Chapter Six: Coincidence—It Must Be Coincidence!

“What’s going on?” The homeroom teacher, Sun Minghai, hurriedly stood up and called for a pause. Zheng Qiang supported the injured student, helping him step by step until they reached Sun Minghai.

“Suwen Hao, are you alright?” Sun Minghai looked at his student with concern.

“I’m fine, really!” Suwen Hao waved his hand. “Just twisted my ankle a bit—it hurts. I probably can’t keep playing.”

“Take him to the infirmary, quickly!” Sun Minghai ordered two students nearby.

They rushed to help Suwen Hao up, while Sun Minghai glanced back at Zheng Qiang. “Continue the game,” he said to the rest.

With that, Sun Minghai left the basketball court, supporting Suwen Hao.

“Tsk, tsk, Class Six really is useless. Can’t even finish a basketball game? What a disgrace!” Lin Hang strolled over, dribbling the ball lazily, a mocking grin on his face. “Five minutes left, but honestly, you might as well give up now.”

“What did you say, Lin Hang?” Zheng Qiang shot to his feet, voice cold. “What do you mean, give up?”

“Give up means you’re all losers. Don’t believe me? Ha! Look around—who in Class Six can even play basketball?” Lin Hang sneered at Zheng Qiang.

“So it’s just a game, isn’t it?” Zheng Qiang snorted, glancing back at the boys in Class Six. “Anyone want to step in?”

Now that one member was out, they had no substitutes at all.

“There are only five minutes left!” Lin Hang jeered. “See? I told you, your class is nothing but a bunch of losers.”

“Who are you calling a loser? Think there’s no one left in Class Six? I’ll play!” Suddenly, a voice echoed near Lin Hang’s ear.

He blinked in surprise, turning toward the sound, and his eyes landed on a plump figure—Chen Feng. Seeing him, Lin Hang burst out laughing.

“You’ve got to be kidding! Is your class down to just a fat pig?” Lin Hang clutched his stomach, laughing uncontrollably.

Chen Feng ignored Lin Hang, fixing his gaze on Zheng Qiang. “Let me play,” he said.

Zheng Qiang paused, meeting a look in Chen Feng’s eyes he’d never seen before—a kind of eagerness, maybe even impatience to join the game. The thought flickered through his mind, but he shook his head. “How could that be? What could Chen Feng possibly be hoping for?”

He really had no idea what Chen Feng wanted.

“Alright, get changed and get on the court,” Zheng Qiang relented. Chen Feng’s behavior today was odd, but with only five minutes left and no one else willing, what did it matter? They were going to lose anyway.

He handed Chen Feng a jersey, and Chen Feng stared at it, surprised.

By coincidence or fate, it was number fourteen—the same number Mitsui wore.

He squeezed into the jersey, which stretched tight across his body, drawing a burst of laughter from the crowd as he emerged. Girls whispered and giggled among themselves.

“Who is that guy? Has Class Six really hit rock bottom, putting a pig on the court?” They weren’t the only ones—students from other classes, and even those from Class Six, regarded Chen Feng with derision. In their eyes, he was a hopeless case, someone destined only to eat, drink, and wait for the end. For him to play basketball was nothing short of blasphemy.

Zheng Qiang began to regret his decision, wondering if he’d acted too rashly. But with five minutes left, a loss was a loss—no big deal.

“Chen Feng, you guard Lin Hang,” Zheng Qiang instructed as they took the court.

Lin Hang had originally been his own assignment, and Zheng Qiang could at least slow him down a bit. But now, having to rely on Chen Feng, Zheng Qiang held out little hope. He just wanted Chen Feng’s size to buy them a little time.

“I understand,” Chen Feng replied, lumbering over to stand in front of Lin Hang.

“Hah, you pig, you’re the one guarding me?” Lin Hang’s face twisted into a sneer. “That’s rich.”

“Lin Hang, you just insulted Class Six,” Chen Feng replied calmly. “Let me show you something—our class isn’t as weak as you think.”

Lin Hang’s sneer deepened. “I don’t need you to teach me anything.”

“Hang!” One of his teammates had already passed him the ball. Lin Hang took it, giving Chen Feng a contemptuous look, and made a sudden move, darting around Chen Feng’s right side.

