Exactly five minutes later, the gate opened. The creak of the handle sounded sharp but quiet, and a girl stepped out from behind it. Long chestnut hair, gathered into a neat ponytail, swayed slightly with every step she took, and her school uniform — a dark blue skirt, a white blouse, and a tie with a barely noticeable uneven knot — looked perfect, as if she had spent the morning carefully checking everything. She closed the gate behind her, quietly called something out toward the house, waved her hand, and, adjusting the bag on her shoulder, strode down the sidewalk without even looking back.
Ming You instantly darted to the side, circled the lamppost, and slipped behind the corner of the fence, hiding from view. But he didn't give in to panic, didn't allow himself a single unnecessary movement. Instead, a cold, calculating voice sounded in his head, as if a second self, calm and ruthless, had taken control of the situation:
"The usual time it takes for Sun Hee to walk away from the gate is three minutes. Factoring in a delay, if someone calls out to her — six and a half minutes."
He closed his eyes, counting the seconds. Six minutes. Thirty seconds. When the count reached the required mark, he opened his eyes and stepped out from behind the corner.
His movements were smooth, almost weightless, as if he weren't walking, but gliding along the sidewalk, leaving no traces. He approached the lamppost, stopped, and slowly surveyed the street. First, the upper sidewalk — no one. Then the lower one — and there he saw her.
The girl was walking fast, almost running, apparently running late. Her bag bounced on her shoulder, and her hair streamed behind her like a train, as if trying to hold her back, but she didn't look back. Ming You moved after her, keeping his distance. He walked on the parallel sidewalk, hiding behind trees and poles, but never losing sight of her.
She ran up to the school gates, slowed her pace, adjusted her uniform, as if suddenly remembering she had to look perfect. It seemed that now she would dissolve into the crowd of other students, become just another girl in a sea of identical faces, and he would lose her again. But then something happened that Ming You had not expected.
An older male student approached her. Tall, slender, with an awkward smile and a gaze full of adoration. He said something, Sun Hee laughed, and suddenly... she hugged him. The boy blushed to the roots of his hair but didn't pull away. On the contrary — Sun Hee took his hand, whispered something, and they went inside the school together.
Something inside Ming You tore. He clutched his solar plexus, squeezed the fabric of his T-shirt with his fingers, as if trying to squeeze the pain out of himself. But it wasn't just pain. It was bloodthirstiness, a fury that rose from the very depths of his being, filling every cell of his body. He hadn't even gotten a good look at that guy. Didn't remember his face. He didn't care. He was only looking at Sun Hee.
And in his eyes, empty and coal-black, something dark, predatory, flared up.
— S-Sun Hee… — his voice was a whisper, but it trembled with rage. — Don't make me kill you…
A storm was raging inside him. Blood pounded in his temples, a hum filled his ears, and a burning, uncontrollable desire spread through his chest — to tear, to strangle, to destroy. But instead of rage, he managed to retain only cold calculation.
Ming You stepped back, leaned against the fence in the shadows, away from the busy sidewalks. His gaze was fixed on the school gates, as if he could burn through them with the power of his hatred. He waited. An hour. Two hours. Three. People walked by, laughed, talked, but no one noticed him. He stood motionless, like a statue, only his eyes, dark and unblinking, followed every movement at the entrance.
And then, finally, the older students started coming out. Ming You slowly straightened up and headed towards the school gates. Just at that moment, Sun Hee emerged from them. He approached her and deliberately bumped into her shoulder:
— Hi...-hi.
— M-Min? — Sun Hee's voice trembled, her fingers involuntarily clenched the strap of her bag, as if seeking support.
— Glad you recognized me.
His lips stretched into a smile, but there wasn't a trace of warmth in his eyes. They remained black, empty, like two pieces of coal in which the glimmers of something unhealthy danced.
He was standing too close, deliberately violating her personal space, and Sun Hee instinctively took a step back.
— Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?
Ming You tilted his head, pretending to be interested, but his gaze slid over her figure, noting every detail: her trembling eyelashes, her too-rapid breathing, the nervous movement of her hand as she adjusted a strand of hair. She was afraid. And it amused him.
