Guo Songtao stands at about six-foot-one, a broad-shouldered third-year senior from Class 2 who plays center. Training outdoors all year has given him a deep tan, but overall he has this rugged, heroic look about him. Because he takes good care of his juniors, the whole team calls him "Brother Tao." I call him that too.
The reason Brother Tao always brings me to play ball is because he wants the basketball team to get used to having a strong physical opponent. Apparently, I'm the ideal punching bag for practicing body-checks.
Even though my dribbling sucks and my three-pointers rarely go in, I'm decent with layups and driving to the rim. Faking someone out with a quick feint and then passing to a teammate for a clean score always gives me a weird sense of pride.
I follow the rules strictly too. If I accidentally foul someone, I immediately raise my hand and call for a brief timeout.
As expected of someone who leans toward lawful good.
The school basketball team has eighteen players total. Most were reselected last year—big guys, strong guys—so everyone else jokingly calls them "The Eighteen Arhats."
Of course, plenty of students didn't get selected, and some held grudges against the school leadership and the team. Once, they even brought in five wannabe tough guys who pretended they could play basketball and insisted on a "friendly match" with the team. The moment the game started, all they did was foul. They were clearly there to cause trouble.
I went with Brother Tao and we cleaned them up.
The fight ended so quickly that the teachers patrolling nearby didn't even have time to notice the screams.
Even if the headteacher decided to pursue it, I would've taken full blame anyway—I already had a reputation.
When those five punks were rolling around on the ground moaning and refusing to get up, we realized that if a teacher saw them like that, we'd be in trouble.
So Liu Huaishui, our rear guard, came up with a ridiculously stupid idea. He found a filthy, ancient comforter in the equipment room. We tossed all five punks onto it and rolled them up like a giant spring roll.
The Eighteen Arhats hoisted the "spring roll" onto their shoulders and carried it toward the school gate.
"The PE teacher told us to throw out some garbage," they told the security guard.
The guard squinted. "He calls that 'some'? That's way too much! He's really taking advantage of you boys… alright, go on."
We turned the corner outside the gate and dumped the entire spring roll straight into the overflowing, rancid garbage station.
Later, this incident became a legendary joke among the team. Whenever someone wasn't playing well or morale dropped, someone would shout, "Did you forget the story of the Giant Spring Roll!?"
Spectators who didn't know the truth thought the basketball team was full of food-obsessed weirdos.
Honestly? Fighting alongside Brother Tao was fun. There's this solid feeling of having someone watching your back.
And then we fought again.
This time, it was because the same punks came for revenge. They ambushed two of our players—our shooter and our point guard—when they were heading home and injured them badly enough that they couldn't practice for a week.
The team members were furious and demanded retaliation. But Brother Tao stopped them and just told everyone to go home in pairs for a while.
A few days later, he and I were practicing shots on the empty court. No one was talking about revenge. The sky got darker and darker until we could barely see the ball.
Then Brother Tao suddenly spat out the toothpick in his mouth and cursed, "Shit!"
He didn't even bother picking up his basketball—just walked straight out the school gate in a direction that definitely wasn't his usual route home.
I didn't say anything. I just followed, rolling my wrists and warming up.
We cornered the five idiots outside a sketchy nightclub. They were with their colorfully dressed girlfriends, bragging loudly about how they "taught those basketball guys a lesson," and going on about how useless the "big oaf center" was.
They froze as soon as they saw Brother Tao standing in front of them.
This fight lasted a solid ten minutes.
Not because the punks suddenly gained courage due to having an audience. No, it was because Brother Tao wanted to vent.
With no teachers around to yell at us, he lifted each guy by the collar and slammed him against the alley wall like he was posting flyers.
My fists were itching. I wanted to join in, but Brother Tao waved me off.
"You stay put! Just watch! If anyone tries to run—kick 'em back!"
So I shoved my hands in my pockets and blocked the entrance of the alley. I didn't let anyone leave—not even the girlfriends.
It's not like I wanted to do anything to them. I just didn't want anyone running out screaming and calling security.
The punks resisted once or twice at the start, thinking their numbers gave them an advantage. But they quickly discovered they were no match for Brother Tao. Even if they tried to run, I was guarding the exit. In the end, he beat all five of them by himself.
What surprised me was the girlfriends. None of them looked upset their boyfriends were getting pummeled. Instead, they peeked through their fingers like they were watching a live-action action movie.
A few days later, one of those girlfriends—the one with black nail polish—showed up at school looking for me specifically.
"Does Brother Tao have a girlfriend?" she asked.
I told her, "You're too young. Brother Tao's not interested."
So she huffed and leaned closer. "Fine. What about you?"
I nearly exploded.
They were just like my mom—the type that tosses away family and responsibility as soon as someone "stronger" catches their eye.
If fighting ability alone decides who's boyfriend material, then they should go worship the undefeated Little Tyrant.
Back then, I still didn't know the Little Tyrant was actually a dishonest girl.
The other basketball players never learned that Brother Tao took me out to settle things. But afterward, no one dared ambush the team again.
They weren't stupid—they could more or less guess what happened based on how Brother Tao treated me afterward.
So in a way, I was like the unofficial nineteenth member of the basketball team.
"How about joining us officially?" Brother Tao asked once with a grin. "I'll recommend you. You won't need tryouts."
I shook my head. "Nah. I like being a training partner. It's fun."
