The guy in class four wearing jersey number six finally managed to break free from Logan Wright's control, but still didn’t make it in time to stop Ethan Young. In his panic, he shouted, “Block him!”

Leonard Brooks cursed, thinking to himself, Block my ass—Henry Howard is guarding me like I’m a thief, there’s no way through.

The ball hit the rim, and as it dropped into the basket, the entire class three section in the stands stood up and cheered, “Oh—!”

Ethan Young's coordination wasn’t that bad after all.

Mainly, in the past half month since the basketball game started being organized, he’d played with them a few times. Logan Wright's defense skills had improved a lot during this time, all thanks to playing several one-on-one games with Ethan Young.

Ethan Young scored, took two steps back, and ended up right next to Henry Howard. The two of them high-fived.

Henry Howard tugged at his collar to fan himself, smiled, and said, “My little guy is really handsome.”

Ethan Young switched positions, getting ready to defend, and in a voice only the two of them could hear, said, “My boyfriend is handsome too.”

Logan Wright had almost twisted his ankle just now. Standing under the basket, he took the chance to quietly move his ankle, and realized his eyes were a bit hot: Damn, the passion of men.

“Brother Yu! Cool!”

“So awesome! Crush them!”

Hearing these voices around him, Leonard Brooks let out a quiet breath, his chest heaving violently. He bent over slightly, dribbling the ball, his eyes cold and fierce: “Damn.”

Class three fell back to defend, and class four started to take the lead.

Leonard Brooks attacked with the ball, thinking he could turn the tide, but didn’t expect Ethan Young to defend by attacking, directly stealing the ball from him, skipping even the confrontation step.

After two rounds, Leonard Brooks gradually figured out class three’s tactics. If two people couldn’t stop him, then three would: “Shut him down, fuck it, as long as we keep Ethan Young in check, the rest are easy to handle.”

Leonard Brooks thought he had it all planned out—control Ethan Young, keep the score steady, and stop class three from catching up too quickly.

But this played right into Henry Howard's hands.

The class four guys thought Ethan Young was the main attacker and Henry Howard was just the playmaker, but once they locked down Ethan Young, Henry Howard became the main attacker for this round.

Henry Howard's fakes and tricks were endless—playing ball like he was playing people. After a few rounds, he pulled the score right up.

“”

Only class three’s people were still shouting from the stands; class four’s morale was sinking lower and lower.

“Nice shot,” Ethan Young was sweating, unzipped his jacket a bit so it was stuck at his chest, and finally remembered to check the scoreboard on the side, “Just one point left.”

Henry Howard: “It’s just a matter of minutes.”

Less than half a minute left in the game, just one basket away.

The class three guys picked up the pace.

No one noticed that while Leonard Brooks was defending, he gave a strange look to the guy in jersey number six on the side. Number six nodded slightly, still blocking Ethan Young's ball, but suddenly let out a scream, staggered back, and finally fell to the ground.

Number six shouted from the ground, “Ref—he ran into me!”

Leonard Brooks: “He charged into me with the ball!”

Ethan Young didn’t expect they’d stoop so low: “You mother—”

“Not playing by the rules anymore, now you’re faking injuries? Your team’s pretty good at this,” Henry Howard had just taken the ball from Ethan Young, but stopped when he heard this, “Say that again? Who ran into you?”

The scene got out of control. People from both classes came down from the stands, forming a crowd, pushing and shoving.

“Stop arguing, don’t fight, friendship first!” The referee blew the whistle several times but still couldn’t control the chaos, whistling again and shouting, “—Friendship first!”

Twenty minutes later.

Both classes stood in neat lines outside Mad Dog's office, forming two long rows down the hallway.

“What’s wrong with you two classes, huh?! Playing basketball so passionately, the court isn’t enough for you? What, do you want me to build you a boxing ring? Hold a free-fighting tournament?”

“”

Mad Dog had been about to go to a meeting, all packed up, but didn’t expect another incident at the basketball game. This time, it wasn’t just a conflict between the two teams—it was a full-on clash between both classes, over forty people.

