Chu Hang had changed into his jersey, the white shirt that had made him look both restrained and distant now draped loosely over his shoulders. Amid the roar of the crowd, he walked past Tan Yin toward Xu Yu.

Damn it, Tan Yin thought, this is actually starting to feel like a romance novel. She felt like a third wheel spectating the great love story of Chu Hang and Xu Yu.

If this were her own comic, the next second Chu Hang would punch out the opposing player who’d just gone after Xu Yu, then scoop Xu Yu up in his arms, declare his claim, and carry him off like a domineering CEO…

By now Chu Hang had reached the injured Xu Yu. Not wanting to miss the exchange between them, Tan Yin hurried over. She arrived just as Chu Hang spoke.

He looked at Xu Yu and said, brief and to the point: “All right. You can go in peace now.”

Understanding dawned on Xu Yu’s face. He reached out and patted Chu Hang’s back. “Kill them for me, brother.”

“Mm.”

The two of them were clearly in perfect sync. After just those few words, Xu Yu — who moments ago had insisted on staying in the game — turned and walked off.

Tan Yin stared, stunned. Xu Yu really was departing this mortal coil with no regrets whatsoever?

Chu Hang was subbing in — but could Chu Hang actually play basketball?

By the time Tan Yin came back to her senses, the game had already resumed. She realized that instead of following Xu Yu to dig up dirt on him, she’d unconsciously started watching the game — and Xu Yu was long gone, nowhere in sight.

Fine. Might as well enjoy the game properly, then.

Except… except was Chu Hang cheating somehow?

Tan Yin had never known Chu Hang played like this — fierce, ferocious, so relentless he wouldn’t give an inch. The substitute point guard’s skills were a bit green, and he kept getting double-teamed, barely contributing anything. Yet even in that situation, Chu Hang sank two three-pointers the moment he stepped on court, carrying himself like a one-man army against ten.

Chu Hang had never practiced with the rest of the team, so his teamwork inevitably had gaps. But his individual skill was simply too outrageous — even with weak coordination, combined with the kind of ruthlessness that mowed down anyone in his path, he came close to sweeping the whole court by himself.

But a tree that stands tall draws the wind. His dazzling performance naturally infuriated the opposing team, and it wasn’t long before they resorted to dirty tactics again, targeting Chu Hang for a hit. Having learned from the earlier incident, Chu Hang was already on guard, and he nimbly dodged their attempts at sabotage. When the other team saw they couldn’t touch him, they stopped even pretending to hide their intentions. A few of their players exchanged glances — apparently willing to sacrifice a man to a foul-out if it meant taking Chu Hang down. The burliest player on the opposing team charged straight at Chu Hang, who had his back turned and had no idea what was coming.

“Chu Hang! Watch out! Dodge left!”

Even knowing Chu Hang couldn’t hear her, Tan Yin couldn’t help shouting.

In that split second, just as the Polytechnic player was certain he’d land the hit, Chu Hang — back turned, unable to see anything behind him — twisted his body to the left as if he had eyes in the back of his head, narrowly dodging the blow.

Watching the outcome up close, Tan Yin’s heart raced with excitement. “Chu Hang! You’re amazing! So handsome! Today’s another day I’m crying over you! I’m in love!”

Maybe all that luck from his dazzling dodge had run out, because the moment Tan Yin finished speaking, Chu Hang’s foot suddenly nearly slipped—

Thankfully he caught himself and steadied his footing again.

Tan Yin finally let out a breath of relief.

The rest of the game passed without real incident, though every time the other team tried another dirty trick behind Chu Hang’s back, Tan Yin couldn’t help crying out. Chu Hang’s skills weren’t the only thing that seemed cheat-enabled — his ability to dodge their sneak attacks seemed almost supernatural too. He carried the university team’s offense the whole way, keeping Polytechnic’s score pinned down.

Everyone on the court was drenched in sweat. Chu Hang’s fair face had begun to flush from the intense exertion, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. And yet, even so, there was something about him that set him apart from every other guy out there — even in the middle of the heated, intense atmosphere, he still carried a cool detachment, as if he existed outside of it all even while standing in the thick of it. Every other player’s face flickered with excitement, fervor, anger, wild joy, frustration, or resentment. Only Chu Hang’s expression stayed calm, lips pressed together, brows faintly furrowed, as if this hard-fought game were no different from a moderately tricky structural mechanics problem — not worth wasting his precious expressions on.

But his coolness did nothing to douse the flame it lit in other people’s hearts. Even Tan Yin had to admit that just from glancing at him a few times, something inside her was burning brighter and brighter.

Chu Hang was like a fine piece of cold jade — its brilliance undeniable, displayed in the most expensive shop window, where you could only look at that cool, glowing light through the glass. But the colder and more precious something was, the more you wanted to possess it, to warm it, to make it yours — and yours alone.

