The next morning after the entrance exams. The brick gates of Yoshido School.
Ming You, dressed in his school uniform, headed toward the school building. Other students were also passing through the gates—some in groups, some in pairs, and some alone.
Climbing the steps, Ming You opened the school door and entered alongside several students. His empty, lifeless gaze didn't stand out much among the sleep-deprived pupils.
After passing the security desk, he made his way to his classroom on the second floor. Ascending the stairs and walking past several classrooms and offices, he finally spotted a door with a sign that read "Class 2-2."
Ming You stepped inside. His classmates were sitting in small clusters—some pulling out textbooks, others already buried in them, and a few even asleep. But one student, sitting at the back near the door, turned his head and studied Ming You with a scrutinizing look.
"New kid?"
Ming You ignored him and continued down the aisle.
"Seems like the quiet type," muttered the guy's desk neighbor in a drowsy voice.
As Ming You passed the third row, his eyes landed on the second-to-last desk by the window. Behind it, at the very back, sat a girl with waist-length light hair, slightly further from the window. Ming You turned his hollow gaze toward her and asked:
"Is this seat taken?"
"N-no, go ahead."
He sat down, pulled out his textbooks, and waited for class to begin.
The bell rang.
The homeroom teacher—a gray-haired man in his mid-thirties—stood by the blackboard and made an announcement in a firm tone:
"Before we begin today's lesson, I have a quick announcement. We have a new student. Some of you may have already met him, but I'll ask you to introduce yourself properly."
Ming You rose from his seat and spoke in a flat, emotionless voice:
"I'm Ming You. I don't see the point in introductions, so let's not waste time. Thanks for your attention."
The entire class:
"…"
"Alright then, let's start the lesson." The homeroom teacher sat at his desk and picked up a textbook.
…
After the last class, Ming You headed to the school gym. He opened the door and saw a tall, sturdy guy with red hair, standing about 6.3 feet tall. He was wearing a black basketball uniform with red stripes, and on the front of his jersey was a red-and-white inscription: Yoshido. Just below it was his number—4.
He dribbled the ball against the hardwood, then dashed toward the free-throw line and took a high-arcing shot.
The ball swished through the net and bounced off the floor toward Ming You. He picked it up with one hand and raised his indifferent gaze.
"Not bad," he said, bouncing the ball twice before one-handing it over the backboard.
The ball sailed in a high arc and dropped straight into the hoop.
"Don't suppose you need an extra player?" Ming You asked, forcing a smirk.
"An extra? On the contrary, we're short one—especially someone as sharp as you."
Ming You gave a deliberately exaggerated chuckle in response.
"Heh, good to hear. Then maybe we should get to practice?"
"Hardworking too? You're practically the perfect player. Practice starts in fifteen minutes—you can go change for now. Grab a uniform from the coach's office; one of them might fit. We'll have another one tailored for you later."
"Okay." Ming You turned toward the coach's office, but the player stopped him with another question.
"By the way, there's something else I wanted to ask…"
"I'm listening."
"Ming You, right? At first glance, you seemed really unsociable, but turns out you're into basketball. Why didn't you say so? I'd have been the first to drag you onto the team."
Ming You feigned annoyance before sighing.
"I don't like unnecessary attention."
"Got it. Won't hold you up any longer."
Ming You entered the coach's office and checked the container inside. It held black basketball uniforms with red stripes. He picked out a pair of shorts and a jersey with the number 44, then headed to the locker room next to the office door.
After quickly changing, he stepped out.
"A bit loose, but it'll do for now. We'll get you a proper one later."
Ming You ignored the comment and grabbed a ball from the corner of the court.
"By the way, the rest of the team will be here soon. Mind giving us a proper introduction?"
At the question, Ming You stared at the ball for a few seconds before lifting his head and answering flatly.
"If it's that important, sure."
"Oh, here they come," the redhead said loudly, shifting his gaze toward the team.
Three people in school uniforms walked through the door. The one leading the way was a short blond guy with a wide grin.
"No way, dude! You threw a paper ball from the back row straight into the trash can by the teacher's desk—"
The second one—taller, around 6 feet, with dyed gray hair—smirked and flicked the blond's forehead.
"Ah, Lu, you can only dream of pulling that off."
"You jerk!"
As the two exchanged flicks, the third guy—with short black hair, slightly taller than Lu but much shorter than the gray-haired one—walked behind them, his expression indifferent. But when he turned his head toward the redheaded player with the number 4, he noticed Ming You standing beside him.
"Hey, we've got a new guy."
"That the quiet transfer student?" Lu asked in surprise. The taller guy behind him rolled his eyes.
"Does it matter? Quiet or not, as long as he can play."
"Hi-hi," Ming You greeted with a fake smile, waving slightly—which only made Lu even more shocked.
"And this is the guy who doesn't talk?"
