Chapter 10: The Winning Bet

Ming You stepped into the school as if nothing had happened. But his movements were too precise, and his gaze was empty, as if behind glass. He didn't linger in the lobby or glance at the schedule—his first move was toward the restroom. His steps were quick and light, yet he made sure not to draw unnecessary attention. He deftly slipped past groups of students chatting by the lockers and pushed open the door to the men's room.

Inside, it was cool, the faint scent of bleach mixing with soap. Ming You approached the sink, and the mirror above reflected a perfect image: a neat white shirt, carefully tucked-in pants, and a black backpack weighing down his shoulders. But upon closer inspection—dark, dried stains near the roots of his hair. Another drop on his left earlobe, as if someone had smeared it with a dirty finger. Yet, if one looked even closer, they'd spot the dried blood in his hair—not glaringly obvious, but still noticeable. Another dried droplet clung to his left earlobe.

He sharply turned the faucet, and cold water gushed into the sink. Ming You wet his hands and began washing his face, finally scrubbing away the traces. The water ran down his face, washing away not just the blood but also his drowsiness. He bent lower, letting the stream run through his hair, then meticulously wiped his ears and neck. The water tinted pink for a moment before running clear again.

Just then, one of his classmates stepped up to the sink next to him. The boy shot him a mocking glance and casually jabbed:

"Didn't sleep at all? Or do you actually have a hangover, our honor student?"

Ming You didn't flinch. He even forced a fake smile, though his fingers froze for a second, gripping the wet strands.

"Yeah, didn't sleep. Exams and all that."

"Hah, I get it. Well, good luck to all of us then."

Ming You silently nodded at his classmate, and the fake smile slid off his face the moment the boy turned away and left the restroom. He grabbed a handful of paper towels and wiped his face, but his hair remained damp, slightly darker than usual.

Tossing the wet towels into the front pocket of his backpack, he left the restroom and headed down the hallway toward the school gym.

Ming You pushed open the gym door, and the air hit him with the smell of sweat and fresh rubber. Yoshido's team was running laps, intently training for the upcoming game. But as if nothing had happened—as if he'd just slept soundly a few hours ago and done nothing else—Ming You approached them with a confident smile.

"Hey, you guys slacking off?" he called out, interrupting their laps. "We've got a serious game ahead!"

"Ming You?!" Jung Ho exclaimed, stopping to wipe sweat from his brow. "Did you already train outside?"

"Or were you running late and didn't even take a shower at home?" Lu Shen added with a smirk.

"Just didn't sleep well, so I cooled off," Ming You replied, stepping closer. "You all know we have to prepare for this game. We can't afford mistakes."

Lu Shen frowned slightly, skepticism in his expression.

"Damn it, you realize what we're up against? Especially with your double debt!"

"Yeah, I know," Ming You nodded. "But we have an advantage. Their strong center is their weak spot. If we can control him, the rest of the team won't be able to adjust."

"But what if they play dirty?" Haru Lin asked, his voice tense. "Or worse, like that injury setup last time... We can't take that risk."

"We don't have a choice," Ming You said, his tone turning serious. "I took on your debts, and now we have to settle this. We can't afford to lose."

But in truth, Ming You thought differently:

"Screw their debts. All that matters is winning and squeezing profit out of these pawns."

Hong Ren, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up:

"But you don't owe anything, Ming You! Why did you take on our problems?"

"Because I'm part of this team," he answered firmly. "I won't leave you hanging. We have to unite and show them what we're made of."

Jung Ho, sensing the rising tension, raised a hand.

"Alright, let's focus. Ming You's right. We need a strategy. How do we handle their center?"

"We could try a fast-paced game," Lu Shen suggested. "If we move quicker than them, we'll have the upper hand."

"The only fast-paced game you play is with your dick but this is streetball!" Haru Lin snickered.

"Says you!"

Hong Ren rolled his eyes.

"Can we get back to discussing the actual game?"

"Thank you," Ming You nodded at him, scanning his teammates confidently. "Here's the plan: Jung Ho and I will handle the center. The rest of you focus on defense. Play to your agility and speed—the rest of their team is nothing special, and that works in our favor."

Lu Shen smirked, tossing the ball from hand to hand.

"Heh, so we training now?"

"Good point, let's get to it!" Jung Ho chuckled approvingly.

"No," Ming You cut in sharply. "Don't waste your energy. We'll warm up right before the game."

Jung Ho frowned slightly but shrugged after a moment.

"Alright, whatever you say."

The rest of the team nodded, exchanging brief remarks as they headed toward the locker room.

