The next morning, the classroom buzzed with chatter as everyone settled in. An Phong scanned the room, but Uy Phong's seat remained empty. His brows pinched, a restless unease tugging at him.
"Where's Uy Phong?" he finally asked.
A classmate turned with a smirk. "He's skipping this morning. Said he had to run basketball tryouts."
So that's where he was.
—
The gym was alive with noise. Dozens of students lined up—freshmen through seniors—eyes bright with both excitement and nerves. But the moment their gazes fell on the figure at the registration table… the energy nosedived.
Uy Phong sat back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, arms folded. His face was so cold, half the rookies looked like they were walking into a mafia interrogation instead of tryouts. His gaze cut sharp as a blade; every missed shot felt like a death sentence under that glare.
"Uh… are we being tested on basketball or mental endurance here?" one kid muttered.
"Hot, sure," whispered another. "But that face? Looks like he's about to execute someone."
A few girls tiptoed by, giggling behind their hands—half nervous, half swooning.
Uy Phong didn't react. He tapped a pen against the desk, steady, deliberate, masking the tension knotting inside. Clearly, his mood wasn't great today.
Two grueling hours later, the roster finally shrank down to two standouts.
First was Dat—average build, big smile, waving at friends after every point. Easygoing, approachable, a social spark. With him, the locker room would never be quiet.
The second was Thanh—the complete opposite. Silent. Barely spoke three words the whole session. But with the ball in his hands? Precise, lethal, second only to Uy Phong himself.
Propping his chin on one hand, Uy Phong studied them both, then gave a single, brief nod. No smile, no praise—just the barest motion that sealed their spot.
Applause erupted through the gym. Dat beamed, nudging Thanh, who responded with a shrug. Relief rippled through the team. Even with Uy Phong's stormy expression, the tryouts were a success.
—
Back in class, Vy fidgeted, chin in hand, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds.
"Didn't we agree I'd clear things up with him today? Where is he?" she huffed.
An Phong leaned forward to a guy in the row ahead. "You seen Uy Phong?"
"He's at basketball. All day, I think."
Vy blew out a breath, then grabbed An Phong's sleeve. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go."
The schoolyard was noisy during break, clubs scattered everywhere. As they neared the gym, both Vy and An Phong froze in place.
There he was.
Uy Phong stood by the court, arms crossed, eyes locked on the new recruits as they showed off. His posture was sharp, commanding—but his lips? They curved faintly, every now and then. Relaxed. Confident. A far cry from the icy mask he'd worn last night.
But that wasn't what made them stop dead.
Beside him, An Thu leaned close, laughing brightly. Teasing, asking questions. And though his gaze never left the court, Uy Phong answered each one without hesitation—sometimes even nodding, even smiling. The two of them, side by side, looked… comfortable. Too comfortable.
Vy bit her lip. An Phong's frown deepened. The same thought flickered through both their minds: What the hell is he playing at?
A strange, sour twist knotted in their chests. An Phong kept glancing at Uy Phong, suspicion burning. Vy, meanwhile, shot him a look that practically screamed: See? Does that look like a guy who likes me? He's clearly closer to her.
An Phong had no comeback. The scene spoke for itself.
Then—Uy Phong's hand lifted. He reached behind An Thu's head and brushed gently through her hair.
Crack.
The sound was silent, but both Vy and An Phong felt it—like something inside them snapped.
Vy's throat tightened, anger rising hot and sharp. She didn't even like him—so why did it sting, seeing the boy everyone teased her about being "the crush" treating another girl so gently? Her face flushed crimson, this time from fury.
"Whatever. Not my problem. Jerk," she muttered under her breath. "At least pick one person to like and stop fooling around."
She spun on her heel, stomping off hard enough to rattle the pavement.
An Phong lingered, chest tight, an ache he couldn't name lodging beneath his ribs. He told himself it didn't matter—but the image of Uy Phong's rare smile, directed at someone else, dug in like a thorn. Reluctantly, he followed Vy.
—
Uy Phong noticed none of it.
An Thu, meanwhile, blinked at the sudden touch, fingers brushing her hair where he'd reached. Then she spotted it—something tiny tumbling to the ground. A ladybug. Its red shell shimmered in the sunlight before it fluttered away.
A laugh bubbled from her lips. "Oh! A ladybug?"
Uy Phong flicked his eyes at it, then back to the court. His voice stayed flat, almost bored."Yeah. It landed in your hair."
An Thu chuckled again, embarrassed but charmed.
Uy Phong folded his arms once more, focus sliding back to the game. In his world, the only thing that mattered was the court and the team's future.
He had no idea that because of one tiny ladybug, two hearts had already walked away—heavier, and more tangled—than before.