The game referee, Sung Wo, approached the center of the court, carefully examining the players' positions. He tossed the ball up, making a clear jump ball throw, and immediately stepped aside, observing the unfolding action.
Ming You didn't even move from his spot, knowing that the height advantage was not on his side. He preferred to save his strength for the rest of the game, rather than engaging in a predictably losing jump ball duel.
Jung Ho, in contrast, reacted instantly. He pushed off sharply from the asphalt, leaping higher than everyone else, and confidently caught the ball with one hand.
He began dribbling the ball confidently towards the basket. Ming You seemed in no hurry, watching the captain's movements.
"You can't catch up to me," said Jung Ho, moving confidently towards the hoop.
"Oh, really?" Ming You smirked inwardly. "Let's see how you handle what I've prepared for you."
Jung Ho stopped abruptly behind the arc and released the ball from the three-point line. The ball described a high arc and, barely touching the rim, swished cleanly through the net.
Ming You merely watched him coldly. When the sound of the net snapping echoed, he didn't get upset or clap – he just gave a short nod, accepting the opponent's accurate shot as a given. His face remained impassive, as if this moment had already been calculated in advance.
Jung Ho, picking up the ball, asked him seriously:
"Do you really think you can beat me? Aren't you overestimating yourself too much?"
"I wanted to ask you the very same question, Jung Ho."
"You still have the nerve to joke?"
Ming You put on a mask of friendliness:
"Again, you took the words right out of my mouth."
Jung Ho smirked arrogantly. He took the ball again and, dribbling confidently, began his attack. Jung Ho used his physical attributes to confuse Ming You, but he remained calm and focused.
"Are you trying to intimidate me?" asked Jung Ho, making a feint and trying to get past Ming You.
"Intimidate? No," replied Ming You, "I'm just waiting for the right moment."
At that moment, Jung Ho made a crossover to the left. Ming You intentionally let him pass. Jung Ho positioned himself between the free-throw and three-point lines, took the ball in both hands, and without jumping, took a shot. But Ming You, as if emerging from the shadows, unexpectedly jumped, blocking the shot.
"What?!" he exclaimed, not believing his eyes. "How did you do that?"
"I was just waiting for you to make a mistake," said Ming You, picking up the ball with one hand. His voice sounded confident. "And you made one."
"A mistake? What mistake?"
"You guess, heh-heh." He bent down and started a sharp dribble.
As Jung Ho leaned forward, trying to anticipate the ball's movement, Ming You reacted lightning-fast. He sharply moved the ball behind his back, creating the appearance of starting a crossover, but at the same moment, he intentionally stepped on his opponent's foot.
To the spectators, it looked like a sharp change of direction, but in reality, it was a hidden foul. Jung Ho, losing his balance, crashed heavily onto the asphalt. Ming You didn't even look back, continuing his movement towards the basket as if nothing had happened.
"You can't play like that, Ming You!" shouted Jung Ho, trying to get back on his feet. "It's not fair!"
"Fairness?" he scoffed while running to the hoop.
Ming You drove to the basket and scored from underneath it.
"In sports, just like in the world, there's no place for fairness. Here, the one who is ready to take risks wins."
Ming You picked up the ball from the asphalt, his fingers tightly gripping the leather surface. He slowly retreated behind the line, assessing Jung Ho's position.
The latter was already standing in front of him, arms spread wide, ready to defend. His gaze was tense, and his voice held a warning:
"Ming You, don't do anything stupid, play fair!"
Ming You didn't answer. He gently swayed the ball in front of him, as if checking its weight. Not a word, only cold calculation in his eyes:
"One last step remains to break him. After my maneuver, he will face pressure from the spectators. Any person who adheres to moral principles always has a concern for reputation, and that will be his weakness."
Ming You intentionally slowed the pace, loosening his control over the ball as if giving Jung Ho a chance to steal it. The moment the defender reached for the ball, Ming You sharply accelerated, forcing him to instinctively lunge after it.
Jung Ho, taking the bait, immediately cut off the path, fully concentrating on the ball. His body tensed, his eyes tracked every movement, but at that moment, he had already lost the most important thing—control over the situation.
"Time to act. The Four-Headed Spider… an interesting name for a feint my body has been practicing for about two years."
Ming You sharply increased his pace, making the ball literally dance between his hands. He bounced it between his legs, then instantly transferred it behind his back, disrupting the defensive rhythm. Every movement was sharp, angular, devoid of the usual fluidity—it was impossible to predict where he would dash next.
The opponent darted to the left, but Ming You had already changed direction, leaving him grasping at air. The asphalt screeched under the sharp stops and bursts—his ball control remained perfect, despite the frantic speed.
"What the…" Jung Ho gasped in shock as he saw what came next.
Ming You was dribbling rapidly, sharply changing pace and direction, forcing Jung Ho to react with a delay. His movements were so fast and precise that it created the illusion of several hands working simultaneously. He used a crossover, then an instant behind-the-back transfer, followed by a sharp scoop under his left arm—it was as if the ball disappeared and reappeared.
Jung Ho, trying to anticipate the next move, lost his balance. Ming You increased the pressure, adding false movements with his shoulders and head—his torso seemed to live separately from his legs, creating a chaotic yet controlled dribbling pattern. When the defender lunged to the right, the ball had already been moved between the legs to the left, and Ming You's body sharply spun in the opposite direction.
The spectators froze—for a split second, it seemed like there wasn't just one player in front of Jung Ho, but several, each about to break through to the hoop. But it was just a masterfully executed feint: Ming You, using the inertia of the deceived defender, cleared the path with one clean step.
"Look at him!" shouted one of the spectators. "He really is like a real monster!"
"I'm changing my bet!"
"Yeah!"
"This guy is definitely going to take him down!"
"W-what's happening…" the moment Jung Ho got distracted by the spectators for a split second, Ming You's head was already past him.
Jung Ho explosively lunged from his spot, trying to intercept his opponent. His muscles tensed, his legs powerfully pushed off the asphalt, but Ming You had already gained speed.
Ming You, rapidly approaching the hoop, sharply changed trajectory, confusing Jung Ho. At the last moment, he took a shot from under the basket—soft, accurate, almost intangible.
Jung Ho jumped in a desperate attempt to block the ball. His fingers barely brushed the air, creating an illusion of a touch, but the ball was already out of reach. The clean swish of the net confirmed the successful shot.