, watch guy, what's your name?"
"I'm So Ho. Any instructions on how we can win?" he asked, trying to sound confident, though a hint of tension crept into his voice. Ming You smirked, but there was no amusement in his eyes.
"Yeah, there is. I'm stepping onto the court—or to be precise, I'm replacing you."
"Replacing me? But we're playing elimination matches among us, the rookies. Why would you step in?" So Ho's voice wavered, mixing confusion with slight indignation. Ming You sighed as if tired of explaining the obvious. Slowly raising his hand, he pointed toward the bench.
"If I say substitution, it means substitution. Now go take a rest; I'll handle this."
So Ho clenched his teeth and walked toward the bench. Meanwhile, Ming You began giving instructions to his team of rookies.
"Alright, here's the plan: you pass me the ball, I'll drive past everyone and score. You just hold the defense and set screens. Got it?"
One of the players, a guy with messy hair and fiery eyes, couldn't hold back:
"But how does that help in the eliminations? We're supposed to test our skills, not just win..."
Ming You didn't even let him finish. His gaze turned even colder, his lips pressing into a thin line.
"Do as you're told if you want to stay in this basketball club."
The players exchanged glances but didn't argue. Their shoulders slumped slightly, but they silently took their positions.