Mad Dog cursed a few times. The class four people were still indignant, shouting, “They started it—”

Ethan Young was so annoyed by these people he was about to curse back, but Henry Howard nudged him with the back of his hand: “Let it go.”

“Still not done arguing?” Mad Dog darkened his face, pulling out a speech he’d given several times last year, “Basketball game, my ass. From now on, forget it, all of you go play shuttlecock—”

The two of them stood at the end of the line. When Ethan Young heard Mad Dog say this, he realized what Henry Howard meant by “let it go.”

Mad Dog had worked hard to get their basketball games back, and now they’d messed it up again.

A few gusts of wind blew through the hallway, clearing Ethan Young's head a bit.

All of class three hung their heads, silent, letting Mad Dog scold them harder and harder, looking like they were in the wrong.

Mad Dog almost lost his breath. With class about to start, he didn’t want to delay both classes’ lessons, so after a pause, he finally said, “You’d better reflect on this. Go back and each write a self-criticism, hand it in to my office tomorrow morning. Two thousand words—if you’re even one word short, bring your heads to see me tomorrow!”

After Mad Dog left, the two classes glared at each other in disgust. Ethan Young was about to go downstairs when he heard Leonard Brooks sneer behind him.

Ethan Young stopped in his tracks.

Henry Howard grabbed him, worried that with this little guy’s temper, he’d go over and pin Leonard Brooks to the ground without a word: “Forget it, next period is Old Thompson's class.”

But Leonard Brooks dragged out his words, speaking sarcastically: “You mean that Old Thompson from your class who got expelled from a top school for harassing students?”

“”

Henry Howard let go: “What the hell are you talking about?”

When Old Thompson transferred to No. 2 High last semester, there were all kinds of rumors.

Some said No. 2 High had paid a lot to recruit him; others said he’d gotten in trouble at his old school. That version was hot on the school forum for a while, but the post was later deleted by the admin, and no one took it seriously.

Leonard Brooks just threw out this slander, but didn’t have the guts to actually fight them at the office.

He’d already suffered on the basketball court—Ethan Young's punch to his stomach still ached: “If you’ve got guts, don’t leave after school tomorrow night.”

Ethan Young raised an eyebrow—this kind of challenge was all too familiar. He was about to ask “where to fight” when Leonard Brooks smoothly rattled off a string of game names, times, and locations.

“—Genesis Corp Broken Love Cliff! Nine o’clock tonight, let’s see if your class dares to show up!”

All of class three: “”

“Genesis Corp” is a popular online game that’s swept through schools these past two years—almost everyone has an account.

Ethan Young remembered that during summer break, Ray Jones got so hooked on “Genesis Corp” that he went out to fight someone for a purple weapon, and ended up running into Henry Howard, both of them writing self-criticisms face-to-face at the police station.

Looking at Leonard Brooks's face, Ethan Young felt he was less and less able to figure out what kind of crap was in that idiot’s head.

------------

96. Chapter Ninety-Six

Tomorrow just happens to be Saturday.

Leonard Brooks's suggestion was dumb, but you had to admit it was pretty “civilized.” After all, if they really fought, it’d be Old Thompson and Mad Dog left to clean up the mess.

So Logan Wright took the lead, accepting the challenge on behalf of class three: “Bring it on, who’s afraid of who!”

“”

Because of the disruption, both class three and class four were disqualified, and their results were voided. During Chinese class, Old Thompson used the time to lecture them: “You can’t act on impulse. If there’s a problem, you can’t just go throwing punches. You’re not little kids anymore—you have to take responsibility for your actions.”

The classroom was dead silent.

Old Thompson thought their silence and the way they all stared at their laps was a sign of deep shame, so his tone softened a bit: “Let this be a lesson to you. I hope nothing like this happens again.”

There was no time for a nap at lunch. Ethan Young pushed a thick stack of books to the center of his desk, planning to hide behind them and catch some sleep.

Henry Howard nudged him with his elbow: “Check the class group chat.”

“What?”

Ethan Young didn’t open his eyes, his face resting on his arm. He fumbled for his phone under the desk for a while before finally finding it, and reluctantly opened the unread notifications in that position.