— Listen, Min, I'm sorry, of course, but so much time has passed and... I'm not sure everything can be like before…
— Maybe let's just take a walk? Reminisce about a few things along the way. — Ming You abruptly interrupted her, taking a step forward, once again closing the distance between them.
— I don't mind, but you know, Min…
— Remember that abandoned building where we sprayed each other with a hose? — he interrupted her again, deliberately pulling her back into the past.
— Y-yes, I remember…
Her voice became quieter, almost a whisper. She remembered that summer, running through the empty rooms, laughing, dousing each other with water. But now that memory seemed alien, as if it belonged not to her, but to some other girl from a parallel universe.
— Shall we head there?
Ming You took another step forward, and now less than half a meter remained between them. Sun Hee felt her heart beat faster, and she involuntarily began to walk along the sidewalk with him.
"Um..."
"Don't be afraid, we're not going to spray each other with a hose; we'll just sit there and talk. You also have a lot you want to tell me, right?" — Ming You's hand suddenly touched her shoulder, and she flinched.
His fingers were cold, even through the fabric of her blouse. Sun Hee tried to smile, but the smile came out crooked, unnatural.
"I do, but I hope you'll understand one thing..."
"Absolutely. I still like you, but right now, I want to hope for our friendship." — Ming You spoke so lightly that Sun Hee felt relieved:
"You've grown up so much, Min. And I don't just mean your height, but in general."
She tried to steer the conversation into safer territory, but Ming You only let out a fake chuckle.
"Thanks, you've grown up too, heh."
His gaze slid over her figure, and she felt uneasy again.
"So, maybe you can tell me about yourself? What have you been doing all this year? Did you find any friends there?" — she spoke quickly, almost chattering, as if trying to fill an awkward pause.
"We're almost there, let's just go in and sit down now. I have things to tell you, and that place is... more quiet, I'd say."
He pointed to an old brick building, almost hidden by thickets of bushes. The windows were broken, the walls covered in graffiti, but he walked towards it with such confidence, as if it were his home.
"You're right, I liked that place too, but those idiots from the upper grades always cover the walls with graffiti." — she snorted.
"Heh, can't argue with that."
When they stepped inside, the air grew thick with dust. Sunlight broke through the shattered windows, painting intricate patterns on the floor. Ming You led her further in, into the darkest room, which smelled of dampness and mold.
"Such a quiet place," — Ming You whispered, and his voice sounded unnaturally soft, like silk sliding over a blade. — "Grab that stone behind you, we'll sit down and discuss everything."
Sun Hee nodded and turned to pick up the stone, and at that moment her body instinctively tensed — something was wrong. But the realization came too late.
A dull, wet thud. The stone hit her in the back, not with full force, but enough to knock the air out of her lungs.
"Kkh! What are you doing?!"
Her scream tore through the silence, but the walls absorbed the sound as if the building were an accomplice. She turned around, her eyes widened, her pupils black with horror.
But Ming You was already moving — not in rage, not in blind aggression, but with a frightening, polished precision. His leg swept up and struck her knees. Not just to make her fall. To break them.
A crunch.
A sharp, white pain pierced her legs, and Sun Hee collapsed onto the floor. Her mouth opened for another scream, but it was preempted by a boot slamming into her throat. Once. Twice. Three times. Each blow was calculated, methodical — not just to cause pain, but to guarantee silence. The cartilage of her crushed throat crunched under the impacts, her voice turning into a hoarse, gurgling whisper.
Ming You wasn't breathing heavily. His face wasn't contorted with malice. On the contrary — it was calm, almost empty. Only his eyes were slightly narrowed, as if examining a complex problem. He dropped to his knees, sat on her stomach, pressing down on her ribcage, depriving her of the ability to breathe fully. His fingers unzipped the backpack and pulled out a kitchen knife. The blade gleamed with a dull silver in the semi-darkness.
And then, tears began to stream down his cheeks.
"Sorry, Sun Hee," — he whispered, but his voice sounded as if these words were not meant for her, but for someone far away. Maybe for himself. — "It's all for the sake of victory."
