Chapter 57: Slap in the Face

He Chen threw the ball to Fang Yifan again.

The second shot began.

Fang Yifan dribbled slowly, his mind racing—how to break through? He couldn’t miss every shot and get crushed 7-0 like Ji Yangyang!

“Cousin, go for it!”

From the sidelines came his cousin Lin Lei’s cheers, but no shouts from his childhood friend Qiao Yingzi or his goddess Huang Zhitao—this left him feeling hollow.

In the past, when he played, his goddess Huang Zhitao would stay shy and silent, but Qiao Yingzi always screamed and cheered loudly for him.

Yet this time, she was here—and said nothing. How could he not suspect that, because the opponent was He Chen, Qiao Yingzi’s loyalty had shifted, leading to this outcome?

His hatred for He Chen deepened.

He was so handsome, his grades had skyrocketed, and now he was dominating him in basketball too—was there no mercy left in the world?

Lin Lei watched nervously as his cousin dribbled on the court.

He thought his cousin was amazing—excellent in every way except academics, knowledgeable, with an unbeatable attitude, far superior to himself.

In this conflict, he would stand firmly by his cousin and hope he won!

Ji Yangyang had squeezed in, arms crossed beside Lin Lei, listening to his cheers, a faint sneer on his lips.

Both men on the court were his enemies.

In his eyes, it was dogs fighting over a bone—best if both got badly hurt and lost miserably.

But that possibility was too low; the most likely outcome was one won, one lost.

He hoped it was Fang Yifan who lost.

Yes!

Even though he now hated He Chen the most, this time he wanted Fang Yifan to lose—badly, humiliatingly, as disgracefully as possible!

No other reason.

Only if Fang Yifan’s humiliation was loud and shocking could it better bury the last “hot search”—his own disgrace.

For this kind of distraction tactic, he had an instinctive, self-taught understanding.

Qiao Yingzi was truly torn.

Normally she’d scream for Fang Yifan, but now his opponent was He Chen. Not just emotionally distant, but physically—after the observatory incident, she was far closer to He Chen than to her childhood friend Fang Hou…

True childhood sweetheart can’t beat a sudden arrival!

She could only stay silent.

Fang Yifan still dribbled; He Chen watched with a smile, appearing full of openings—but Fang Yifan felt like he faced a deadly threat.

Because during the first possession, he’d been stolen from out of nowhere—He Chen’s hands were terrifyingly fast.

The dribble moves he learned from Irving wouldn’t work on He Chen.

In the end, he decided to hell with it—just shoot. At least he had a chance to score, better than getting stolen mid-dribble and never even getting a shot off.

He acted immediately, leaping into a textbook shooting stance.

As the ball left his hand, his face lit up with uncontrollable joy.

He felt this shot was certain to go in.

Yes!

This was touch!

But before he landed, his smile vanished as a massive hand seemed to slam across his face.

The ball he’d just shot had barely left his fingertips when He Chen blocked it with a thunderous swat, sending it crashing back—such a sure basket, completely denied.

This wasn’t just a block!

This was a hard, direct slap right across his face!

Pain!

So much pain!

In an instant, his face felt as if it had been physically slapped—reddened, burning, worse than when He Chen had thrown the ball and hit him earlier.

This was a block!

One of the most humiliating moves in basketball, guaranteed to make the victim fly into a rage!

So humiliating!

When he landed, he glared red-eyed—and saw He Chen hadn’t let the ball fly out of bounds. Instead, he sprinted after it, caught it mid-air, and dribbled back.

Fang Yifan’s eyes burned redder; he forgot the pain from the collision during close defense and charged forward again.

He Chen let him guard closely, then copied Fang Yifan’s earlier pull-up jump shot.

Fang Yifan leaped instantly, reaching out to mimic He Chen’s block.

Of course he didn’t jump as high—he didn’t aim to block, only to disrupt.

“Cousin, great job!”

When he landed, he heard his cousin Lin Lei’s cheer—he burst into ecstatic joy. He’d disrupted it! The shot didn’t go in.

He still had a chance!

He Chen met Fang Yifan’s smug, taunting gaze again and smirked. He didn’t say that he missed not because of Fang Yifan’s interference, but because this was his first-ever shot in this life—and he’d forgotten nearly everything from his last.

So missing the first shot? Totally normal.

But he wouldn’t say that—let Fang Yifan think he was holding back.

After that shot, estimating the arc and landing, he’d regained his feel.

Now came the time for Fang Yifan’s heart-wrenching agony!

No rush!

Let’s play a little longer!

Fang Yifan had the ball again.

Soon, He Chen blocked him again and stole possession. Fang Yifan still felt crushed, but quickly recovered, rushing over to try to disrupt He Chen’s shot.

As long as He Chen didn’t score, he hadn’t lost—or hadn’t lost badly!

He Chen “obviously got intimidated” and stopped shooting, opting to drive instead. The pain from the collision during close defense flared again in his ribs—he stepped back, just like before: not to block, only to disrupt!

This tactic worked again.

Every time He Chen tried to drive, Fang Yifan intercepted him in time.

Fang Yifan rejoiced—if he didn’t guard tightly, he could still win by sight and skill, disrupting He Chen until frustration made him careless—then he might turn the tide!

Now he just had to stop He Chen from breaking through.

Fang Yifan stared fixedly at He Chen’s dribble, ready to step forward and cut off his path to the basket.

But in this intense focus, he didn’t notice He Chen’s lips curl slightly—he only watched the ball’s increasingly erratic, lightning-fast movement, convinced He Chen was going left, so he shifted left—then instantly sensed something wrong: He Chen faked left and darted right. Fang Yifan instinctively turned.

But his physical ability couldn’t match his reaction speed. This sudden left-right shift threw off his balance—he collapsed into a clumsy sit, helplessly watching He Chen drive past and lay up effortlessly for another point.

“2:0!”

Hearing the chorus of girls cheering, Fang Yifan, sprawled on the ground, slammed his fist into the court in fury.

This was exactly how he’d wanted to humiliate He Chen!

Yet in the second round, He Chen used it on him—and he’d played right into it.

Pain!

So much pain!

Hand hurt!

Face hurt even more!