Ming You, instead of joining them, turned sharply and walked out of the gym. His footsteps echoed through the empty school hallway as he pushed open the heavy door and stepped outside. The cold air hit his face, but he didn't slow down, moving forward without hesitation.

After a couple of blocks, Ming You turned onto his street—a quiet lane lined with three-story apartment buildings. He pushed open the creaky gate, stepped into the courtyard, and climbed the narrow stairs. On the third floor, the key clicked in the lock, and the door swung open, letting him into the dark entryway.

Kicking off his shoes, Ming You walked into the room and dropped his backpack by the closet. For a second, he froze, staring at the closet doors, but then turned away and headed to the bathroom.

The cold tiles under his feet and the harsh light of the lamp. He unbuttoned his shirt mechanically, not looking, letting the fabric drop to the floor. Hot water streamed down, washing away sweat, dust, and dried blood.

…

The next day, around noon, Ming You arrived at the streetball court after school, where a group of thugs led by Taek Jung were already sitting on the bench.

Ming You approached them with his plan and a sly grin.

"Hey, friends, how's it going? Or should I just cut to the chase?"

"Looks like you've got another crazy scheme," Taek Jung smirked, his lackeys chuckling along. "Go on, what's your plan?"

"I want you all to bet 10 million won on my team," Ming You declared with absolute confidence.

"I know you're a madman, but asking us to bet such sums is too much even for someone like you," said Taek Jung before bursting into loud laughter.

"I knew you wouldn't agree right away, so I'll place the first bet myself."

"And what exactly are you willing to stake that makes you demand 10 million won from each of us?" Taek Jung asked skeptically. Ming You's face twisted into a crazed grin:

"My life and freedom."

"Throwing your life around like that is a bold move, but your life clearly isn't worth 10 million won to each of us."

"Not just my life—I said freedom too. In other words, if I lose, I'll become your slave and do whatever you say." A glint of excitement flashed in Ming You's eyes as he smirked inwardly:

"But the truth is, I don't plan on losing. Heh."

"If you're so confident, I can place the bet, but don't expect everyone else to do the same," Taek Jung continued. "But if you lose, you'll regret it deeply. Don't forget who you're dealing with."

"Great, so we have a deal, right?" Ming You extended his hand, and Taek Jung shook it firmly.

"Don't let me down, Ming You."

Taek Jung continued negotiating with his comrades, his voice calm but laced with unwavering confidence. He gestured emphatically as he argued, while his allies listened attentively, occasionally exchanging short remarks.

Meanwhile, Ming You slowly stepped away from the court, his sneakers thudding dully against the asphalt as he reached the sidewalk. He slipped a hand into his pocket, felt for his phone, and dialed a number without looking. After two rings, Jung Ho's voice came through:

"Yeah?"

"Gather the team," Ming You said flatly, without unnecessary words. "Meet me at the street court."

"Which one exactly?"

"The one we're playing at now. Bring the team."

Without waiting for a reply, he abruptly hung up and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. He began pacing slowly along the sidewalk, his gaze drifting over the surrounding buildings, empty benches, and occasional passersby. Every rustle, every distant sound seemed significant.

About thirty minutes later, Ming You finally met up with his team. Jung Ho was the first he noticed, walking confidently at the front. Behind him were Haru Lin and Lu Shen, engaged in light banter. Their jokes and jabs sounded familiar, as if this was their usual way to ease the tension before a game. Haru smirked at Lu Shen's latest jab, while Lu Shen shook his head, clearly preparing a witty comeback.

Bringing up the rear was Hong Ren, his expression detached. His indifferent gaze swept over the surroundings as if none of this concerned him. Yet, in his slow, measured stride, there was a hidden readiness for action.

Once the team assembled, they took their positions near the first hoop. A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by fragments of conversation from other participants.

"They're not here yet?" Jung Ho asked, scanning the opposite hoop. Ming You, feigning nonchalance, replied confidently:

"The extra time only works in our favor."

"Oh, looks like our opponents are here," Lu Shen said, nodding toward four players approaching the opposite hoop.

Meanwhile, at the opponents' side.

"Hey, where's Hee Rak? Why did we even come without him? Can anyone reach him?" one of the players asked anxiously.

"Jin Suk, I can't get through to him either," another, taller player answered in panic.

"If even Gong Yi can't reach him… Is he even okay? He hasn't shown up for almost two days," a third player muttered in confusion, redialing Hee Rak's number.

"Alright, time to start the game. The crowd won't wait forever," Taek Jung shouted, clapping his hands. The team protested in unison:

"But we can't start without Hee Rak!"

"I don't care about your issues. If I say we start, we play. Otherwise, it's a forfeit," Taek Jung cut in. But one of the players, the bulkiest among them, stepped forward:

"But there are only four of us, and five of them! We don't have enough players!"