As the other two headed into the locker room, Lu blinked rapidly before closing the door behind them. Ming You and the redhead resumed dribbling and shooting.
Less than five minutes later, the rest of the team emerged from the locker room.
"Should we start with introductions or jump straight into practice?" the redhead asked while tossing the ball into the hoop. Lu, wearing jersey number 9, shrugged and answered first.
"How are we supposed to practice if he doesn't even know our names?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm Ming You. Nice to meet you," he said with exaggerated weariness.
"We already knew that. I'm Lu Shen, and this tall, cocky masturbator with Sixth-Rate practically stamped on his jersey is Haru Lin."
"Look who's talking! You even jerk off with your pinky!"
"Screw you!" Lu Shen turned back to Ming You. "Anyway, now you know us two. And this quiet guy here is Hong Ren."
"Hey," he said flatly, giving a half-hearted wave. His jersey bore the number 12.
"By the way, Jung, did you even introduce yourself?" Lu Shen asked, looking up at the redhead.
"Oh, right. I'm Jung Ho, team captain."
"Glad to meet everyone. Can we start practice now?" Ming You began spinning the ball on his pinky with a blank expression, and Jung Ho gave a thumbs-up.
"I like your attitude. In that case—let's begin!"
The team grabbed basketballs and started warming up. First, they jogged around the gym, rhythmically dribbling against the polished hardwood. With each lap, the pace quickened, the sounds of bouncing balls merging into a steady hum that echoed under the high gym ceiling.
After the run, they moved on to dribbling drills. The balls weaved between their legs—left to right, right to left—movements practiced but still requiring focus. The hardwood buzzed with rapid impacts as the players concentrated on every bounce.
Next, they lined up at the three-point line for shooting practice. The first attempts weren't always successful—Lu Shen and Haru Lin missed more often than the others, their shots clanging off the rim or sailing past entirely. Hong Ren occasionally sank his, showing inconsistent but present accuracy. Jung Ho and Ming You had the best results, their shots more frequently finding the net—though even they weren't immune to misses.
Once drills ended, the team headed to the locker room. After changing quickly, the players filed out one by one, leaving only the fading echoes of practice behind in the empty gym.
…
The next day.
In the classroom, before the last lesson. Ming You walked up to the desk by the window, where Jung Ho was sitting, spinning a pen in his hand.
"Jung Ho, I'd like to meet you on the school rooftop. I hope you can spare a couple of minutes after class?"
Jung Ho dropped his pen and looked up:
"And what exactly do you want to show me? Or is there something you want to discuss?"
"You'll find out when we meet there." Ming You returned to his seat, which was a few rows ahead of Jung Ho's.
The school bell rang. A couple of hours after classes ended.
The sun was still shining brightly, casting a golden glow over the schoolyard. On the rooftop, far from the noise and bustle, two boys stood facing each other.
Ming You, standing a dozen meters from the door, looked confident, his hair fluttering in the wind. He stepped closer to Jung Ho, who was leaning against the rooftop railing, gazing into the distance.
"Jung Ho, I've been thinking… Wouldn't you like to make the team stronger?"
Jung Ho turned to face him.
"What are you talking about? We have practice in half an hour, and I don't want to be late. Why not bring this up during training instead of here?"
"You misunderstood me. I'm asking you—as the team's captain."
"If that's the case, then obviously, every one of us wants to improve. And as captain, I want my team to be strong!"
Ming You smirked briefly.
"Good, you got the idea. So let me ask you something—what exactly are you doing to make the team stronger?"
"Isn't it obvious? We train day after day, honing our skills in the game. Isn't that enough?"
Ming You lowered his gaze and said emotionlessly:
"I see. You're not even focused on winning. What kind of improvement can there be if victory comes second to mere training?"
"You can't win without training. And if you only play for victory, what's the point if the team doesn't grow?" Jung Ho clenched his fists unconsciously, memories of middle school matches flashing in his mind.
"If you only care about the team, you'll never see victory. To win, you have to do everything possible. Obsessing over others is just weakness—especially yours, as the team's captain."
"You're too fixated on winning. Sometimes how you play matters more than just the result. We should work together, not compete against each other."
Ming You brushed his hair back with one hand.
"Listen, I don't just want to be part of the team. I want to be the best. And for that, I need to take risks. How about a game of streetball? But not just for fun. I know a place where the stakes are high."
"Stakes?" Jung Ho frowned in surprise. "Are you suggesting we play for money? That's not what I want. We should focus on the team and training."
"Not money," Ming You cut in. "Something bigger. If you lose, you obey me completely. If I lose, I leave the team and become your subordinate. Deal?"
"Are you really serious about this? That's a huge risk, Ming You. Do you realize this isn't just a game?"
"I'm not afraid to take risks. I know I can win. You don't want to look weak in front of the team either, right?"
