With every new shot, Jung Ho widened his lead. His mid-range strikes were precise, as if following a laser trajectory—the ball barely grazed the net, leaving the defender helpless.
The crowd erupted in applause after each successful shot, their cheers merging into a deafening roar that fueled Jung Ho's momentum. He thrived on that excitement, that adrenaline—and his game only grew fiercer.
He had no intention of stopping. The next play began with a sharp crossover, after which he dashed toward the three-point line. The defender tried to block the shot, but Jung Ho abruptly stopped, stepping back before releasing the ball. A clean swish—another four points in his favor.
"This is insane!" one spectator commented, watching as Jung Ho scored again and again. "He's not giving the rookies a chance!"
Finally, Sung Wo blew the final whistle, and the game came to an end. Jung Ho gazed proudly at the scoreboard. The numbers read 101-0 in his favor.
"What the hell?" Jen Ryu whispered, unable to believe his eyes. "We agreed on a tie..."
"He didn't even leave us a chance," So Ho sighed, realizing their plan had failed.
Jung Ho, slowly unclenching his fists, turned to the rookies, whose faces were twisted in confusion and disbelief.
"I hope you're not too upset. It's just a game. But I'd advise you to train harder."
The rookies stood frozen, as if nailed to the spot. Their wide eyes reflected a mix of bewilderment and humiliation. One by one, they lowered their gazes, clenched their fists, and wordlessly shuffled away. Their hunched backs, weighed down by defeat, faded into the twilight haze.
Jung Ho didn't even bother to watch them leave. He turned toward Ming You, but before he could speak, the latter sharply cut him off:
"You didn't disappoint me! You can go now—once we finish crushing these rookies, your reward won't keep you waiting."
Jung Ho simply nodded. Turning around, he strode away, his silhouette dissolving into the shadows of the sidewalk leading to the buzzing night city.
Ming You remained seated on the bench. His lips stretched into an unnaturally wide grin—cunning, almost sinister. He turned to Taek Jung and his gang, speaking in a playful tone:
"Well, my friend, I won. As always."
Taek Jung's face twisted in rage. His fists clenched, and his lackeys tensed, sensing trouble.
"What the hell are you grinning at?" he hissed, his voice laced with threat.
Ming You didn't drop his smile for a second:
"You owe me a hundredfold payout for the bet." He paused, savoring the moment. "I wonder—does your income from gambling, whores, and drugs even cover that amount? Or are you just a small-time gang of petty thugs?"
Taek Jung nearly jumped in fury. His eyes narrowed to slits, veins bulging on his neck.
"Who the hell are you calling small-time!?" he roared, spit flying from his mouth. "You think we won't honor our word!?"
He spun toward the referee, Sung Wo, who stood pale as a ghost.
"Hey, Sung Wo, how much did he bet?"
"Fifty... fifty thousand..." Sung Wo forced out, gripping his notepad so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Taek Jung suddenly burst into laughter. His rage melted into a cocky smirk.
"So, with a hundredfold payout, that's five million won? Easy."
But Ming You didn't flinch. His grin only widened.
"Haha—five million dollars, kid."
A moment later, the court was engulfed in dead silence.
His answer left the gangsters in shock and disbelief.
Taek Jung froze. His lackeys exchanged glances, as if doubting their ears. Even the wind seemed to stop blowing.
Five million.
Dollars.
The silence was shattered by Taek Jung's hoarse scream:
"This lunatic bet fifty thousand dollars!?"
His rough, furious voice echoed across the court. The other gangsters' faces burned with rage, their eyes shooting daggers. Taek Jung whirled toward Sung Wo, grabbing him by the collar.
"Sung Wo, check it. Now!"
The referee, pale as chalk, scrambled to the edge of the court where a black sports bag lay. His hands trembled as he unzipped it and pulled out a stack of bills bound with a bank strap.
"Here... here they are..." Sung Wo lifted the money, and even in the dim evening light, the green bills gleamed.
Taek Jung couldn't hide his shock:
"This is fucked up."
"What do we tell Tae Hwan?" Sung Wo asked in panic.
Before Taek Jung could answer, a mocking voice cut in:
"Well, boys, where's my five million?"
Ming You stood with his hands in his pockets, smirking as if watching a cheap circus act.
One of the gangsters, a burly man with a scar across his brow, stepped forward aggressively:
"Who the fuck do you think you are? You're just a little fucking pussy! Be grateful that you're free of debts and we didn't smash your fucking little faggot face!"
But Ming You only laughed—short and contemptuous.
Then, without wasting another second, he turned to the dispersing crowd and shouted at the top of his lungs:
"Hey, esteemed spectators!"
His sharp, mocking voice made people turn back.
"This gang of clowns is too scared to pay me my winnings!"
He spread his arms in a theatrical gesture, as if performing on stage.
"My bet was high, and these little kids are so broke they can't pay a regular high schooler! Just look at them!"