"For... what... kkh-kkh... victory?"
Her lips were stained with pink foam, her voice was torn, hoarse, but a flicker of incomprehension still remained in her eyes. She didn't believe it. Even now.
Ming You remained silent.
The knife entered her solar plexus — not sharply, not in a burst of rage, but slowly, as if he wanted her to feel every millimeter of the steel parting her flesh. The skin resisted, then gave way with a quiet, squelching sound. Muscles contracted, gripping the blade as if trying to hold it back. Her eyes rounded, her lips trembled, but there was no sound anymore. Only a gurgling rattle, only blood bubbling on her lips.
But she was alive. Conscious.
Ming You pulled out the knife. The blood flowed thicker, but didn't gush like a fountain. His hands were trembling, but not from fear — from something else, as if a struggle was going on inside him, as if he himself didn't understand what he was doing.
And suddenly, he flipped the knife and aimed it at his own veins.
But the next moment, his face contorted. His lips stretched into an unnatural, almost caricatured smile.
"Heh-heh, nope!" — his own voice, but with an intonation that wasn't there before. — "Killing yourself won't achieve absolute victory, don't force yourself to lose."
"No! I've already lost!"
"We are one, after all, so let me help you."
The voice sounded louder, more insistent, as if breaking through from the depths of his consciousness.
"I hope you can win in my place."
"Don't doubt it, and now go, I'll take care of everything."
And something clicked.
Ming You's face changed — not gradually, but instantly, as if someone had switched off everything human in him. The tears, which had just been streaming down his cheeks, dried up, leaving behind only sticky tracks on his skin, shining in the dim light. The despair that had been constricting his throat evaporated, giving way to an icy, bottomless emptiness.
He inhaled evenly, too evenly — like a person who had awoken from a long sleep in which the line between reality and nightmare had already been erased. His fingers clenched the knife with such force that his knuckles turned white and a pink fluid oozed from under his nails — a mixture of Sun Hee's blood and his own sweat.
She was still breathing.
Her eyes, cloudy and veiled with shock, were still looking at him. There was no comprehension in them — only an animal, primal horror, frozen somewhere between the pupil and the torn nerve endings. He saw her pupils convulsively dilating, saw her eyelashes trembling, matted with tears and blood. But she couldn't scream. She couldn't even close her eyelids.
The blade touched her forehead.
The first movement was almost tender — a light pressure, and the skin parted with a nasty, wet sound, like someone tearing wet fabric. The blood didn't gush out immediately — at first, it only seeped out slowly, thick and dark, like syrup. But then, when he started cutting deeper, separating the skin from the muscles, it streamed down, flooding her eyebrows, flowing into her eyes, mixing with her tears. Sun Hee couldn't squeeze her eyes shut — her eyelids twitched in a mad rhythm, but they could no longer close.
The skin on her head came away in layers, exposing the pinkish-white film of the periosteum. Somewhere there, under the thin layer of fat and muscle fibers, vessels pulsed. He could hear his own breathing merging with her rattles — short, intermittent, as if someone were shaking an empty coal sack.
In the abandoned building, where dust mingled with the smell of dampness and the metallic taste of blood, an unnatural silence hung. Only the faint sound of dripping water somewhere in the corridors disturbed the dead atmosphere. The room, where just recently the sounds of impacts and crunching had echoed, was now flooded with a dark, almost black liquid, slowly trickling into the cracks of the concrete floor.
Ming You was on his knees, his hands covered in dried spots of blood, methodically gathering the last pieces of flesh, pulverized organs, and fragments of bones into thick, black trash bags. His fingers trembled slightly, but not from fear or disgust—rather from the adrenaline that had yet to leave his body. He tied the bags shut, making sure not a single drop could seep out, then stood up, feeling the numbness in his legs.
Blood covered him from head to toe—his t-shirt clung to his body, his pants grew heavy with moisture. He left the room, leaving a bloody trail behind him, and headed towards a hose lying in the yard. Water gushed out with a hiss, and Ming You first held his hands under the stream, washing the dried bits from his fingers. Then he bent over, letting the water run over his face, neck, and chest. The cold liquid washed away the red streaks, dyeing the ground beneath his feet pink.
