Injury

Pei Qingyu arrived before the head coach.

The entire basketball gym was steeped in an indescribably oppressive atmosphere.

Pei Qingyu did not like meddling in other people’s business.

But as the team captain, he could not ignore the strange mood within the team.

So he casually grabbed someone to ask what had happened.

The unlucky one he caught was a second-year bench substitute.

The boy looked honest and timid, clearly afraid to speak, yet his eyes kept flicking nervously toward the back.

Pei Qingyu followed his gaze and turned around.

What he saw looked like a famous painting.

On the far left side of the basketball gym, Teacher Wu sat on a crude little chair.

His hands rested neatly on his knees.

He stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused, completely lost in thought.

On the far right side, in a perfectly symmetrical position, stood Zhao Shu.

The Alpha stood at the edge of the court expressionlessly, staring blankly ahead.

His gaze drifted across every player in the gym.

But he was very clearly restraining himself from shifting even a millimeter toward the left.

The deliberate avoidance made his jaw tense and stiff.

Between the two of them lay the Chu River and the Han Border.

The Milky Way.

The entire universe.

Every teammate who passed Zhao Shu showed visible caution.

As if the thing standing there wasn’t a person at all, but a rabid animal liable to snap at any moment.

“Since the locker room, Brother Shu has been in a bad mood.”

The second-year substitute swallowed nervously as he explained.

It wasn’t surprising, considering the ridiculous drama that had taken place in the senior corridor earlier that year.

Anyone would be in a bad mood if their backyard suddenly caught fire.

“We don’t really know why either.”

He added that weakly, trying to show he wasn’t gossiping.

Pei Qingyu neither agreed nor disagreed.

He studied Zhao Shu’s face for a moment and said calmly,

“When has he ever been in a good mood?”

Lunch break was short.

After eating and resting, they only had a little over an hour left to practice.

When Coach Sun Mi arrived, there was no tedious basic training.

The midday practice was only meant to maintain their touch so they could enter the official afternoon training in better condition.

So they chose a scrimmage instead.

Three-versus-three street-style basketball.

At this moment, Coach Sun Mi had no idea that a raging bull was currently present on the court.

After dividing the teams, he stepped aside.

Completely at ease, he began discussing American training methods with Wu Qie.

That was the reason he had wanted to see Wu Qie today.

He had heard from colleagues about a new strength training method.

Some American universities with professional-level programs had recently begun experimenting with it.

He wanted to discuss with Wu Qie whether such a system was feasible for Asian athletes.

Halfway through the conversation, Teacher Wu stood up from his chair.

Following Coach Sun’s description, he demonstrated a few of the movements.

The black-haired young man cooperated fully.

Like a human mannequin, he patiently allowed the coach to arrange his limbs into all kinds of odd poses.

The boys preparing for scrimmage inevitably glanced over in curiosity.

When they saw Wu Qie spread his arms and raise one leg into something resembling the “golden rooster standing on one leg,” Pei Qingyu couldn’t help laughing softly.

He turned back.

Then he realized the person standing opposite him was staring at his own shoes with grave concentration.

As if a flower had suddenly bloomed there.

Pei Qingyu: “…”

Pei Qingyu: “Zhao Shu.”

Pei Qingyu: “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘overcorrection’?”

When everyone’s eyes were collectively drawn to the left, if one person stubbornly stared to the right in order to avoid whatever was on the left—

then from a certain perspective, it only meant that the thing on the left mattered far more to him than to anyone else.

Zhao Shu slowly raised his head and looked at Pei Qingyu expressionlessly.

“I heard you improved a lot while I was gone.”

Pei Qingyu tossed the basketball lightly in his hands.

“Without reducing your rebound numbers, your average fouls dropped from around ten per game to about two.”

Zhao Shu clearly remembered something when he heard that.

He frowned, glanced away, and answered impatiently.

“Mm.”

Pei Qingyu curled his lips slightly.

“Teacher Wu’s doing?”

Zhao Shu’s eyes, which had just turned away, shifted back.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, like a ghost buried underground for eight hundred years suddenly dug up.