"And how is that our problem?! Just play! We're already behind schedule!" Sung Wo insisted, raising his whistle.

Hearing their argument, Ming You approached them with a deceptive smile:

"Hey, friends, we don't mind removing one of our players. Then it'll be four against four. Does that work for you?"

"We don't care how many you have! We just can't reach Hee Rak!" Gong Yi snapped, his voice a mix of anger and panic. But Taek Jung growled threateningly:

"Listen, you bastards—either play, pay up, or I'll make you regret it. Need me to spell it out?"

"Fine… we'll play," the players reluctantly agreed.

"Then let's begin! Jump ball starts now!" Sung Wo announced, blowing the whistle.

The crowd erupted in cheers, rooting for their chosen sides.

As soon as the referee tossed the ball, Jung Ho reacted instantly, outjumping his opponent and seizing control. Quickly assessing the situation, he decided against passing and instead drove forward, confident he could beat his defender one-on-one.

Gong Yi, an experienced defender, immediately took a defensive stance, crouching slightly and spreading his arms to cut off angles. But Jung Ho didn't slow down—he burst right, forcing Gong Yi to shift, then crossed over sharply to his left. The defender momentarily lost balance but recovered just in time.

"Without your center, you guys really are weak!" Jung Ho snapped, dishing a quick pass to Lu Shen.

Lu Shen caught the ball with both hands, feeling its texture even through the game's tension. Crouching slightly for momentum, he exploded forward, faking left before cutting right past one defender. A second opponent tried to block him, but Lu Shen abruptly stopped, letting the defender fly by, then dashed to the hoop.

"Hah! Turns out you're all trash!" Lu Shen sneered as he closed in.

A few steps from the free-throw line, he saw his opening—the defense was broken. Without hesitation, he lofted a smooth shot, the ball arcing gracefully before swishing through the net.

"Get it together!" Jin Suk yelled.

Gong Yi dribbled aggressively, crossing over sharply to disrupt the defense. His moves were quick, but Ming You shadowed him effortlessly, reading every step. When Gong Yi suddenly stopped, faking a pass left, Ming You pretended to bite—his hands darting toward the ball.

But Gong Yi made a fatal mistake—his eyes flickered toward a teammate for just a split second. Ming You saw it.

"You're pretty predictable," Ming You smirked, intercepting the pass as it left Gong Yi's fingertips.

Shielding the ball with his body, Ming You blew past the furious Gong Yi. With a sharp hesitation move right, then a burst left, he left his defender stumbling. Without looking, he whipped a behind-the-back pass to Jung Ho, already streaking down the flank.

Jung Ho caught the pass mid-air, soaring toward the rim as his defender flailed helplessly. His one-handed dunk was thunderous—the backboard shuddered from the impact.

"Gong Yi, next time watch who you're passing to!" shouted the player who should've received the ball.

"I know, I know!" Gong Yi snapped, scrambling back on defense.

Jin Suk deftly caught a pass from his teammate, the ball landing in his palm with a dull smack. He immediately dropped into a low stance, feeling the firmness of the court beneath his sneakers. His torso leaned slightly forward, left leg in front to shield the ball, right leg ready for a sharp push-off. His fingers gripped the ball firmly but not too tightly—just enough to change his dribbling rhythm at any moment.

First bounce—the ball rebounded off the asphalt just above his knee. Second bounce—lower, faster, under full control. Jin Suk felt the defensive pressure but maintained his distance for now. His gaze swept across the court, assessing positions: Ming You ahead, lightly bouncing on his toes, ready to intercept at any second.

"Hi-hi," Ming You smirked, spreading his arms wide like a spider casting its web.

Jin Suk jerked his shoulder left, feigning movement, but the ball stayed in his right hand. Ming You didn't budge an inch. So Jin Suk abruptly shifted his rhythm—two quick dribbles, then a third, harder, with emphasis—before sharply leaning right. Ming You, grinning even wider, took a step in that direction, but it was a trap—the ball was already behind Jin Suk's back, his left hand taking control as he exploded left.

But then, a shout:

"Behind you!"

A teammate's voice, but too late—Haru Lin emerged like a shadow from the side. He hadn't just rushed for the steal; he'd stalked Jin Suk's dribble rhythm. The moment the ball touched the ground after the behind-the-back move, Haru Lin's hand struck like lightning. Not a rough slap, but a surgical flick of his fingertips against the ball's underside—just enough to keep it in play rather than sending it out of bounds.

The ball bounced sideways, and Haru Lin was already surging forward. Jin Suk instinctively lunged to recover, but his foot slipped—he'd pivoted too sharply. Half a second of lost balance, and Haru Lin was three steps ahead.

