The silence in the school hallway after classes was deceptive. It wasn't peaceful — it was tense, like a taut string, humming with suppressed energy. So Ho moved through it in fits and starts, his steps marking out short, sharp segments. He had already checked Coach Chang Wo's office — empty. He'd looked in the teachers' lounge — he wasn't there. Even in the library, where the coach sometimes went for sports magazines, it was quiet and dusty.
Frustrated, So Ho stepped out into the main corridor. Just at that moment, a teacher turned the corner, a stack of notebooks under his arm.
"Excuse me," So Ho's voice cut sharply through the silence. "Do you know where Coach Chang Wo is? He's supposed to be here."
The teacher, slightly taken aback by his insistence, shook his head.
"Afraid not, haven't seen him today. He was supposed to stay for team practice, but it seems something's held him up."
'Held him up…'
The words hung in the air, sprouting poisonous tendrils of suspicion in So Ho's mind. He nodded, mumbling something indistinct like 'thanks,' and the teacher walked past.
"Damn it, where is he?" So Ho muttered now under his breath. "If Ming You doesn't calm down, and no one stops him… it won't just be a loss. It'll be a catastrophe with debts, threats, and the collapse of everything we have."
He set off down the corridor again, almost at a run now, peering into every half-open classroom, the gym, the locker room. Nowhere. Only the echo of his own footsteps and the growing feeling that the ground was slipping from under his feet.
And then, like a flash, Ming You's words, thrown out on the day of his expulsion with that icy smirk, came back to life in his memory:
"Don't worry. I'll handle this myself."
Before, So Ho had read only arrogance in them. Now, in the context of the coach's disappearance, they took on a new, sinister meaning.
"Could it really be him?" So Ho whispered, stopping in the middle of the empty hallway.
His gaze stared out the window, but he saw neither the courtyard nor the sky. Images flashed before his mind's eye: Ming You saying something to heavy-set guys in leather jackets.
"Maybe he knows where the coach is? Or… or did he remove him from the path himself?"
His thoughts swirled like a whirlwind, but their movement wasn't chaotic. It was an analysis of probabilities, cold and dispassionate. And the highest probability looked the most frightening.
"So Ho! Why are you standing there like a statue?"
The voice jerked him out of the quagmire of suspicion. Jen Ryu appeared at the end of the corridor. Tall, angular, he walked with such a long, aggressive stride, as if he intended not just to walk but to smash through the wall. His face, always ready to flare with anger, was tense now, but more worried than furious.
"Coach isn't here," So Ho said curtly, and his voice sounded unusually muffled, almost sullen. "He's nowhere. And it doesn't seem like a simple delay."
Jen Ryu came closer, studying his face intently.
"So what? Maybe he has business. Family stuff."
"In the middle of the season? Facing threats like these?" So Ho shook his head, automatically rubbing his wrist where his watch was. "No. It's something else. If he doesn't show up, those gangsters' threats will stop being just words. They'll become concrete actions. And Ming You will get carte blanche."
"Carte blanche, my ass," Jen Ryu snorted, but understanding flashed in his eyes. He could feel So Ho's tension like a physical vibration in the air. "Listen, worst case… we can just call the cops. Let them deal with those bastards."
"Maybe you're right," So Ho finally said, and a note of resolve entered his voice. "But that's a last resort. As long as there's any possibility of resolving this within… within the team, we have to use it."
"Within the team?" Jen Ryu gave a grim chuckle. "What team? The one that scattered after that street clownery? Or the one where the captain is a motherfucker with gang ties?"
"Our team," So Ho said firmly. "You, me, Mei Yu, Xiao Li. The ones who still remember that basketball is a game, not a way to humiliate people. As long as there are at least four of us — that's a team. And we need to train, to be ready for whatever happens."
Jen Ryu froze, assessing. His fists unclenched, then clenched again, but not in a burst of anger now — in a gesture of accepting the inevitable.
"Alright. I'm not much for reasoning. But if there's hitting to be done — I'm always ready. Let's go. At least we can shoot some hoops, I'm boiling over just standing here."
They headed for the gym. Jen Ryu's steps echoed loudly down the corridor, and So Ho walked beside him, his thoughts already switching from searching for the coach to tactics, to positioning, to how the four of them could stand against Ming You's entire system.
The gym was cool and smelled of wood, sweat, and dust. Under one of the hoops, two figures were moving. Mei Yu, collected and precise, was practicing shots from distance. Each of his movements was measured: a light jump, a soft release of the ball, the clean swish of the net. Nearby, Xiao Li was passing to him, his movements economical, almost mechanical, without unnecessary effort, but also without fire.
