With each new shot, Jung Ho increased his lead. His mid-range shots were precise, as if fired on a laser trajectory—the ball barely grazed the net, leaving the defender helpless.
The spectators erupted in applause after every accurate hit, their shouts merging into a single roar that spurred Jung Ho on. He fed on this excitement, this drive—and his play became even harsher.
He had no intention of stopping. The next play began with a sharp crossover, after which he dashed to the three-point line. The defender tried to block the shot, but Jung Ho stopped abruptly, stepping back, and released the ball. A clean swish through the net—another four points added to his tally.
"This is just insane!" one of the spectators commented, watching Jung Ho score basket after basket. "He's leaving no chance for the newcomers!"
Finally, Sung Wo blew the final whistle, and the game came to its conclusion. Jung Ho looked at the scoreboard with pride. The score was 101-0 in his favor.
"What the hell?" Jen Ryu whispered, not believing 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 newcomers, whose faces were twisted with a mix of confusion and disbelief.
"I hope you're not too upset. It's just a game. But I'd advise you to practice more."
The newcomers stood as if nailed to the spot. Their wide-open eyes reflected a mixture of bewilderment and humiliation. One by one, they lowered their gaze, clenched their fists, and, without a word, trudged away. Their backs, hunched under the weight of defeat, dissolved into the twilight haze.
Jung Ho didn't even watch them go. He had already turned to Ming You but didn't get a chance to open his mouth before the latter sharply interrupted him:
"You didn't let me down! You can go. Once we've completely finished off these newcomers, your reward won't keep you waiting."
Jung Ho merely nodded. Turning around, he strode away, his silhouette dissolving into the shadows of the sidewalk leading to the humming night city.
Ming You remained seated on the bench. His lips stretched into the most unnatural smile—wide, cunning, almost sinister. He turned to Taek Jung and his gang, speaking in a playful tone:
"Well then, my friend, I won, as always."
Taek Jung, his face contorted with anger, clenched his fists. His lackeys froze, as if sensing trouble.
"What are you grinning about?" he hissed, a threat ringing in his voice.
Ming You didn't relax his wide smile for a second:
"You owe me a hundred-fold payout for the bet." He paused, savoring the moment. "I wonder, does the profit from your games, brothels, and drugs even amount to that sum? Or are you just a small gang of petty thugs?"
Taek Jung practically jumped with rage. His eyes narrowed to slits, and the veins in his neck bulged.
"Who are you calling a small gang?!" he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. "You think we can't keep our word?!"
He turned sharply to the referee, Sung Wo, who stood pale as a ghost.
"Hey, Sung Wo, how much did he bet?"
"Fi… fifty thousand…" he squeezed out, clutching his notepad so hard his knuckles turned white. Taek Jung suddenly laughed. His anger gave way to a brazen smirk:
"So, considering the hundred-fold profit, that's five million won? Easy."
But Ming You didn't blink. His smile grew even wider:
"Haha, five million dollars, kiddo."
An instant—and the court was enveloped in tomblike silence.
His answer shocked and bewildered all the gangsters.
Taek Jung froze. His lackeys exchanged glances as if not believing their ears. Even the wind seemed to stop blowing.
Five million.
Dollars.
The silence was torn by Taek Jung's hoarse scream:
"This madman bet fifty thousand dollars?!"
His voice, rough and cracked with rage, echoed across the court. The other gangsters' faces burned, their eyes flashing lightning. Taek Jung whipped around to Sung Wo, grabbing him by the collar.
"Sung Wo, check it! Now!"
The referee, pale as chalk, frantically hobbled to the edge of the court where a black sports bag lay. His hands trembled as he unzipped it and pulled out a bundle of bills bound with a bank strap.
"Here... here they are..." Sung Wo held up the money, and even in the dim evening light, the green banknotes gleamed. Taek Jung couldn't contain his astonishment:
"This is fucking unbelievable."
"What do we tell Tae Hwan?" Sung Wo asked in a panic.
Before Taek Jung could answer, a mocking voice rang out:
"Well then, kids, where are 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 stocky brute with a scar across his eyebrow, stepped forward abruptly:
"Just who the fuck do you think you are? You're nothing but a fucking brat! Be glad you're free of debt and we haven't smashed your fucking little face in!"
But Ming You just laughed—short, contemptuous.
And then, without wasting time, he turned to the crowd, which had already started to disperse, and shouted at the top of his voice:
"Hey, esteemed spectators!"
His clear, mocking voice made people turn around.
"This gang of clowns is scared shitless to pay out my winnings from my bet!"
He spread his arms in a theatrical gesture, as if performing on stage.
"My bet was high, and these little kids are so poor they can't pay the winnings to a regular schoolboy! Just look at them!"
Ming You mockingly jabbed a finger in the direction of Taek Jung and his lackeys. They stood as if pinned, their faces twisting with rage and helplessness.
The newcomers, crushed by defeat, had long since vanished into the alleys, and Jung Ho seemed to have disappeared into the night like a shadow. But the remaining spectators—local regulars, thrill-seekers, random passersby—now looked at the gangsters with open contempt.
One of them, a guy in a worn-out cap, snorted and yelled:
"Seriously? You can't give a kid his due winnings? Or is he just making fun of you?"
Snickers rippled through the crowd.
Another, tall and skinny, with a predatory grin, added:
"Seems likely, given the organizers' state of shock. Are they really cheating schoolboys?"
"Haha, didn't expect such tough guys to be unable to pay a schoolboy his winnings," another spectator threw over his shoulder, already heading toward the sidewalk. "Guess I won't be betting on kids' games anymore."
The crowd buzzed. Some laughed, some shook their heads. For street rats, reputation is everything. And now, thanks to Ming You's acting, it was crumbling.
The gangsters darted their eyes around like cornered animals. One of them, his face twisted with anger, suddenly shouted:
"Hey, he's a liar! He didn't bet anything at all! Why are you all running? Do you really believe some kid?"
Some of the spectators stopped, watching the new spectacle.
"Haha, how can you deceive those who saw with their own eyes me putting down hundred-dollar bills instead of pocket change? Isn't that right, esteemed spectators?" Ming You cast a glance into the crowd, and a few people reluctantly nodded.
"What? So you really don't pay out big wins? What a bunch of con artists!" came a voice from the crowd.
The gangsters gritted their teeth with rage and shock. Taek Jung clenched his jaw so hard his cheekbones turned white. His fingers involuntarily curled into fists, but he understood—the main thing now was not 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 such that we need our boss's decision."
Ming You threw his head back and laughed so hard the echo spread across the wasteland.
"Ha! Did you hear him?!" he turned sharply to the crowd, theatrically pointing at Taek Jung. "They can't pay the winnings right away as they should! They've admitted themselves they owe me, but as you can see—they're giving me nothing!"
The crowd stirred. Whispers, sharp and poisonous like the hiss of snakes, slithered through the onlookers:
"Scammers..."
"Pussies..."
"I'm done placing bets with them..."
Taek Jung felt the ground slipping from under his feet. His men exchanged panicked looks. And then Sung Wo, pale but composed, stepped forward:
"I apologize for the misunderstanding!" His voice trembled, but he tried to speak clearly. "Ming You, we will definitely give you your winnings and pay additional compensation for what happened!"
The gangsters were dumbstruck. Taek Jung, gritting his teeth, took out his phone and stepped aside, muttering something tense into the receiver.
Ming You tilted his head to the side like a predator watching trapped prey:
"I can't wait to see your 'provided compensation'."