Jin Suk's team scrambled. Without their center to anchor the defense, their formation crumbled. Gong Yi, their fastest defender, rushed to cut Haru Lin off, but Haru wasn't in a hurry. He dribbled lazily, almost carelessly, yet every bounce was precise, fully controlled.

Gong Yi crouched in a defensive stance, arms spread, but Haru Lin had no intention of breaking him down. Instead, he suddenly stopped, eyes flicking toward the hoop—Gong Yi instinctively jumped, anticipating a shot. But the ball wasn't headed for the rim—it flew along the three-point arc, straight into the hands of Jung Ho, who had already begun cutting toward the basket before the pass.

Jung Ho didn't slow down—two powerful strides, then a third as his plant foot slammed into the asphalt, launching him upward. A defender jumped to block, but it was too late—Jung Ho caught the ball midair with one hand and slapped it through the hoop with a sharp smack. The net shuddered, the ball hit the ground, and Jung Ho, landing, merely smirked.

The entire game, Yoshido's team had dominated the court. Their offense was razor-sharp, their defense impenetrable. Their opponents' lack of a strong center had become their Achilles' heel—every rebound, every drive to the basket came effortlessly to Yoshido. The ball moved like clockwork—crisp passes, lightning-quick rotations—until the score became embarrassingly lopsided.

In the final minutes, during the decisive play, Jung Ho caught a rebound off the backboard and flicked it to Ming You with a sharp wrist pass. Ming You didn't even look—he already knew the ball would find his hands. His fingers wrapped around the still-sweaty leather, tracing every groove. Defenders scrambled, but Ming You just grinned.

First move—a sharp push-off with his right foot, torso leaning forward. The defender instinctively stepped back. Second—a sudden stop, the ball freezing at his hip for a split second. A third defender lunged, but Ming You crossed over behind his back, the ball smacking against the asphalt. A fourth opponent tried to cut him off, but too late—Ming You was already accelerating, his sneakers squealing against the court, leaving faint black streaks.

Breaking free near the three-point line, he faked a shot—the defender launched into the air like a puppet on strings. But Ming You waited. He let the man fly past before softly releasing the ball. It arced high, almost parabolic, spinning lazily through the air.

Three seconds of silence. Three seconds where even the birds in nearby trees seemed to freeze. Three seconds before the ball finally dropped through the net with a quiet swish, burying their opponents' hopes for good.

The whistle blew.

The referee's sharp blast sliced through the tension.

"We did it!" Lu Shen cheered loudly, followed by Jung Ho:

"Lucky for us their center wasn't here."

"We're lucky we had Ming You!" Haru Lin said, eyes bright with gratitude. "If not for you, we'd be in deep trouble right now."

"It's thanks to all of you," Ming You replied, turning toward the bench. "Alright, go on. I've got unfinished business."

But just as Yoshido's team started to leave, the gang's boss, Tae Hwan, stepped in front of Ming You, stopping him with a hand to his chest.

"You bastard! What did you do to Hee Rak!?" Tae Hwan snarled, his rage only widening Ming You's smirk.

"What are you talking about? We just won, that's all. You should've bet on us—your mistake for underestimating our team."

"Don't lie, you scum!" Tae Hwan grabbed his jersey. "I'm asking you again—what did you do to Hee Rak!?"

"I told you, I don't know," Ming You answered flatly.

"Boss, please calm down," Taek Jung interjected. "He really did win and cleared his team's debts. If we try to squeeze more out of him, our reputation—"

Before he could finish, Tae Hwan cut him off furiously, releasing Ming You.

"I don't give a damn about his money! I'm asking where Hee Rak is!"

"Last time I'll say it—I don't know anything. I asked Taek Jung about Hee Rak, but all I did was plan how to crush him in the game. My team can easily confirm that," Ming You replied coolly. But Tae Hwan pressed harder.

"And how do I know your team isn't covering for you? Especially when they follow your every order without question!?"

"Other times, I was at school or training. I'm sure the teachers and coach would vouch for me—though I doubt you'd risk talking to them, let alone asking about their students."

"Dammit! Fuck! Where the hell could he have gone!?" Tae Hwan roared. Ming You, taking a stack of cash from Taek Jung, waved at him as he walked off the court.

"That's not my problem anymore. So, goodbye—and thanks for the game."

"That bastard even made nearly a hundred million won off us!?"

"Those are the rules, boss. You made them yourself. If we break them, our reputation is finished. Besides, we still made a decent profit," Taek Jung replied. Tae Hwan clenched his teeth in fury before storming off the court with the others.