Seeing them enter, Mei Yu caught the rebounding ball and froze, his attentive copper-colored eyes sliding from So Ho to Jen Ryu.
"You're here too?" he asked, and there was no surprise in his voice, just a statement of fact. "Thought the gym would be empty today after all that…"
"Coach isn't here," So Ho repeated like a mantra, walking closer. "And it's bad."
"I assume his absence is somehow connected to our 'former' captain?" Mei Yu let the ball slip from his hands, and it rolled to Xiao Li. His face remained impassive, but a shadow of swift, almost machine-like risk assessment flickered in his eyes.
"Who else?" Jen Ryu growled, slamming the ball hard against the floor.
Thump! The sound echoed loudly through the gym.
"That asshole is capable of anything. First debts, then threats, now maybe he's intimidated the coach too," Jen Ryu continued.
Xiao Li, silently picking up the rolling ball, sighed quietly.
"Let's not jump to conclusions," So Ho said, taking off his sweatshirt. His movements were habitual, ritualistic: adjusted his knee pads, checked his shoelaces three times. "But let's be prepared for anything. Right now, the only thing we can control is our own game. So let's train."
They spread out across the court. At first, they just shot the ball, getting a feel for it. The sound of dribbles against the floor, the squeak of sneakers on parquet — these rhythmic sounds began to soothe the nervous tension, turning it into physical energy.
"Speaking of Ming You," Mei Yu began, making a precise pass to So Ho under the hoop. "I've been trying to calculate his motivation. All of this — debts, control, manipulation. It's not just a thirst for power. It's something… systemic. He doesn't just want to win at basketball. He wants to prove his system — his perverted rules — works better than honest play."
"His system is shit," Jen Ryu cut him off, making a sharp drive past an imaginary defender. His movements were explosive and aggressive. "It's built on fear and underhandedness. Real strength — that's what matters!" He lunged toward the hoop and slammed the ball down with such fury the whole backboard shook.
"Strength is part of the equation," So Ho countered, catching the rebound. "But without tactics, without discipline, it's blind. Ming You understands that. That's why he plays dirty. He can't win honestly because his game isn't about basketball. It's about… controlling people."
Xiao Li, who had been silent until now, spoke softly, looking somewhere at the floor:
"He took all the joy of the game away from me. Now every time I step on the court, it's just waiting to be used again, humiliated again."
There was such bitterness in his quiet voice that everyone fell silent for a moment. Jen Ryu stopped dribbling. Mei Yu froze with the ball in his hands.
"He's taken more from us than just joy," So Ho finally said. His gray eyes were cold and hard. "He's trying to take away the very concept of a team. Replace it with a pack where the leader keeps everyone in fear. People like him…" So Ho paused briefly, choosing his words, and they came out with icy conviction, "…people like Ming You don't belong on a team. They don't belong in human society. Because they don't play by human rules. They break them."
"And what can we do about it?" Mei Yu asked, and his question held no panic, only cold calculation. "Four against his system, his thugs, and possibly against the school's inaction."
"We can not break," So Ho said. "We can keep playing. Correctly. Honestly. And wait for our moment. If his system is built on fear, then its weakness is the absence of fear. If he plays on disunity — our strength is in sticking together. Even if there are only four of us."
He threw the ball to Jen Ryu.
"Come on, let's play two-on-two. Half-court. Me and Xiao Li against you and Mei Yu."
Jen Ryu smirked, and for the first time that day, his smile held not anger but excitement.
"You're toast, tactician. I'll blow past you like you're standing still."
The game began. Not the nervous, hysterical clash from the street, but disciplined, almost meditative work. So Ho set screens, read Xiao Li's movements, made precise, measured passes to Mei Yu. Jen Ryu charged forward with the fury of a battering ram, but now his fury was channeled into the game, not into emptiness. Mei Yu calculated angles, found the slightest openings for a shot. Even Xiao Li seemed to forget his despair for a while. His movements became a bit more confident, his passes a bit sharper.
They weren't a perfect team. They were missing a link, and their tactics were improvised. But in this spontaneous interaction, there was something real. No manipulation, no hidden threats, no playing to humiliate. It was just four guys playing basketball, trying to understand each other without words, through the movement of the ball, through a glance, through a well-timed screen.
After a particularly beautiful pass from So Ho to Mei Yu that ended in a soft layup, Jen Ryu didn't curse. He just grunted and nodded approvingly:
"Not bad. For a nerd."
"You're pretty good yourself, Jen." So Ho shook his hand.
And Xiao Li, to everyone's surprise, allowed himself a barely noticeable, brief smile. It faded from his face immediately, but it had been there.
When they left the gym, soaked with sweat and tired, So Ho looked at his watch again. The time lost on searching had been repaid with interest.