"Tch! What's the point of being a training partner?" Brother Tao snorted. "You sure you don't just want an excuse to fight?"
He wasn't angry, just exasperated.
"Yeah, yeah," I said. "I'll be the team's sparring partner and part-time thug. Don't call me when you're playing ball. Call me when you're fighting."
With Brother Tao and the seventeen Arhats, I felt relaxed—completely unlike the nervous tension I felt around Ren Xiaoqin. Even memories of the Little Tyrant didn't weigh on me the way Xiao Qin did now.
I'd rather let the Little Tyrant punch me ten times than watch Ren Xiaoqin shed a single tear.
Sometimes I still wish Little Tyrant had been a boy.
If she were, she'd be playing basketball with me right now. Even if we weren't friends, we'd be rivals in everything.
But that was impossible.
Unfortunately, practicing with the school team didn't help my reputation at all.
Since I wasn't an official member, I couldn't represent the school in competitions. Most people weren't interested in daily practice sessions. Even if they watched, they assumed I was just there to fill numbers.
"He's only tall. Nothing else."
"His eyes look so fierce. Anyone he stares at is bound to mess up."
That's what the guys said.
As for the girls who came to watch, almost all of them were there to stare at Captain Guo Songtao or the pretty-boy shooter Shen Shaoyi.
And of course, I was always the comparison point.
"That block by the captain was amazing! Look! Even that Haruya guy isn't acting crazy today!"
"I like the captain, but he's too tall. Shen Shaoyi is perfect!"
"Ah! Shen Shaoyi got knocked over by Haruya! He's so despicable! He must be jealous!"
You lovestruck idiots—can you turn off your romance filters for one second? Shen Shaoyi tried to drive past me, crashed into my chest, and fell because his physical strength is trash. That's why Brother Tao keeps making me be his sparring partner—to train him!
But the common belief was that the basketball team tolerated me because they were strong. Since Haruya bullies the weak and fears the strong (apparently), I'd never dare pick a fight with them.
There was even a rumor that Brother Tao and I made a secret pact: I wouldn't mess with the basketball team, and he wouldn't challenge me for the title of "28th Middle Boss."
I was too mentally exhausted to care anymore.
My heart was tired. I felt like I'd never love again.
Today, fourteen players showed up—fifteen including me—so we split into three teams and rotated.
To keep things fair, Brother Tao, Shen Shaoyi, and I were usually placed on separate teams.
My basketball skills were never top-tier. I just had solid physical conditioning, speed, and stamina, which was annoying to deal with.
All the years of training to defeat the Little Tyrant had paid off in weird ways.
Today went smoothly. Although we lost to Brother Tao's team, we crushed Shen Shaoyi's 10–0. (The wind messed up several three-pointers, and Shen Shaoyi plus his fangirls were furious.)
After beating Shen Shaoyi, we lost again to Brother Tao and waited for the next round.
That's when that damn fatty, Cao Jingshen, waddled over holding a bottle of Nutri-Express, dribbling it all over his mouth.
"Leader Haruya, you're playing ball! Amazing!"
He bowed dramatically.
I wanted to grab him by the neck and choke him on the spot, but too many people were around.
"It's not too hard for your master," I said while drinking water. "But you, you little troublemaker—I didn't know you liked basketball."
"Heh heh heh… There's only one kind of ball this disciple likes, and that is—"
I glared at him before he could finish the sentence. He immediately shrank back.
"Leader Haruya, this disciple has something to report!"
"What?"
"This disciple has already delivered the martial arts manual to my father's hands."
His words were dripping with implication, but I understood.
"Oh, so you brought the manga to Director Cao. Did you go home during lunch? Well, your place is close anyway."
Encouraged, he grinned wider.
"Leader Haruya, isn't this disciple admirable for correcting his mistakes? Not only did I bring the book home, I also brought the one with the missing page!"
"Well done. But don't give it to me yet."
I took another sip.
"But… Leader Haruya… after I returned to class, the class leader kept staring at me!"
What's so strange about that? Your sleazy face plus an H-manga in your bag would draw attention from anyone. Your suspicious aura must've doubled.
"So, this disciple hid the forbidden manual in a safe place before coming to report."
"Safe place?"
"After careful thought… the safest place was Leader Haruya's desk…"
Your sister!
You idiotic Nutri-Express–drinking waste of brain cells! My desk is completely open! Anyone passing by can see what's inside! And I sit in the back row—people walk past all the time!
"Leader Haruya, don't worry. The class leader wasn't in the classroom when I placed the sacred text…"
I felt a tiny bit relieved.
"But… the master's wife was."
"…Who?"
"Well… Ren Xiaoqin…"
Go to your mother's mother! Go to your mother's ancestors! You dared put an H-manga in my desk while Ren Xiaoqin was sitting right next to you!?
And not even a normal H-manga! It was the ultra–heavy-core "Teacher's Colorful Classroom," 120 pages of nothing but indecent scenes of female students! Xiao Qin is absolutely going to get the wrong idea!
The water I'd just drunk turned into cold sweat. I shot to my feet, shouted a quick goodbye to my teammates, and sprinted toward the classroom on the second floor.
I prayed Xiao Qin hadn't opened the book. Or if she did, that she hadn't gotten far.
If she'd only ever read sparkly shoujo comics before… that book would shatter her worldview in six pages.
Damn it—I forgot about the cover page…