Once the main bulk of the blood was gone from his clothes, hands, and face, he dragged the hose behind him back into the building, directing the stream onto the floor where the dark stains remained. The water diluted them, carrying them away into the drainage cracks. He methodically moved across the entire room, washing the traces from the concrete, then lifted the hose higher, treating the walls where splatters might have remained.
When the water had done its job, he returned to the backpack standing in the corner. From it, he pulled out bottles of alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. He started from the far corner, spraying the liquids onto every centimeter of the floor, walls, even the ceiling—where microscopic particles might have lingered. The chemical smell filled the room, overpowering the iron scent of blood.
After the final spray, he took the hose again and went over the entire room once more, washing away the remnants of the chemicals. Now it only smelled of dampness and alcohol.
Finally, Ming You left the building, carefully coiled the hose and placed it back where it belonged, then set the backpack on the ground. From it, he pulled out a bundle of clean clothes—a black t-shirt and track pants with three white stripes down the sides. He took off the old clothes, wet with water and blood, folded them into a separate bag, and stowed them in the backpack. Now he looked like an ordinary guy returning from a workout.
The trash bags with Sun Hee's remains lay nearby. He took them and went beyond the property limits, glancing around. The streets were deserted, only the distant hum of cars could be heard. The first dumpster accepted one bag; two blocks later—the second; a few minutes after that—the third.
Having discarded the last bag, Ming You stopped under a streetlamp, closed his eyes for a second, then took a sharp breath.
The streetball court.
People had already gathered there—some were playing, some were placing bets, some were just watching. The evening air was filled with laughter, shouts, and the sounds of a ball hitting the asphalt. Ming You merged into this crowd as if he had always been a part of it, and with a fake, sly grin, he loudly called out:
"Hey, guys, don't you wanna play?"
"You're a bold one!" shouted one of the guys. "These aren't kids' games, boy. We play for money here, and for quite a lot, heh-heh."
"I've got something to bet," replied Ming You, dumping out his uncle and aunt's wallet. "So, what do you say, shall we play?"
Two tall guys, dressed in blue sports outfits and matching worn-out blue-and-white sneakers, approached Ming You and agreed to his bet.
"Heh, Shi Lei, are we accidentally going to crush this brat?" said the stocky, muscular guy with messy dark hair.
"You're right, Hong Ji," agreed the taller guy with short hair, looking down arrogantly at Ming You. "Two against one might be unfair against a runt like you, but money matters more than reputation. So, shall we play? We'll give you a chance to walk away while you still can."
"I don't like rules either, so I'm fine with it," Ming You replied with a smirk, matching Hong Ji's grin.
"You really are crazy! Then let's begin. Fine, I'll give you an advantage—you can start the game."
The crowd had already started placing bets. Most shouted toward the game organizer: "I bet on Shi Lei and Hong Ji!" or "I'm betting on the two giants!" But a few placed small sums, mostly coins, on Ming You, drawn by his unshakable confidence and the hope that his appearance might be deceiving.
"Sung Wo, start it!" shouted a short, muscular man with black hair, wearing an unzipped black leather jacket.
Sitting on a bench near the out-of-bounds line, he called over another man in a black leather jacket, slightly taller with marginally longer hair.
This was the referee, who nodded silently toward the bench. He picked up a worn-out size-five ball and walked to the center line, whistling with his lips to address the players:
"Bets for the first ball are placed. After the first scored point, each of you can either add to your bet or change it. But remember, if you change your bet—the initial amount is forfeited, even if the player you originally bet on wins. Game time is—"
"I don't give a damn about your spectators, just start already!" Ming You interrupted with feigned arrogance.
Sung Wo clenched his teeth at the audacity, while the two opponents smirked, especially Shi Lei, who laughed loudly:
"Haha, you've got no shortage of nerve, you little punk."
Ming You ignored him and stepped back, ready to take the ball.