“Pei Qingyu, stop being annoying.”

After saying that, he snatched the basketball from Pei Qingyu’s hands.

Without even looking, he flung it backward to a teammate behind him.

The poor guy was caught completely off guard.

He reflexively caught the ball, his palms going numb from the force.

Before he had even steadied himself, Zhao Shu had already turned back around.

“What are you standing there for?”

“I want the first basket of this game.”

The scrimmage began.

Wu Qie also ended his conversation with Coach Sun Mi about the new strength training method.

He stood at the edge of the court with his arms folded, watching intently.

Regardless of whether domestic private school basketball could compare to American standards, Wu Qie had always taken basketball seriously.

Once, Wu Yingxiong had jokingly asked if he wanted to start a team of his own.

If he couldn’t play in the NBA, the CBA would do.

If nothing else, becoming a coach wouldn’t waste all those high school years he’d spent on the court.

But Wu Qie had long forgotten what it meant to fight for a place on the court.

If he could see the ending from the beginning, he would never waste effort on the journey.

That was something Wu Yingxiong often lamented.

He always said,

[Ah Qie, when people watch movies, they don’t drag the progress bar straight to the end.
And when they read books, they don’t only read the final page.]

—So what?

Beside him, Coach Sun sighed heavily.

Wu Qie watched expressionlessly as Zhao Shu played like he’d taken the wrong medicine today.

All his technique and strategy seemed to vanish.

He had reverted to the brutal, reckless style from when Wu Qie had first met him.

With a loud bang, Zhao Shu barreled through a defender during a drive, sending the other player flying.

A shrill whistle rang out.

“Zhao Shu! What the hell are you doing?!”

“Isn’t this street-style play? Are normal collisions not allowed?”

“You call knocking someone’s skeleton apart a normal collision?! And you’re talking back now? Have Teacher Wu’s lessons these past few days been wasted on you?!”

At the mention of that name, Zhao Shu’s stiff, annoyed expression froze.

“Tch.”

The basketball rolled to Wu Qie’s feet.

The boy who had been rebelliously plugging his ears with his pinkies instantly dropped the act.

He paused.

Then walked over.

His excessively handsome face carried its usual careless swagger.

The muscles in his exposed arms bulged from exertion.

Sweat traced the lines of his body.

When the scent of sweat mixed with the strong tequila-like Alpha pheromones rushed over, Wu Qie instinctively stepped back.

At the same moment, Zhao Shu bent down to pick up the ball beside Wu Qie’s feet.

When he straightened again, his nose nearly brushed Wu Qie’s chin before the latter could retreat.

Warm breath brushed across his skin.

Yet Zhao Shu never looked at him.

As if the person standing there were nothing more than a random signpost.

Watching Zhao Shu walk back onto the court, Wu Qie lifted his gaze.

After standing there for a moment, he felt his legs begin to ache.

So he quietly retreated and sat back down on the shabby chair in the corner.

Wu Qie rarely took naps.

But the dry autumn air and the afternoon sunlight were incredibly drowsy.

Resting his chin in his hand, he watched the players running across the court.

He mentally noted Pei Qingyu’s current issue.

As a small forward, his off-ball movement was not active enough.

His organization was lacking.

He had yet to properly function as the “glue” that unified the entire team.

His vision gradually drooped.

Like a stage slowly drawing its curtains.

Before the curtain could fully fall—

Bang!

A thunderous crash and a chorus of screams jolted him awake.

He snapped his head toward the court.

Two tall figures had just fallen into a row of metal benches at the edge of the court.

The chairs scattered everywhere with a screeching metallic grind.

“Brother Shu!”

“Captain!”

The basketball bounced twice before rolling back to Wu Qie’s feet.

Wu Qie instinctively stood up.

Through the chaos he could only glimpse two Alphas buried under overturned chairs.

The chairs clattered aside.

Pei Qingyu was the first to sit up.

He clearly wasn’t in good condition.

The gathering crowd blocked much of Wu Qie’s view.