He didn’t even have to try; someone like this was no challenge at all.

But then, suddenly, Lin Hang felt the ball vanish from his grasp. He spun around in shock. The plump figure was already at their three-point line.

Jump. Shoot.

Chen Feng’s movements, made awkward by his bulk, appeared ridiculous, yet the ball traced a beautiful arc through the air—swish, nothing but net.

Three points.

No one had expected it. The moment Chen Feng stepped onto the court, he scored a three-pointer for Class Six.

The crowd erupted. Everyone had assumed he was there just to make up the numbers, but no one had imagined he could score—let alone a three-pointer.

Lin Hang’s face was a mask of shock that quickly twisted into rage. He’d been humiliated by someone he’d always despised.

For the first time, as the crowd stared in disbelief, Chen Feng felt something different—a sense of awe, not mockery or ridicule. He liked this feeling. He craved respect.

He clenched his fist, vowing to himself, “Let my quest for respect begin here!”

Footsteps approached. Lin Hang paused beside Chen Feng, his tone icy. “You fat pig, that shot just now must’ve felt like a miracle, didn’t it? Let me tell you, that was just luck. Next, I’ll show you what despair really feels like.”

Chen Feng turned to meet his gaze, no longer timid or withdrawn. His voice was firm, “Luck? I’ll show you whether it’s luck or not.”

With that, Chen Feng jogged back to his teammates. Zheng Qiang came over, clapped him on the shoulder, and laughed. “Well done, Chen Feng—keep it up!”

“Zheng!” Chen Feng spoke up suddenly. “I need a favor.”

Zheng Qiang looked at him, puzzled. “What is it?”

“From now on, try to pass me the ball. I’ll take the shots. I promise, I’ll make up those fifty points,” Chen Feng said steadily.

For a moment, Zheng Qiang was stunned. The voice was the same, but now it was filled with something new—confidence.

“Deal!” Zheng Qiang grinned. “Go smash that jerk Lin Hang!”

Chen Feng smiled. Although he’d inherited Mitsui’s basketball skills, he wasn’t sure how much he could bring out with this body. But the moment his hand touched the ball, everything felt oddly familiar—as if he’d played for years. Every move, every shot came naturally. That three-pointer wasn’t luck.

Even if he couldn’t fully match Mitsui’s abilities, he could probably play at sixty or seventy percent. That was enough.

The game resumed with Class Two on the attack. Chen Feng moved to guard Lin Hang again. This time, Lin Hang was cautious, keeping a close eye on Chen Feng, waiting for the perfect moment to break past him.

The humiliation Chen Feng had dealt him could not go unanswered.

But Chen Feng’s gaze was steady, utterly focused. Most people who’d watched “Slam Dunk” thought Mitsui was just a three-point shooter, but in reality, his court sense was formidable, and his defense among the best. Even the famous Fukuda from Ryonan, known for his offense, had been shut down by Mitsui.

Suddenly, Lin Hang felt as if Chen Feng could see right through him, anticipating his every move.

“How is this possible?” Lin Hang’s brow furrowed. Just then, Chen Feng made his move.

A flash—he stole the ball.

The thought shot through Lin Hang’s mind—he’d been robbed. The ball was already in Zheng Qiang’s hands, and Chen Feng was sprinting to the three-point line.

Zheng Qiang didn’t hesitate, trusting Chen Feng completely, and passed him the ball. With the same awkward yet strangely effective motion, Chen Feng jumped, aimed, and shot.

“You must be dreaming!” Lin Hang rushed at him, leaping high to block.

But he was a beat too late. His hand struck Chen Feng’s wrist, but the ball traced a perfect arc, swishing through the hoop.

“This can’t be real,” Lin Hang muttered, dumbfounded.

Another three-pointer.

Two in a row.

The gym teacher’s whistle blew, and his voice rang out, “Foul—hit on the hand. One free throw!”

Zheng Qiang sauntered over to Lin Hang, grinning. “Now we’re only forty-eight points behind. Maybe soon it’ll just be forty-seven. And the gap’s only going to get smaller. You believe that?”

“Stop dreaming!” Lin Hang snarled, glowering at Zheng Qiang. “It’s just luck—all luck!”