When the Online Puppy Asks the Wrong Question

In everyone else’s impression, Teacher Xiao Wu was a rather old-fashioned person.

If you paid attention to the phone he used and the car he drove, you’d always get the strange illusion that the so-called most developed country across the ocean… wasn’t actually that developed after all.

Otherwise, with someone like Wu Qie, how had he managed to attend such an expensive private high school filled with elite classmates—and graduate so calmly?

That was practically an unsolved mystery.

If Wu Qie’s phone were given to an average high school student, it would probably need charging three times a day.

But Teacher Xiao Wu only charged it once before bed.

Because he barely used it during the day.

Zhao Shu occasionally mocked him for being like a primitive man, but Wu Qie didn’t think there was anything wrong with that.

On the first night of training, Sun Mi had even planned to teach him how to use Picline—

How to upload posts or images, how to turn off messages from strangers, so he wouldn’t get harassed by students from other schools…

But before Sun Mi could even start, Teacher Xiao Wu had already updated his first coaching log.

The formatting, layout—even the emojis he used in replies—were all perfectly on point.

After ten at night, his status switched from “online on computer” to “online on mobile,” and he stayed online until past midnight.

Sun Mi couldn’t help but ask in the group chat if he was exploring Picline or something.

Because this level of internet activity was unheard of.

In the Hongtie coaching group chat, the black-haired Beta replied with an ancient-style emoticon: “^_^”.

[Wu Qie: Chatting with someone.]

[Sun Mi: ……………………Stop chatting! You’ll get tricked by other schools!]

[Wu Qie: Don’t worry. I’m a bit smarter than you think.]

At that exact moment, a new message popped up on Picline.

“sssssss” had sent another clip—this time of an NBA superstar’s signature reverse layup.

He said the move looked similar to Wu Qie’s and asked if he had learned it from that player.

Back when they trained one-on-one, Wu Qie had repeatedly performed reverse layups over Zhao Shu’s head—

jumping over a 1.94-meter Alpha with his 1.79-meter frame and finishing mid-air.

Every time, Zhao Shu mentally collapsed.

What made it worse was that no matter how Zhao Shu tried, he could never master the technique.

Occasionally he succeeded once, but the next time Wu Qie lightly interfered, his entire movement would fall apart.

The only person who obsessed over that move like this…

was Zhao Shu.

Wu Qie was now completely certain.

[Hongtie Basketball Dept Instructor W: Yeah, I learned it from him.

But don’t bother trying. You won’t get it.]

[sssssss: …]

From the second day onward, things started to change slightly.

During breaks, Teacher Xiao Wu became more… grounded.

Instead of staring blankly into space, he occasionally checked his phone.

For most teenagers glued to their phones, this was nothing.

But for Wu Qie, it was unusual.

Even during meals, he would glance at his phone and type replies.

As if there was something he had to respond to.

Family?

He had never done that before.

A lover?

His fiancé Zhao Shu was right there, and no one had heard of anyone else.

So everyone concluded that he had just discovered Picline and gotten hooked.

At the cafeteria, Zhao Shu leaned back in his chair and said casually,

“Don’t tell me you used someone else’s identity to sneak into those special sections and got addicted?”

Mentioning Picline’s Alpha–Omega-exclusive sections made everyone exchange knowing looks.

Across the table, Wu Qie stared at him expressionlessly.

Just five minutes ago, this same person had been sending him highlight clips of the Chicago Hornets on Picline—

along with complaints that today’s bread was too hard.

Wu Qie had even seen a poster of Bill Richardson from the Chicago Hornets in Zhao Shu’s room.

And his favorite player, Senor Lu, whose reverse layup was iconic.

Meanwhile, Zhao Shu’s plate still held a half-eaten piece of bread he clearly had no intention of finishing.

…Wu Qie genuinely couldn’t understand what kind of twisted mentality allowed someone to chat nonstop online while talking nonsense face-to-face.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zhao Shu toss the bread to Pei Qingyu.

“It’s too hard. Couldn’t you use your eyes when picking it?”

Pei Qingyu silently tossed it back.

Zhao Shu: “……”

Wu Qie’s phone lit up again.

[sssssss: Are you coming to watch the scrimmage this afternoon?]

Wu Qie hesitated.

He had originally planned to skip it and go soak in the hot springs.

But then he remembered Jiang Xilu personally inviting him earlier.

