Chapter 82: A Small Punishment**
Skill amplification—by definition, it took a existing skill and honed it to razor-sharp precision. But it couldn't create mastery from nothing. If Wu Yifan couldn't drive a car, it wouldn't make him a race champion. If he couldn't shoot a hoop, it wouldn't turn him into a baller. But he *could* play basketball—just casually, for fun. With 1 unit of enhancement, that "fun" became something extraordinary.
The crowd was stunned silent, then erupted.
Was this even the same guy?
He was a completely different player. It was as if he'd been toying with Su Kang and his team earlier, holding back, only to unleash his true power now. Every spectator felt their blood race, a thrill stuck in their throats, begging to be screamed out.
"Wu Yifan! Wu Yifan!"
"Wu Yifan, I love you! Like a mouse loves rice!"
"Wu Yifan, I'm obsessed! You're my angel—and my devil!"
Teenage girls, now knowing his name, waved their fists wildly, screaming without a care for decorum. As for Su Kang's crew? They stood frozen, eyes wide as saucers, sweat dripping down their foreheads.
If they lost… would they really have to streak? Shout that humiliating phrase?
"Stop him! *Stop him!*" Su Kang shrieked, his voice cracking, as Wu Yifan charged toward the hoop. He yelled at Cai Qing and Sun Tianyou, his hands flailing.
Cai Qing darted in front of Wu Yifan, bending his knees, then leaping—arms outstretched like a hawk diving for prey, ready to block the shot. Su Kang and Sun Tianyou closed in from the sides, boxing Wu Yifan in, a triple team designed to crush any hope of scoring.
Wu Yifan grinned. In the split second they hesitated, confused by his smile, he planted his feet and *jumped*.
He shot upward like a rocket, soaring over two meters high, his body gliding toward the hoop as if propelled by invisible strings.
The entire Red Leaf Square fell silent. Everyone froze, jaws dropping.
Su Kang hit the ground, ready to leap again, but it was too late. Wu Yifan raised the ball with both hands and *slammed* it through the net.
*BOOM!*
The backboard shook, the rim rattling. Wu Yifan landed softly, his sneakers scuffing the concrete.
A slam dunk.
A flying dunk.
A *flying slam dunk*.
The crowd lost their minds. Screams erupted, loud enough to shake the trees. People jumped up and down, hugging strangers, their faces red with excitement. This wasn't just a basket—it was magic. A regular guy, doing what pro athletes barely dared to try. Even die-hard basketball fans rubbed their eyes, wondering if they were dreaming.
"Airman! Airman!" they chanted, stomping their feet.
Everyone knew the "Airman"—Michael Jordan, the legend. But here? In Beitian? A new one had just been born. It felt like a milestone, like Chinese basketball might never be the same.
Tang Baoer stared, her mind blank. Shock was all she could feel. How had this gold digger—this *jerk*—suddenly turned into a basketball god? It was impossible.
"He's faking it," she muttered, grinding her teeth. "I won't admit it." But her cheeks burned at the thought of losing—of stripping, of shouting that shameful phrase. She cursed Wu Yifan a thousand times in her head. *Why'd he have to be this good? Why'd he pretend to be useless?*
The ref, finally snapping out of his stupor, blew his whistle. "Game on!"
Wu Yifan moved like a fish in water—swift, agile, unstoppable. Even with Su Kang, Cai Qing, and Sun Tianyou swarming him, he dodged, weaved, and shot with deadly accuracy. The crowd screamed with every basket, their chants growing louder: "Wu Yifan! Wu Yifan!"
The score climbed—like mercury in a hot thermometer. 16-15… 18-15… 22-15. Su Kang's eyes watered. He'd never been outclassed like this. Not even close. It wasn't just skill—it was humiliation. They might as well have been playing against a pro.
Cai Qing and Sun Tianyou were seething, their pride in tatters. They were used to getting their way, to being the best. But Wu Yifan made them look like amateurs. They wanted to tackle him, to punch him—anything to stop the embarrassment. But they were too slow, too outmatched.
Forty minutes later, the ref blew the final whistle.
Final score: 25-15. Wu Yifan won—easily.
Song Mingjie let out a whoop, tackling Wu Yifan in a bear hug. "Hell yeah! Brother Wu, you're a *superhero*! Is there anything you *can't* do?!" He punched Wu Yifan's arm, grinning, then shot a triumphant look at Su Kang's group. "What's it feel like, losers?"
Su Kang and his friends stood there, their faces gray. Shame hung over them like a cloud. They'd dreamed of making Wu Yifan suffer, of watching him streak through the streets. Now? The tables had turned.
Wu Yifan stretched, feigning confusion. "Remind me—what was that bet again? My memory's a little fuzzy."
One of Su Kang's friends piped up, too quickly: "Bet? What bet? I don't remember a bet."
Song Mingjie snarled. "Oh, so you're backing out? Your word's worth nothing? Pathetic." He stepped forward, his bulk intimidating.
The guy paled but held his ground, glaring.
Tang Baoer stepped up, her jaw set. "I'm not streaking. Not for you."
Wu Yifan smiled. "So you're breaking your promise?"
"Fine! I'm breaking it! What are you gonna do?" She lifted her chin, defiant, even as her heart raced. She didn't think he'd dare touch her—not in front of everyone.
"Hmm. That's a problem," Wu Yifan said, rubbing his chin.
Tang Baoer smirked, thinking she'd won. *He's stuck.* Breaking a promise was embarrassing, but better than stripping. She turned to leave. "Whatever. I'm gone. We'll settle this later—"
She yelped as strong arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground.
Wu Yifan's grin was devilish. "Promises matter, you know?"
"Put me down! You混蛋! *Put me down!*" Tang Baoer shrieked, kicking her legs. It was her first time being held by a guy—let alone in front of a crowd. Her face burned, and she wanted to vanish.
"Still refusing?" Wu Yifan's smile widened.
"Never!" she yelled, squirming.
Su Kang stepped in, hands raised. "Let's talk this out. We'll pay you—whatever you want. Just… let her go."
Wu Yifan laughed coldly. Spoiled brats, always trying to buy their way out. If he'd lost, they'd have made him streak without a second thought. But now? Money? Please.
He raised his hand—and smacked Tang Baoer's rear.
*SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!*
"AH! You pervert! I'll kill you!" she screamed, her voice cracking.
*SMACK! SMACK!*
"Help! Somebody help!" she wailed, tears stinging her eyes.
The crowd went silent. Even Song Mingjie gaped, his mouth hanging open.
No one moved. No one spoke.
They'd expected trash talk. Maybe a fight. But this? A public spanking? It was shocking—bold, humiliating, and completely unexpected.
Wu Yifan set her down gently, though Tang Baoer stumbled, her face bright red, her eyes filled with rage and embarrassment.
"Next time," he said, his voice calm, "keep your promises. Or don't make them."
He turned and walked away, leaving Tang Baoer to seethe, Su Kang's group to stare, and the crowd to erupt in a mix of gasps, cheers, and shocked whispers.
Song Mingjie hurried after him, grinning. "Damn, Brother Wu. That was… *bold*. You've got balls."
Wu Yifan shrugged. "They started it."
As they left Red Leaf Square, the chants of "Airman! Airman!" still echoed behind them.
Some lessons, it seemed, needed to be taught with a little pain.