Ming You pointed mockingly at Taek Jung and his gang. They stood rooted in place, their faces contorted with fury and helplessness.
The newcomers, crushed by their defeat, had long since disappeared into the alleyways, and Jung Ho seemed to have vanished into the night like a shadow. But the remaining spectators—local regulars, thrill-seekers, and random passersby—now looked at the gangsters with open contempt.
One of them, a guy in a battered cap, snorted and shouted:
"Seriously? You can't even pay out the winnings to some kid? Or is he just making fools out of you?"
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Another, tall and lanky with a predatory grin, added:
"Sounds about right, judging by the organizers' shocked faces. Are they really scamming schoolkids?"
"Haha, never thought these tough guys would be too scared to pay a student," another spectator threw over his shoulder as he headed toward the sidewalk. "Guess I won't be betting on kids' games anymore."
The crowd buzzed. Some laughed, others shook their heads. For street rats, reputation was everything. And now, thanks to Ming You's acting skills, it was crumbling.
The gangsters exchanged frantic glances, like cornered animals. One of them, his face twisted with anger, suddenly yelled:
"Hey, he's a fraud! He didn't even bet anything! Why are you all running off? You really believe some kid?"
A few spectators paused, eyeing the new spectacle.
"Haha, how can you lie to people who saw me put down hundred-dollar bills instead of pocket change? Isn't that right, dear audience?" Ming You cast a glance at the crowd, and a few reluctantly nodded.
"What? So you really don't pay out big wins? What a bunch of scammers!" someone in the crowd called out.
The gangsters clenched their teeth in rage and shock. Taek Jung's jaw tightened until his cheekbones turned white. His fingers curled into fists, but he knew—now was not the time to let the situation explode.
"We'll pay you your winnings!" He took a step forward, his voice deliberately loud for the crowd. "It's just that the amount is so big, we need the boss's approval."
Ming You threw his head back and laughed so hard the sound echoed across the wasteland.
"Ha! You hear that?!" He spun sharply toward the crowd, theatrically pointing at Taek Jung. "They can't pay me right away like they're supposed to! They admitted they owe me, but as you can see—they're not handing over a thing!"
The crowd stirred. Whispers slithered between them like snakes:
"Scammers..."
"Cowards..."
"Not betting another cent with them..."
Taek Jung felt the ground slipping from under him. His men exchanged panicked looks. Then Son Oh, pale but composed, stepped forward:
"My apologies for the misunderstanding!" His voice trembled, but he spoke clearly. "Ming You, we'll definitely pay your winnings and even add compensation for this mess!"
The gangsters froze. Taek Jung, grinding his teeth, pulled out his phone and stepped aside, muttering something tense into the receiver.
Ming You tilted his head like a predator watching trapped prey:
"Can't wait to see this 'compensation' of yours."
A minute later, Taek Jung returned. His face was stone, but fury burned in his eyes.
"Your money's on the way." He turned to the crowd, spreading his hands. "And to you, our dear spectators, I apologize for this... little scene. We made a mistake, and it won't happen again. Next time, your winnings will be increased by fifteen percent!"
The crowd hesitated, considering. Some nodded, others whispered.
Then Ming You raised his hand again:
"Hey, wait! You still haven't seen them pay me. Are you really falling for the lie that your winnings will increase when they haven't even given me my money?"
The crowd went still.
"He's right..." someone said aloud. "How can they raise our payouts if they haven't even paid him?"
Taek Jung felt like the ground was on fire. He slowly turned to Ming You, his gaze promising retribution. But for the crowd, he kept his face calm:
"Alright, friends. To clear any doubts about our... ability to pay, you can stay and watch as we hand over his winnings—plus compensation."
People murmured. Some sat back on benches, others left with shrugs. But many stayed—this show was getting too interesting.
The night's silence was shattered by the roar of an engine. A black SUV with tinted windows rolled onto the scene like a shadow from the underworld, kicking up dust. The front door swung open.
First out was a bodyguard—a mountain of muscle in a black leather jacket. His heavy boots thudded against the asphalt. He scanned the crowd, then sharply opened the rear door.
Out stepped Tae Hwan.
Short but stocky, with streaks of gray in his hair and the cold eyes of an old wolf. His presence thickened the air. The gangsters instantly lined up, bowing their heads.
"Boss..." Taek Jung, head lowered, stepped forward. "There's a situation... We owe five million dollars. And we can't refuse."
Tae Hwan froze. His gaze slowly shifted from his terrified underlings to Ming You—that brash little pup who had already taken large sums from him before.
"This... This..."
A storm raged in his mind.
"This brat really has become a threat. What the hell!"
He kept thinking, visualizing a chess match against Ming You. In his mind, a clear chain of consequences formed—each move like a piece on the board, each with its own threat.
"If I don't pay him, I lose my reputation. No one will bet with us again. But on the other hand... I don't even have that kind of money!!! He outplayed me!"