Chu Hang kept running across the court, but to Tan Yin in that moment, it felt almost like showing off.

He was simply too dazzling. It was as if he was the only person in color on the entire court, everyone around him reduced to a monochrome black-and-white backdrop.

As the game went on, the university team grew more dominant, while Polytechnic grew more anxious. The score gap had already widened to nearly ten points. After several failed attempts to target Chu Hang, the other team seemed to be getting desperate, no longer even bothering to disguise their intentions or attack from behind. As Chu Hang dribbled toward the basket for a layup, an opposing player charged straight at him head-on.

Given the angle and the blatant nature of the attack, Chu Hang could easily have dodged — he’d even started to shift his footing, and just a slight sidestep would have avoided it entirely. But the instant the other player’s brute force came barreling toward him, Chu Hang seemed to change his mind. He glanced behind himself — a look that seemed careless, yet also seemed to mean something. If Tan Yin hadn’t been invisible, she’d have suspected that glance had been aimed at her.

But after that glance, Chu Hang lowered his lashes and simply didn’t move — he took the full impact of the collision head-on. The outcome for the other team was already decided, and with the score gap this wide, losing badly hardly mattered to them anymore; the hit carried an air of retaliation, thrown with everything the player had. But even the attacker seemed startled that Chu Hang hadn’t dodged — surprise flashed across his face on impact.

The force of the collision was enough that even watching, Tan Yin winced in sympathy. But Chu Hang was tough — despite the impact, he wasn’t knocked down, only stumbling back a few steps. Still, Tan Yin clearly heard the stifled grunt he let out on impact.

It really must have hurt.

Though he’d kept his footing, the ball was knocked from Chu Hang’s hands in the collision. Tan Yin, realizing belatedly, looked up just in time to see it hurtling straight toward her.

She was standing right in a corner of the court at that moment, with players running along both the left and right in front of her. She instinctively stepped back to dodge the incoming projectile, but she hadn’t counted on the Polytechnic players — the moment the ball left Chu Hang’s hands, they went after it like wolves. With a wall at her back, Tan Yin found herself as good as ambushed on all sides, with nowhere left to retreat.

This was it. She was done for.

In that moment, it wasn’t her invisibility being exposed that Tan Yin worried about — it was her life. The Polytechnic player chasing the ball looked to be about six-foot-three, built like a bear. Getting hit by the ball was nothing; getting hit by him coming for the ball was a matter of life and death. And it was only then that Tan Yin realized: if Chu Hang hadn’t stumbled and gotten caught by that earlier hit, then given the force of that charge, the burly player probably wouldn’t have been able to stop in time — he might well have come barreling straight into her corner instead.

Her luck had held once already. There likely wouldn’t be a second stroke of it.

Tan Yin, backed into the corner now, curled into herself and shut her eyes, bracing for the impact and pain.

But it never came. Two seconds passed. The blow she’d expected didn’t land. The pain she’d braced for never arrived.

Trembling, she opened her eyes — and found Chu Hang’s entire body shielding her, using his own back almost like a wall, having once again taken the brunt of the other player’s charge, and pulling the ball into his arms before the man could grab it.

And now, Chu Hang was facing her, just a short distance from the corner where she stood. His knees were slightly bent, one arm cradling the ball, the other braced against the wall right beside Tan Yin’s cheek. Even though he couldn’t see her, his stance had effectively pinned her into the corner — something between being pressed against a wall and being shielded.

At this distance, Tan Yin could smell him — that scent that came off him after intense exercise, carrying a fierce kind of allure.

She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help it — she instinctively looked up into his eyes.

When the opposing player had slammed into him a moment ago, Chu Hang had only staggered slightly, letting out a barely audible, deliberately suppressed grunt through his nose. It had been so quiet, so restrained — and yet to Tan Yin, that sound seemed to explode right beside her ear, shattering her heart along with it.

Chu Hang’s eyes really were too beautiful. He knew she was invisible, knew the other player couldn’t possibly see him — in his eyes, there was only the wall behind her. Yet his gaze gave Tan Yin the illusion that he was staring straight into her eyes as well.

It was, in essence, a moment of eye contact Tan Yin had reached entirely on her own.

Though it was only a few blazing seconds, to Tan Yin it felt as slow and drawn out as a scene from an arthouse film in slow motion. Her heart raced so fast she could barely breathe, and she couldn’t tell whether it was lingering adrenaline from the near-disaster or some other emotion fermenting inside her.

Tan Yin stared at Chu Hang, her mind a total mess, thinking that this weirdly bewitching fox-spirit of a man was, quite literally, an absolute menace to society.