Sung Wo whistled again and made the throw-in. The ball flew upward, but none of the players jumped. Shi Lei was taller than his opponent but decided to give him an advantage—without jumping, he tapped the ball toward Ming You.
Ming You caught the ball with one hand and took a sharp step back, starting his dribble and thinking:
"Alright, two opponents aren't a problem if I can trick them. I've already prepared something, and it's going to help me soon."
He stepped forward, warming up, speeding up his dribble slightly and deftly passing the ball from hand to hand.
"First, I need to create the illusion of weakness. Let them think I'm no threat. That'll buy me time to prepare, and they won't pay attention to the clock. Against gamblers like these, this plan is perfect."
Ming You noticed the two players looking at him with disdain.
"Ji, just look at him."
"Hahaha! Does he actually think he stands a chance?"
Shi Lei stepped closer, ready to intimidate the attacker.
"This'll be an easy win."
"Yeah, he has no idea who he's dealing with," added Hong Ji, smirking.
Ming You moved slowly toward the basket, pretending to take his time, but his mind was racing:
"First scenario: double coverage. All I need to do in this case is slow down. Second scenario: they underestimate me, and it'll be simple—just accelerate. Backup plan: a risky shot."
The opponents, confident in their strength, began closing in, preparing to attack.
"You take the rim, and I'll mess with him," said Shi Lei.
"Fine, play with him a bit. He's pretty slow, so don't strain yourself," Hong Ji agreed, running to the basket.
Shi Lei nodded and took up a defensive stance against Ming You.
"What idiots they are," Ming You thought, smirking to himself as Shi Lei crouched into a defensive posture.
He abruptly changed direction, darting left, then swiftly spun right, leaving the defender behind.
"Huh?"
Leaving Shi Lei baffled, Ming You, without slowing down, blew past Hong Ji, who didn't even have time to react.
The next moment, under the basket, he jumped lightly and softly tossed the ball in. The shot was so clean it didn't even touch the rim.
"How'd he do that?" Hong Ji whispered, stunned.
"That was just luck," Shi Lei brushed it off, though his voice lacked confidence.
"Maybe this guy's got some skill. Should we take it a bit more seriously?"
"Agreed, but don't overdo it. He's still just a kid," Shi Lei and Hong Ji smirked, positioning themselves near their three-point line.
Ming You overheard their conversation and smiled to himself.
"Heh, they genuinely think it's just luck and don't realize this is only the beginning. Next step—make them waste their energy."
He sharply increased his pace, playing aggressively and forcing his opponents to chase him around the court. His low center of gravity and quick feet gave him the advantage—every time the defenders tried to pressure him, he dodged deftly with sharp changes of direction.
Shi Lei tried to block his path, but Ming You instantly crouched, faked a shoulder move, and slipped right under his arm.
Hong Ji lunged to the side, but it was too late—Ming You's shorter stature and flexibility let him escape even from seemingly hopeless situations.
He used every opportunity to slip away, leaving the defenders confused.
"Looks like the plan's working," Ming You whispered to himself. "Make them go all out. They'll tire soon, and then I can deliver the finishing blow. But for now, let them keep their false confidence."
Ming You retreated to the three-point line and prepared to shoot.
"Haha, who's underestimating who here?" As soon as Ming You jumped to shoot, Shi Lei blocked the shot and snatched the ball.
"Could've let him take the shot. He'd have missed anyway," Hong Ji smirked.
"Seems like he's hopeless," someone from the crowd said.
"Let's score a couple dozen points first before we see him beg us to go easy so he doesn't end up in debt," Shi Lei sneered, rhythmically tapping the ball on the cracked asphalt. His gaze slid over Ming You, gauging his reaction. "You know how these little runts whine when they lose money."
Ming You silently watched as his opponent effortlessly passed the ball from hand to hand, showing clear superiority.
"I could snatch the ball now, but then they'd start playing seriously…" flashed through his mind.
He deliberately let Shi Lei pass, barely pretending to interfere.
Shi Lei, sensing weakness, accelerated sharply, easily bypassing Ming You, and slammed the ball into the hoop with a dull thud, making the metal rim shudder.
