The opponents reacted quickly, jumped, and had strong defense.

But Ethan Brooks spun around and tossed the ball back, passing it to William Turner, who made a shot under the basket—and scored.

The other team was stunned. Ethan Brooks shrugged, strolled over lazily, and high-fived William Turner.

Effortlessly outmaneuvering them, he clearly didn’t take them seriously.

After two quarters, Ethan Brooks’s team was already leading 29 to 12.

The Omegas on the sidelines, led by Logan Reed, let out a chorus of groundhog-like squeals.

“Ahhhhhh!!! Mr. Ethan is awesome!!! Mr. Ethan is number one in the world!!!”

Grace Miller was among them, waving two bottles of drinks and bouncing up and down.

Edward Parker’s face grew even darker.

During halftime, he called a few people over, huddled together, and whispered.

William Turner glanced over, then smiled at Ethan Brooks: “With those few blockheads, who knows what they’re scheming.”

Ethan Brooks twisted open a bottle cap: “Don’t be so harsh. It’s not like they chose to have blockheads. You should have a little sympathy.”

He always spoke lazily, never raising his voice, but somehow always just loud enough for the right people to hear.

Edward Parker had completely given up on finishing this basketball game properly.

At the start of the third quarter, Ethan Brooks immediately stole the ball, faked twice, took three steps forward, jumped, dunked, and scored.

Smooth and seamless.

To cushion the momentum, he grabbed the rim with both hands. His long arms flexed with defined muscles, and the hem of his shirt lifted as his body swung in the air, revealing a strip of fair, taut waist.

Slim and tough, like bamboo, or a narrow blade.

In the dusky evening light, under the streetlamps by the court, it looked sharp and a little provocative.

When Ethan Grant returned with his meal, he happened to see this scene through the window.

He thought that waist was a bit too slender.

It was hard to imagine any Alpha having a waist like that.

Meanwhile, Ethan Brooks thought his dunk was ridiculously cool. With a smirk, he let go and prepared to land.

His feet had just touched the ground and he hadn’t even steadied himself when the opposing guard jabbed an elbow into his back. He stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to catch himself with one hand.

This wasn’t just a foul—it was blatant malicious provocation.

William Turner immediately stepped up, grabbing the guard’s collar and yanking him back: “What’s your problem?”

The guard shrugged: “Sorry, didn’t notice, lost my balance.”

“With legs that thick, are they prosthetics or what?”

William Turner and his crew weren’t pushovers either. They already disliked Edward Parker’s group, and if it weren’t for dominating the game with Ethan Brooks, their tempers would’ve flared long ago. They couldn’t take this kind of provocation.

But Edward Parker was fearless, even eager to escalate things. He brought over a few burly guys from the international class, sneering: “He said he lost his balance and apologized. What more do you want? It’s not like you’re some Omega—so delicate you can’t even take a bump in a basketball game?”

Ethan Brooks stood up and brushed the dust off his fingertips.

William Turner noticed him frown for a moment—brief, but clearly showing discomfort.

He walked over: “You okay?”

“Mm, I’m fine.” Ethan Brooks lifted his eyes, giving Edward Parker a sidelong glance. “Shall we continue?”

His voice was a bit cold, and the way he raised his eyes made it clear he was holding back anger.

He wasn’t one to shy away from trouble, but he also didn’t like getting rough in front of a bunch of Omegas and girls. After all, fighting wasn’t a good thing, and scaring people wasn’t great either.

He preferred to make others lose convincingly.

The game continued, and Ethan Brooks’s presence became even sharper. His offense grew more aggressive, sinking several tricky three-pointers in a row, and the score gap widened to thirty.

Meanwhile, people in the classroom finished eating and started coming back.

Henry Clark lay on his desk by the window, watching the basketball court and clicking his tongue: “No wonder everyone’s cheering like it’s the NBA. My Mr. Ethan is just that cool. What Omega could resist? If I were an Omega, I’d definitely go after him.”

Ethan Grant leaned back, tapping his fingers on the desk, his tone indifferent: “You could go after him even as an Alpha.”

“No way.” Henry Clark didn’t even hesitate. “Two Alphas never end well. Can’t have kids, and you have to pay a fine.”

Ethan Grant paused his tapping, turned to look out the window, then said lightly, “It probably isn’t that expensive.”

“Huh? What isn’t expensive?” Henry Clark couldn’t keep up with the boss’s train of thought, turning his head and staring at Ethan Grant in confusion.

Ethan Grant lowered his eyes: “Nothing.”

Author’s note:

Master Grant has money, not afraid of fines

Chapter 7

Ethan Brooks is 1.83 meters tall—not the tallest, but with great jumping ability, agility, quick reflexes, and accuracy. Plus, years of chemistry with William Turner meant there was no pressure dominating the international class team.

William Turner stole the ball and passed it to him. He caught it and jumped straight up for a shot, but suddenly an elbow slammed hard into his chest.

There was a heavy thud. He didn’t lose the ball, but instinctively bent forward.