So he replied: “I’ll go.”

[sssssss: Good. Now put down your phone and eat properly.]

Wu Qie almost laughed.

Since when did Zhao Shu start acting like his older brother?

He looked up.

Zhao Shu and Pei Qingyu were both on their phones.

Pei Qingyu leaned lazily, scrolling.

The fluorescent light illuminated his fingers—his wound still untreated.

Wu Qie hesitated for a second.

Then chose to stay silent.

At that moment, both Alphas put their phones down as if caught.

Zhao Shu frowned.

“What now? Can you just eat your food? If you want to stare at me so badly, come sit here.”

Wu Qie said nothing.

Some people were ten thousand times more likable when typing than when speaking.

This was confirmed again fifteen minutes later.

Twenty minutes after leaving the cafeteria, “sssssss” sent him a video of kittens.

A whole nest—tabby, black-and-white, pure black.

Wu Qie watched while eating.

[Hongtie Basketball Dept Instructor W: Very cute.]

[sssssss: I’ll take you to see them next time.]

[Hongtie Basketball Dept Instructor W: Really?]

[sssssss: Don’t act cute. Why would I need to scam you?]

From “Doggy” to “Daddy” was hard.

But becoming a “Puppy”?
That only required the internet.

Wu Qie sighed.

If their arranged meeting had started as an online romance, maybe things would’ve turned out differently.

That afternoon, Wu Qie ended up sitting on Didu No. 12 High School’s bench.

He paid more attention to Yicheng Affiliated High School’s performance.

After two days, he realized Didu No. 12 was basically a mirror of Hongtie.

Same chaos during breaks.

Just with different people complaining.

“Teacher Wu feeds me so well!” Jiang Xilu shouted.

Zhou Kai replied calmly, “If you can read, maybe look up what a four-star high school player means.”

Then he turned to Wu Qie.
“Sorry, we looked into your background.”

Wu Qie waved it off.

Their coach added,
“With your level, you could’ve stayed in professional leagues…
Why come back?”

Wu Qie scratched his head and smiled.
“Personal reasons.”

The conversation cooled slightly.

Zhou Kai added lazily,
“Everyone thinks you should be feeding passes to Orson Parker instead of coaching us.”

Wu Qie glanced up at the stands.

No Zhao Shu.

But he saw Pei Qingyu.

Sitting alone, arms crossed, radiating distance.

Their eyes met.

Once, Wu Qie would’ve lost sleep over that glance.

Now—

nothing.

He calmly looked away.

That night, Wu Qie soaked in the hot spring.

The sulfur smell was heavy.

His mind drifted—training plans, his past as a four-star player, the day he fled back home.

—A humiliating escape.

The memory was still vivid.

Cold air.
Shaking hands.
Blood in the air.

“…Stop.”

He sank into the water.

Then resurfaced.

His phone lit up.

[sssssss: Teacher Wu… you don’t have someone you like anymore, right?]

“…?”

Wu Qie froze.

That question felt… too direct.

[Hongtie Basketball Dept Instructor W: Why ask this suddenly?]

[Hongtie Basketball Dept Instructor W: Don’t ask this on a public account.]

[Hongtie Basketball Dept Instructor W: …Actually, don’t ask at all.]

He climbed out, restless.

Later, in the hallway, he ran into Zhao Shu and Pei Qingyu.

Zhao Shu walked over, cheerful as ever.

Then paused after noticing Wu Qie’s pale face.

“Low blood sugar from the hot spring?”

Without waiting, he opened a can of cola and handed it to him.

Wu Qie took a sip.

Then suddenly snapped, “Why didn’t you come to the match today?”

Zhao Shu blinked.

Wu Qie continued, “Instead of studying opponents, you just ask weird irrelevant questions.”

Zhao Shu: “???”

Wu Qie: “No! There isn’t! Got it?!”

Then he shoved past him and left.

Zhao Shu stood there, stunned.

“What did I do?”

Pei Qingyu drank orange juice and said calmly,
“How would I know.”

Late at night, Wu Qie was woken by knocking.

He opened the door—

and saw Pei Qingyu standing behind Teacher Xue.

His room’s hot spring had broken.

He needed a place to stay.

Pei Qingyu leaned slightly closer, expression gentle.

“Sorry to trouble you, Teacher Wu.”

The tone was polite.

But impossible to refuse.