Four Stars, No Gland

The full name of the NCAA is the National Collegiate Athletic Association.

It governs athletic competitions across more than a thousand universities in the United States.

It is the core of collegiate sports across the ocean, the stepping stone to the highest professional arenas, the cradle of future superstars.

The moment “NCAA” was mentioned, the conversation between Zhao Shu and Wu Qie stirred up waves.

Everyone who had been resting shifted closer.

Teenage curiosity is bright and burning.

Not malicious.

But it can scorch.

The starting point guard Wu Qie had temporarily replaced tugged at him and asked which high school he attended, whether it was famous.

Wu Qie looked momentarily cornered, as if being asked for household registration.

He reluctantly gave the school’s name.

Zhao Shu, watching coldly, found it oddly familiar.

He pulled out his phone and searched.

As expected, the expensive private school appeared immediately.

A traditional basketball powerhouse.

During Wu Qie’s four years there, it had won the high school league championship twice consecutively.

A résumé like that meant that at least half of his former teammates were probably grinding their way through the highest levels of professional basketball now.

When Zhao Guipu had sent over the “fiancé” profile, it included academic history.

The university was listed: the University of Kentucky, consistently ranked high in the NCAA.

The major, however, was unremarkable.

Earth and Environmental Science.

No athletic participation listed.

Zhao Shu had scoffed at the time.

If you weren’t playing ball, what was the point of going to Kentucky?

“Did you just sit on the bench for two championships and still fail to get a decent college offer?”

His tone was lukewarm.

He waved his phone to show the search results.

All eyes shifted back to Wu Qie.

“In my senior year, I was rated a four-star recruit.”

Wu Qie calmly listed several prestigious universities.

“But in a top-tier league like that, no team needs a Beta.”

If anyone who knew him well had been present, they would have been surprised.

He rarely spoke so bluntly.

But repeating the real reason again inevitably carried a trace of bitterness.

The truth was simple.

Once the possibility of secondary gender differentiation appeared in human evolution, fairness ceased to define the world.

Stronger, taller, sharper Alphas.

More agile, more beautiful Omegas.

And Betas.

Ordinary.

Numerous.

Replaceable.

For a moment, the figures before him blurred.

He seemed to return to five or six years ago.

To a vintage conference room at school.

A recruiter from Duke University speaking sincerely.

Though Asian height and athleticism might not dominate overseas, they were willing to offer him a chance.

If he differentiated into an Omega, they would grant a full scholarship and near-starter position.

For half a year after that, Wu Qie woke every morning and touched the back of his neck.

The place where a gland would appear after differentiation.

He waited for heat.

For swelling.

For discomfort.

He longed for it.

Those months stretched endlessly.

Hope burned hot at first.

Then cooled.

Everyone reassured him that children of Alpha-Omega parents were most likely to differentiate.

He still had hope.

Until his eighteenth birthday.

Statistically, no one differentiated after eighteen.

That was his deadline.

That morning, he looked at the height marker frozen at 179.7 centimeters.

At the silent nape of his neck.

Then he opened his arms and stepped into the first torrential rain of his adulthood.

The humidity had been building for days.

The rain did not feel like the sky collapsing.

Just a dull ache of loss.

The same ache that fluttered faintly now.

“Oh. So that’s why you’re a useless geography teacher now?”

“I don’t know.”

Wu Qie blinked lightly.

“Maybe heaven decided a 179-centimeter me should descend from the sky to beat a 194-centimeter you who doesn’t know his limits.”

The ache suddenly felt justified.

After all, when heaven assigns great tasks—

Zhao Shu’s face darkened completely.

No one dared speak.

Only Pei Qingyu, seated nearby, let out a clear laugh.

The normally restrained captain rarely laughed like that.

Unless something was genuinely funny.

…

Teacher Wu became the unexpected star of the day.

Surrounded by energetic Alphas, he had more presence than at any time in his two months at Hongtie High.

After practice, someone proposed dinner.

His “I’ll skip it” barely formed before he was bundled into Teacher Xue’s car.

The team insisted on drinks and stories.

In the passenger seat, Wu Qie sighed and texted home that he would not return for dinner.

