The sidewalk leading to the streetball court was bathed in the golden light of sunset. Long shadows from the trees stretched across the asphalt, like someone's fingers trying to grab Jung Ho by the legs. He walked slowly, hunched over, hands in his pockets, occasionally kicking a small stone.
The words of Ming You swirled in his head, and every time he imagined how he would deceive the newcomers, something cold tightened in his chest.
From the other side of the sidewalk, So Ho, Jen Ryu, and three other guys were approaching, chatting noisily. Their laughter carried far, and even the birds sitting on the wires took flight, startled by Jen Ryu's sudden, loud guffaw.
The court greeted them with the squeak of chains on the basketball hoops and the dull thud of a ball on concrete—someone was already warming up. The newcomers tossed their backpacks onto a bench, began changing their shoes, exchanging jokes.
Jung Ho stopped a few steps away, watching them. His shadow fell on the asphalt in front of Jen Ryu, who turned around.
"Oh, Jung Ho!" The guy's face broke into a smile. "So, you changed your mind?"
Jung Ho took a step forward, scratched the back of his head, feigning hesitation.
"Hey, guys... about helping with the game..."
So Ho stopped tying his shoelaces, raising his head. Jen Ryu immediately perked up:
"So you agree?!"
"Sort of..." Jung Ho sighed, but he felt something twitch inside him. "But the problem is, if I lose, Ming You will start suspecting me. And if he finds out about the betrayal..." Jung Ho deliberately trailed off, paused, looking away. "Who knows what he'll do."
"That bastard!" Jen Ryu seethed. His face turned red. "We absolutely have to kick him out of the team! Or better yet, out of the school altogether!"
"We could tie the game. That way he won't suspect me," Jung Ho said uncertainly, and Jen Ryu immediately beamed:
"Great! So, like this: we score two points, then you score one, and so on until the end of the game! Thanks for the help!"
He already turned around as if he were about to run off to celebrate the victory, but Jung Ho sharply shook his head.
"N-no... not exactly."
Everyone froze.
"If we score like that, Ming You will definitely figure out I'm in on it with you." Jung Ho paused, as if hesitating. "But I have a better idea."
He tried his hardest to look frightened—gnawing his lip, avoiding direct eye contact. But it only came across as him being unsure of himself.
"You're right," So Ho lifted his head. "We're listening."
Jung Ho took a deep breath, as if gathering courage. Then he exhaled and began:
"Alright, here's the plan: for the first half of the game, you let me score the points. And in the second half, you'll do the scoring."
"What?" Jen Ryu frowned.
"That way, I'll make it look like I ran out of steam in the second half. Ming You won't suspect a trick, and you'll have a chance to even the score."
Silence hung among the newcomers.
Then Jen Ryu suddenly laughed—loudly, uproariously, as if someone were tickling his ribs. He slapped Jung Ho on the shoulder so hard that the latter almost staggered.
"You're a genius!"
So Ho pondered. "The plan... is unexpected. Risky. But if Ming You really believes Jung Ho ran out of steam..."
He slowly nodded.
"This... could actually work."
"Jung Ho," Jen Ryu solemnly raised his palm for a high-five, "you're the real captain of this team."
Jung Ho hesitantly slapped his hand. His palm was cold.
"We won't let you down!" Jen Ryu was already turning away, shouting something to the others.
A few minutes later, as the sun sank below the horizon, painting the sky in crimson tones, players and spectators began gathering at the basketball court. Jung Ho, focused and composed, was doing exercises on his half, warming up his muscles and practicing his dribbling. On the opposite side, the five club newcomers, nervously chatting, were also preparing for the game.
The spectators gathered around the court were actively discussing the outcome of the match, placing bets and arguing about possible results. At that moment, Ming You approached Jung Ho and, lowering his voice, gave a clear instruction:
"Jung Ho, you'd better practice your three-point shots; in the first half of the game, that's how you'll be scoring."
"Why take unnecessary risks?" he asked in bewilderment. Ming You insisted:
"Have you already forgotten that your points are doubled? Your three-pointers will count as four shots with your advantage, instead of two in a regular game."
"Okay, I understand." Jung Ho ran to the three-point line and started practicing his shots.
When the spectators finished placing their bets and the players took their positions at the center line, the referee Sung Wo blew his whistle sharply to announce the start of the match. He tossed the ball up, and for a moment it hung in the air before beginning its descent. Jung Ho, reacting instantly, leaped forward, intercepting the ball mid-air, and burst toward the three-point line.
Two defenders rushed to cut him off, but their movements seemed more like simulated pressure—they hesitated to close in tightly, as if wary of his speed. As soon as Jung Ho stopped abruptly, firmly gripping the ball in both hands and taking a shooting stance, the defenders hesitated for a second. Their reaction was delayed—they jumped for the block shot as the ball was already leaving his fingertips.