"Fine, I'll take the challenge." Jung Ho finally said. "But don't expect me to go easy on you."
"Perfect. Meet me there an hour after practice. Don't be late." Ming You headed for the exit, and after a moment of hesitation, Jung Ho followed, still turning his words over in his mind.
…
As evening approached and the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the asphalt in crimson hues, Ming You left the school gym and headed toward the streetball court.
The place was lively—filled with the noise of voices, the rhythmic thud of the ball, laughter, and shouts. But he wasn't interested in the game itself—only the people who controlled it.
He approached a group of guys in leather jackets, who stood out starkly among the regular players. Ming You's gaze swept over them before he addressed the most talkative one:
"I have a proposal. Who's the main organizer here?"
A burly man with a buzzcut grinned widely and shook his head:
"Haha! You must have a death wish or something!"
"Should I repeat the question, or was that your answer?"
The thug's face twisted. He took a step forward, clenching his fists:
"Listen here, you little shit, you got a mouth on you, huh?"
But Ming You didn't even blink. He remained calm.
"And this is your reaction to an opportunity to make extra money?"
A flicker of interest flashed in the thug's eyes.
"Money, you say… So you wanna hire us or what?"
"Last time I'm asking: where's your boss?"
The thug snorted, though his earlier anger had faded:
"Fine, only 'cause of the money, we won't beat your fucking ass for being this bold. The top guy here is Tae Hwan, but if we're talking about bets, it's Taek Jung. So I can only call him."
"Perfect. I'll wait for you at the street corner."
The thug burst into loud laughter along with his buddies:
"Haha! What, you planning to offer us drugs?"
"I have something far more profitable than drugs," Ming You replied coldly. "So I'll be waiting for you and Taek Jung at the corner."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the designated spot, leaving puzzled glances in his wake.
He stood at the street corner, his face calm and confident. He checked the time on his phone—it was tight, but he felt no anxiety.
Soon, three guys in similar leather jackets approached, among them a short but muscular man with cropped black hair and dark eyes—Taek Jung, the group's leader.
"So you're the one with this 'lucrative' proposal?"
"Yeah, that's me," Ming You replied with a forced smile. "I'm proposing a game."
"And how's a regular game gonna make us a lot of money?"
"Simple—I look scrawny, and my opponent looks strong. All I have to do is beat him."
Taek Jung tilted his head slightly, as if recalling something:
"Oh, wait—weren't you the one who took down two big guys before?"
"Heh, maybe we shouldn't change the subject?"
"Alright, go on."
Ming You, with a strained smirk, continued explaining his plan:
"The trick is straightforward—the crowd will assume I'm weak and can't beat an experienced player, so they'll bet against me. Here's the outcome: most will lose their bets, and you'll profit. But there's one more thing you'll like—I don't care about the money. My terms are different."
Taek Jung smirked, his eyes glinting with interest.
"Heh, cute trick, but pretty basic. You think we haven't done this before? So what do you want from us if not money?"
Ming You took a deep breath, maintaining his composure.
"I'm putting my career and my past winnings on the line. If I lose, I'll leave the court and become my opponent's subordinate. If I win, the person I beat will serve under me. For me, it's about the game and the terms of the deal."
Taek Jung grew thoughtful, his expression turning serious.
"You realize this is risky, right? If you lose, you lose everything."
"I'm ready," Ming You said with confidence. "I know I can win. Actually, no—I don't just know I can win. I know I've already won."
Taek Jung nodded, his lips curling into a smile.
"Heh, you've got quite the attitude. We'll set up the game and guarantee the terms, but the betting profits are ours."
"Perfect," Ming You said, turning back toward the court as his plan fell into motion.
"Wait—my turn to ask you something."
Ming You stopped but didn't turn to look. Taek Jung stepped forward and continued:
"Aren't you gonna introduce yourself? It's kinda rude that you know my name, but I don't know yours."
Ming You forced a smile and finally faced him:
"I'm Ming You. Nice to meet you."
"Heh, bold enough to joke around with me too? You're interesting, Ming You."
Ignoring him, Ming You walked calmly toward the court, his mind filled with smug satisfaction:
"Heh, what idiots. They fell for the 'weak-looking underdog' trick, not realizing that under their own rules, bettors can switch sides after a scored point. Their profit will barely be one percent of the total bets. Once the crowd starts backing me, Jung Ho will crack under the psychological pressure and make mistake after mistake."
Within minutes, players and new spectators began gathering at the court. The crowd grew steadily, the tension thickening in the air. Ming You and the team captain, Yoshido's Jung Ho, faced each other on the court, their gazes locking.
"I hope you're not seriously planning to leave the team over one loss?"
"Who said I'm gonna lose?" Ming You replied, his sharp gaze lifting defiantly.
Taek Jung stepped forward, drawing the crowd's attention.
"Welcome to the game! Bets are in, and the match starts now!"