“…Basketball team gathering. The advisor broke his leg, so I’m filling in for now.”

He fastened his seatbelt obediently.

Then paused.

He pressed the phone closer and muttered reluctantly, “I’m here.”

Teacher Xue couldn’t hear the other side.

But Wu Qie’s tone turned exasperated.

“I’m a Beta, not an Omega. Even if I drink, I can call a taxi. We have drivers at home—why should someone send me—what do you mean all drivers are busy? You and Dad need four drivers tonight? Are you taking tanks to war?”

He hung up, clearly displeased.

Teacher Xue found the innocence endearing.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

He muttered that he would cover tonight’s bill.

Reluctant.

But once agreeing, committed.

It was hard to dislike him.

Teacher Xue smiled and promised to drink more.

Before the car started, someone knocked on the window.

The glass rolled down to reveal sharp black eyes.

Zhao Shu stood outside, handsome face sour.

He greeted Teacher Xue lazily.

Then tilted his head toward Wu Qie.

“Are you in elementary school?”

Wu Qie stared back blankly.

“Why report everything to your family?”

Zhao Shu leaned in slightly.

“My brother called. Asked if I was dining with you. Ordered me to send you home.”

“Oh.”

The indifference irritated him.

“What if I don’t?”

“You’re asking me?”

Wu Qie tilted his head.

“I don’t know what your brother will do. Does the Zhao family enforce corporal punishment?”

Zhao Shu: “…”

He had never been so speechless.

After glaring for several seconds, he left.

Wu Qie immediately rolled up the window.

And locked it.

Teacher Xue blinked.

“You two knew each other before?”

“Sort of.”

Wu Qie paused.

“But not well.”

The dinner was at a craft beer bar with private hotpot.

Wu Qie arrived late.

Only two seats remained.

Across from him sat Pei Qingyu.

Beside him, Zhao Shu.

Whenever Wu Qie raised his glass, Zhao Shu muttered under his breath, “Careful. Throw up in my car and see what happens.”

Wu Qie set down his glass.

Turned slightly.

Raised two fingers.

“First, I’m not going with you.

Second, you’re not driving, so you’re not cleaning.”

Zhao Shu swatted his fingers away.

Then turned half away, showing only the back of his head.

Wu Qie pushed a plate of preserved plums toward Pei Qingyu.

“Add it to the soda. It tastes better.”

Pei Qingyu did not respond.

Later, surrounded by toasting Alphas, Wu Qie drank several beers and began holding his stomach carefully.

The atmosphere was lively—until Zhao Shu’s phone rang.

He glanced at it and answered without stepping away.

“Why are you still awake? Didn’t the hospital confiscate your phone?”

His tone was relaxed.

Familiar.

Wu Qie caught fragments.

Crying.

After a few exchanges, Zhao Shu’s expression stiffened.

He stood and left the private room without explanation.

The moment he was gone, the gossip exploded.

“Lin Zuwen, right?”

“Obviously.”

“He’s differentiating at the hospital.”

“So he’s really Omega?”

“Would you call another Alpha during your differentiation?”

Laughter.

Wu Qie took another sip of beer.

The bitterness spread.

“So are they official now?”

“Probably soon.”

“Lin Zuwen clings to him. Zhao Shu wouldn’t let him if he wasn’t interested.”

Speculation escalated to hypothetical children.

The door slid open.

Zhao Shu returned.

“Single eyelids my ass. Are you sick?”

He didn’t look angry.

Just irritated.

“So you and Lin Zuwen aren’t together?” someone pressed.

“No.”

He sneered.

“Actually, my family has other plans. Isn’t that right, Teacher Wu—”

He turned.

Stopped mid-sentence.

Wu Qie was half-standing.

Leaning across the table.

Holding his phone toward Pei Qingyu.

Pei Qingyu held his own phone.

Zhao Shu blinked.

“What exactly are you doing?”

Wu Qie startled slightly.

But did not withdraw his hand.

His eyes were bright from alcohol.

Soft.

Happy.

“I’m adding Pei Qingyu’s contact information.”

Zhao Shu: “…”