"Heh, what idiots…" Ming You chuckled to himself, stepping back.
"Not bad, but let me have some fun with him too," Hong Ji exclaimed, moving away from the basket.
"Whatever," Shi Lei agreed without objection, positioning himself near the rim.
When Hong Ji stepped up on defense, his confident smirk said it all—he was sure he could handle Ming You easily. Ming You, ignoring the taunts, kept a stone face, methodically dribbling the ball, maintaining his rhythm.
"Come on, kid, entertain me while you can," Hong Ji laughed, spreading his arms as if inviting an attack.
The response was immediate. The next moment, the ball flew into his face, bouncing back to Ming You, who dashed forward, leaving the defender stunned.
"You motherfucker!" Hong Ji roared, rubbing his nose and giving chase.
"Hey, Hong Ji, don't embarrass me," Shi Lei said coldly, cutting off Ming You's path.
Ming You wasn't in a hurry. A few sharp dribbles between his legs—first right, then left—and the defender faltered for a split second. That was enough. Ming You dodged sharply to the side, leaving Shi Lei empty-handed.
"Haha, you fell for it, idiot!" Hong Ji yelled, already under the basket, arms wide, blocking all shooting angles.
But Ming You wasn't planning a standard shot. Instead, he jumped sharply… behind the backboard, drawing mockery.
"This idiot jumped behind the rim! How arrogant!" Shi Lei sneered.
Hong Ji laughed too, but his laughter died when the ball, released from behind the backboard, arced perfectly into the net.
"Huh?!" the crowd gasped in unison.
Ming You was already walking to the line, not even sparing them a glance.
"This time, let's take him seriously," Shi Lei said, glancing at Hong Ji, his voice firm, no trace of joking.
Hong Ji just nodded silently, gripping the ball tightly, his fingers digging into the leather. Meanwhile, Shi Lei ran closer to the rim, ready for a quick pass, his eyes locked on his opponent, waiting for the right moment to attack.
"You're pretty lucky," Hong Ji smirked, making a sharp fake—he raised the ball as if about to hurl it at Ming You's face.
But Ming You didn't bite. Thanks to his planned provocation, he knew the first attempt this round was just a bluff. His reaction was lightning-fast—his hand shot out, intercepting the ball's trajectory.
Smack!
The ball slipped from Hong Ji's hands and into Ming You's.
Shi Lei shouted irritably, waving his arm:
"Damn it, Hong Ji, I have to do everything myself! Get to the rim!"
Hong Ji gritted his teeth but didn't respond. He spun sharply and headed for the basket, his eyes burning with determination to redeem himself.
Meanwhile, Shi Lei switched to hard defense. He crouched low, arms wide, completely cutting off space. Any attempt to break through or shoot now seemed impossible.
"Now's the moment," Ming You told himself as Hong Ji moved to the rim and Shi Lei took his serious defensive stance. "Time for the final maneuver."
For a few seconds, Shi Lei and Ming You stood facing each other, the crowd holding its breath. The defender was full of confidence, but a moment later, his face twisted in shock.
"What the…" Shi Lei muttered, feeling the ground vanish beneath him.
"There's a monster on the court!" someone from the crowd yelled.
Ming You began his fake with a sharp shift right, forcing the defender to instinctively step that way. But before Shi Lei could react, Ming You whipped the ball behind his back with his left hand while faking a step left. It made the defender think he was breaking that way.
Then came the lightning-fast crossover—the ball snapped back in front, and Ming You's body swayed the opposite direction. Shi Lei, trying to guess the trajectory, lost his balance. Ming You added a quick double between-the-legs—right, then left—creating the illusion the ball had vanished and reappeared.
The speed and fluidity made it seem like one continuous motion. For a second, the spectators and Shi Lei swore they weren't seeing one player but several—as if Ming You had four heads, eight arms, and multiple balls at once.
When the defender thought Ming You was about to shoot, he suddenly raised his hands, faking a jump. Shi Lei, fooled, leaped into the air, but the ball was already gone—Ming You simply dropped it and slipped past like he was dodging a child.