Through the shifting gaps between bodies, he saw Pei Qingyu slowly lift a hand to wipe above his left eyebrow.

Blood streamed down his forehead.

Dark red.

Thick.

Flowing slowly.

Wu Qie’s pupils shrank.

Suddenly realizing something, he turned sharply, trying to locate the other person still buried in the wreckage.

But he couldn’t see anything.

The shouting teammates had formed a wall around the center.

Wu Qie was completely blocked outside the circle.

They were like mountains shifting in chaos.

Until Coach Sun shouted Wu Qie’s name.

“The medical kit!”

Wu Qie snapped back to reality.

He ran to grab it and hurried back.

As he pushed through the crowd, countless pheromones filled the air.

The closer he got to the center, the more it felt like charging into a battlefield.

Even Betas felt uncomfortable when pheromones mixed chaotically.

Amid all the unfamiliar scents, he still recognized two.

Cold cedar.

And strong tequila.

Both laced with the smell of blood.

His chest tightened.

His lungs felt like they had forgotten how to breathe.

His heart sped up.

Nausea rose uncontrollably.

“Move.”

Wu Qie struggled through the crowd with the medical kit.

But before he could reach the center, a large hand pressed down on his shoulder.

Coach Sun pushed him forward.

“Teacher Wu, stop Pei Qingyu’s bleeding first.”

“If it’s too bad, we’ll send him to the hospital for stitches.”

The gym was still chaotic.

Wu Qie responded faintly.

Then he suddenly looked back, wanting to ask—

If one person was getting first aid, what about the other?

Surely they hadn’t already given up on him?

But the crowd was too frantic to notice him.

When he finally knelt in front of Pei Qingyu and opened the medical kit, his mind was blank.

The shouting boys around him made his temples throb.

He found gauze, alcohol, and cotton swabs with practiced ease.

He tore open the packaging with unnecessary force.

His entire body was stretched tight like a string about to snap.

Then he looked up.

The young man before him looked like someone standing in a snowstorm on a frozen mountain.

Pei Qingyu frowned slightly.

One eye was closed because blood had blurred his vision.

His long eyelashes were clumped with blood.

He looked utterly miserable.

Wu Qie pressed his lips together.

Suppressing the discomfort from Pei Qingyu’s cold pheromones, he carefully lifted a cotton swab.

“Sorry, Teacher Wu,” Pei Qingyu said lightly.

“It hurts a lot, so I can’t control my pheromones well.”

Wu Qie’s throat tightened.

“…It’s fine.”

He gently wiped the wound.

Pei Qingyu hissed in pain.

Wu Qie immediately pulled back.

He tilted his head anxiously to check the injury.

“Did I hurt you?”

Pei Qingyu shook his head.

Seeing Wu Qie’s pale face and tense expression, he paused.

“Did I scare you?”

“No… I thought I pressed too hard.”

Wu Qie’s voice remained as gentle as ever.

Even though he was clearly shaken.

Even though he was surrounded by overwhelming Alpha pheromones.

Sweat had already formed on his forehead.

Yet he stubbornly insisted he was fine.

Pei Qingyu sighed softly.

He was just about to reassure him—

When his gaze suddenly froze behind Wu Qie.

“…What?”

Wu Qie sensed the sudden silence around them.

He turned around.

The crowd had parted like the Red Sea.

And there, sitting amid the wreckage of overturned chairs, was Zhao Shu.

Half of his face was covered in blood.

One hand rested on a bent chair.

His middle fingernail had been completely torn off.

Blood poured steadily from the wound.

Dripping down.

Gathering at his fingertips.

Then falling onto the wooden floor like blooming red flowers.

The moment their eyes met, Zhao Shu said nothing.

The air seemed frozen.

Wu Qie saw Zhao Shu’s dark brown eyes shift slightly.

Then Zhao Shu silently climbed to his feet.

The gym was so quiet a falling pin would have sounded deafening.

Zhao Shu lifted his foot.

And kicked one of the chairs across the court.

Then he turned and walked toward the locker room.

Without looking back.