Time seemed to slow down. Jung Ho watched as the ball, released with perfect backspin, traced a smooth arc and, barely grazing the rim, swished cleanly through the net.
The newcomers exchanged glances, slightly surprised by how confidently Jung Ho had started the game.
"That was amazing!" exclaimed Jen Ryu, unable to hide his delight. "If he keeps this up, we won't have to worry!"
"Yeah, but remember, it's only the first half," replied So Ho, containing his enthusiasm. "We need to keep watching his game."
Referee Sung Wo blew his whistle sharply, and the ball was back in play. Jung Ho, staying cool, positioned himself beyond the three-point line, studying the defenders' formation. This time, he decided to play on their inattentiveness.
With a quick but controlled motion, he bounced the ball off the asphalt, sending it upward, counting on the defenders to bite on a fake. The ball was still in the air when Jung Ho suddenly raised his hands, mimicking a shooting preparation—but he didn't even touch the ball. The defenders, despite their relaxed state, instinctively reacted, jumping to intercept.
Their mistake became his advantage. The moment they landed, Jung Ho shifted to the side with lightning speed, caught the ball on the bounce, and darted toward the hoop. The defenders, fooled by his fake, froze for a split second, and that was enough for him to slip between them, leaving them behind. The asphalt under his sneakers squeaked from the sharp stop and change of direction, but his ball control remained perfect. Now, only the basket was in front of him.
"Hey, where are you going?!" shouted one of the defenders, trying to catch up.
Jung Ho, ignoring the shouts, ran to the hoop, made a powerful jump, and scored from close range. The basket accepted the ball once more, and the spectators who had bet on him erupted in applause again.
"He just knows no bounds!" someone in the crowd commented.
"This isn't just a game, it's a show!" replied another spectator, admiring Jung Ho's skill.
Meanwhile, near the newcomers' bench. Jen Ryu and So Ho exchanged looks, understanding that Jung Ho's plan was working.
"He's really scoring like we agreed!" whispered Jen Ryu, his eyes burning with excitement.
"But we mustn't forget about the second half," So Ho reminded him. "He has to pretend he's tired to avoid raising suspicion."
When the game resumed for the second half of the match, Jung Ho, following the agreement, began feigning fatigue. His movements became deliberately sluggish, his shoulders slumped, and his breathing—exaggeratedly heavy, as if every step was a struggle. He caught Ming You's assessing gaze, knowing he was playing his part convincingly.
But behind this acting lay a real internal struggle. His thoughts revolved around Ming You's promises—money, status, opportunities that awaited him in case of victory. These prospects seemed tempting, almost irresistible. However, the longer the game went on, the more distracted he became by the team's newcomers. Their zeal, their inexperienced but sincere attempts to prove themselves—all of it awakened something long-forgotten in him.
He caught himself remembering his own first days in the club: the same fire in his eyes, the same naive belief that perseverance and team spirit were more important than personal gain. Back then, he dreamed not of money, but of recognition, of being part of something bigger. And now, looking at these kids, he couldn't simply brush aside the thought that he was betraying not only them but also himself.
"Maybe I should ease up a bit?" he pondered, watching the newcomers trying to score. "But what if Ming You gets angry? He could take away the perks he gives for wins."
But despite the inner turmoil, the thrill and allure of future rewards outweighed everything. Images of the mountains of money, the girls, and the deafening fame that Ming You had shown him—all waiting for him after triumph—flooded Jung Ho's mind. These images overshadowed the fleeting doubts, making him clench his teeth and suppress the weakness. And instead of giving them a chance, he decided to show who was the boss in this game.
"Time to act," he whispered to himself, feeling adrenaline burn away the last traces of hesitation.
In the next instant, he exploded into motion. Like a shot, he lunged forward, leaving two defenders behind with a lightning-fast fake. Two powerful steps—and he was already in the air, releasing the ball from the three-point line. The shot seemed perfect, the trajectory—calculated to the millimeter. The swish, the backboard—and the deafening roar of the stands.
"Incredible!" screamed one of the fans, jumping to his feet. "He's back in the game!"
The stands shook with delight, especially those who had bet on him. Jung Ho didn't even smile—just threw a cold glance at the bewildered newcomers. He had no intention of slowing down.
Each of his shots was precise and merciless—the ball left his fingertips, traced an arc in the air, and invariably swished through the hoop, as if drawn by a magnet. The newbies couldn't even react in time—their defense crumbled under the pressure of his rapid drives and sudden stops for shots.
"What's happening?" So Ho gasped as the ball, released by Jung Ho from the three-point line, cleanly swished through the net without even touching the rim. "He's not planning to stop!"
Jen Ryu gritted his teeth, feeling the game slip from their grasp. He clapped his hands sharply, trying to rally the team.
"Pull yourselves together!" he growled, rushing into a press. "Don't give him a second to aim! If Jung Ho gets the ball, double-team him immediately—cut off all his options!"