Before his inner eye, the no-win scenario unfolded: Ming You, cold and calculating like a grandmaster, had predicted every move. In this imagined game, there were no hidden plays, no loopholes—only an inevitable end.
In his mind, Ming You placed checkmate on the imaginary board. The last piece fell. The game was lost.
"You won." Tae Hwan's voice was quiet, but each word struck like a hammer. "I admit defeat. You really are a wolf in sheep's clothing."
Ming You feigned wide-eyed innocence, playing the part of naive confusion:
"And where's my prize, now that you've publicly admitted defeat?"
Tae Hwan lowered his head. His fingers clenched into fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.
"We… We don't have that kind of money." He took a deep breath. "From today… we're your debtors."
Ming You didn't bother hiding his satisfaction. He slowly leaned in toward Tae Hwan, as if sharing a secret, but spoke loud enough for everyone to hear:
"In that case, I have a condition."
"What is it?" Tae Hwan raised his gaze, and Ming You's already unnatural smile widened even further.
"You obey me completely. Bow your heads."
Before anyone could react, he suddenly grabbed Tae Hwan's hair and forcefully yanked his head down—the movement was sharp, deliberate, emphasizing total dominance. Taek Jung jerked forward as if electrocuted. Sung Wo gritted his teeth, the blood draining from his face, leaving his skin deathly pale.
The rest of the gang froze, muscles tense, eyes wide—no laughter, no shouts, just silence shattered by this humiliation. Even the usually restless spectators held their breath, their whispers cutting off mid-sentence. The air thickened, as if before a strike.
But Ming You didn't stop.
"Once your debts are paid, I'll acknowledge your authority, and you can pretend this never happened." He released Tae Hwan and swept his gaze over the entire gang. "But until then, you do as I say."
Tae Hwan trembled violently, every muscle locked in uncontrollable fury. Behind his eyes, scenes of brutal retaliation played like a film reel—he imagined squeezing Ming You's throat, feeling the pulse beneath his fingers, his nails tearing into flesh, exposing bloody muscle and sinew. In his mind, he already had his boot pressed against Ming You's face, grinding it into the filthy asphalt, hearing the crunch of bone and a choked gasp.
But… reality was different. Clenching his jaw until it ached, until his teeth threatened to crack, he suppressed that thirst for revenge—for now.
"Bow your heads to our new boss—now!" His voice came out low and ragged, like the growl of a cornered beast ready to snap at any moment.
The gang members froze. The crowd gasped.
One by one, the gangsters lowered their heads. Reluctantly, grudgingly, but they bowed.
Ming You stood among them, smiling.
"Alright, now for the esteemed spectators." He glanced toward the crowd before continuing, "I withdraw my objections and will allow the organizers to collect the debts and pay them to me. Since I'm now also considered an organizer of these games, your next winnings will indeed be increased by fifteen percent."
The crowd murmured in confusion until one voice shouted:
"So if I place a huge bet, I can become a boss too and get my own lackeys? If that's the case, I can't wait for the next game!"
The crowd buzzed with excitement, people whispering among themselves, already calculating potential gains. Energized, they began dispersing, their steps now lively where they had been sluggish moments before.
As the last of the spectators disappeared into the darkness, a heavy silence settled over the area. Only the faint rustling of leaves in the roadside bushes broke the stillness.
Taek Jung stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable, but his fingers dug into his elbows.
"What about the debts of the newbies in your basketball club?" he asked, keeping his voice steady. "You're not planning to cancel them, are you? You don't have to play against them."
Ming You turned to him, his smile sharpening:
"Of course not. A debt is a debt. Besides, I want to play… or rather, I want to win." He paused, and his black, fathomless eyes briefly reflected the cold glow of a streetlight. "So I'll crush them into even greater debt."
"Fine, we get it," Taek Jung said, though his thoughts ran differently—Damn it, it's obvious this shameless schemer doesn't give a damn about his own teammates.
Ming You seemed to read his mind—or simply didn't care. He lazily waved a hand as he turned toward the exit.
"Alright, boys. Until the next game."
Tae Hwan, who had been silent until now, suddenly called after him:
"We can give you a ride if you need one."
His voice was unnaturally flat, as if forcing the words out.
Ming You didn't even turn around.
"Thanks, but I'll walk."
His figure slowly dissolved into the darkness, the last glint of light skimming his shoulder before he vanished around the corner.
The moment he was out of sight, Tae Hwan jerked violently, as if invisible chains had been released. His face twisted with rage, a vein throbbing on his forehead.
"That fucking little shit! How dare he?! Damn it, damn it… Fuck!!!"
He punched the bench, the dull thud echoing down the empty street.
The gang members exchanged glances. Seeing their boss lose face like this was worse than any defeat.
Taek Jung stood there, fists clenched, his breathing heavy and uneven.
"That immoral, ruthless, scheming bastard!" he hissed, every syllable dripping with hatred. "He didn't just use his own reputation—he used mine! Damn you, Ming You!!!"
His scream tore through the night, but the only answer was silence.