"What the f…" Shi Lei muttered in disbelief.
Hong Ji was already at the rim, tightly covering Ming You, but he wasn't rushing to attack. Instead of shooting, he abruptly raised the ball, faking a shot, and Hong Ji reacted instantly—jumping high to block it.
"Don't underestimate us, brat!" he shouted, certain he'd stop the attack.
But Ming You wasn't playing by his rules. With a sly grin, he took two sharp steps back, escaping the defense, and released the ball in a flawless arc—nothing but net, leaving Hong Ji seething in helpless rage.
"Holy shit, he's unstoppable!" a spectator yelled, jumping to his feet.
The stands erupted, though most were unhappy their bets had gone up in smoke:
"Hey! This is rigged! No way a runt beats two giants!"
"Exactly! Where's our money?!"
Then a whistle blew.
"Time's up. Score is 3-2 in favor of the solo player," the referee announced, raising a hand toward Ming You.
"What? How? What time?" Hong Ji exclaimed, confused, glancing at the scoreboard. He was sure there were still a few seconds left.
"Idiot, he made us lose track of time," Shi Lei cut in sharply, fists clenched.
After the tense game, with Ming You victorious, his opponents stared at him in disbelief.
"You're not just a player," one of the organizers said, rubbing the back of his head as he approached. "You're a mad player."
Ming You just smirked playfully and took the money.
"So your strategy was to distract us from the clock?" Shi Lei asked roughly.
"You're not as idiot as you look, unlike your buddy here."
"Listen here, you fucking faggot, watch your mouth! Now that the game's over, the rules don't apply here!" Hong Ji snarled, raising his fist at Ming You.
"Just calm down," Shi Lei grabbed Hong Ji's arm and continued, "We underestimated him, that's all. But if you want a rematch, come back anytime."
Hong Ji clenched his teeth, while Ming You began gathering his things.
Tucking the money into his pocket, he left the court with a sense of triumph, walking down the sidewalk.
"Because of my past circumstances, my mind had nearly forgotten—I'm a talent. A real talent. No one can be more talented than me. And even if someone is..."
Ming You remembered dismembering bodies. The way his kitchen knife sliced through skin, carved through flesh, and scraped against bone. A faint arousal ran through him, but he quickly shook his head, regaining his composure.
"Murder is only for a purpose. I can't let my desires get me caught by the police."
As he passed by a bus stop, Ming You noticed a newspaper lying on the bench.
He picked it up and skimmed through the pages until he found the rental listings.
One black-and-white image caught his eye—a three-story apartment building. A one-bedroom unit, minimalist in design.
"Just four blocks from here... the closest and most practical option for me."
Ming You dialed the number listed in the newspaper and called the landlord. Feigning politeness, he arranged a meeting and headed toward the building.
About thirty minutes later, he arrived—a three-story residential complex on quiet streets where cars were rare, mostly just motorcycles.
"Are you Ming You?" A short man in his mid-twenties called out from behind.
He had short chestnut hair and wore a blue shirt with jeans.
Ming You forced a smile and replied confidently:
"Yes, that's me. Honestly, I'm in a hurry, so let's make this quick."
"No problem, but maybe we should see the apartment first?"
Ming You nodded silently, and together, they headed upstairs.
Reaching the third floor, they passed two neighboring doors before entering the apartment. The place was empty and clean—a mirror opposite the entrance, a door to the bedroom on the left, and farther down, the bathroom and kitchen.
Keeping their shoes on, they walked to the kitchen and sat at the table. After filling out the paperwork, Ming You pulled out several stacks of cash and placed them on the table.
"Six months' rent sound good?"
"Perfect!"
Once the landlord left, Ming You stepped into the bedroom and surveyed it—a large wooden wardrobe to the right of the door, a small bed to the left. Straight ahead was a window with closed curtains. A desk sat by the window, covered in blank papers and playing cards, with an ordinary kitchen chair opposite it.
Ming You sat on the chair, tilting his head back as he glanced at his phone.
"Yoshido High School... close to home, and nothing remarkable about it... that works in my favor."