Late evening. Ming You sat at his desk in his room, a laptop in front of him. He inserted a flash drive and began watching recordings of Gokudan's games, mentally analyzing their plays:
"This team is truly strong. Every player is perfect in their position—this could be a big problem for me."
Ming You stared at the laptop screen, where a tall player with short white hair and a jersey numbered "99" and the team name above the number performed a meteor dunk. He replayed the moment several times until the next scene appeared:
The same player made a precise shot from mid-court, sinking the basket. Ming You tensed internally:
"I recognize him. He's the one who looked at me with contempt after the game against Yuromusho. This player is dangerous on the court, but again, muscles and raw strength won't stand a chance against my bat, heh-heh."
Ming You continued studying the team, reviewing each player's stats.
"So this is you, Kwan Soo. The team's ace. Your stats are truly impressive—your level is even above national standards, let alone school tournaments."
He moved on to other games, but the one that caught his attention the most was last year's match against Yuromusho, back when Kai Rin Wu was still alive and well.
He watched as Kwan Soo played against a team renowned for its defense, effortlessly bypassing opponents as if they were children. Ming You observed his clever dribbling, pinpoint long-range shots, and drives. But what surprised him the most:
"A strategist. He's also a strategist. Those drives aren't just brute force. He calculates every defensive mistake and exploits it, and his passes are perfectly timed. This isn't just a mountain of muscles—it's muscles with brains. But there's one catch: I'll start hunting you, and your intellect won't save you."
Ming You watched recording after recording, analyzing every shot, every movement. But it wasn't just the team's ace who caught his attention:
"Not just him—the other players too. Their coordination is flawless, their physical stats are high, and they're all hyper-focused. Every player on this team fits their role perfectly, but their ace is the main threat to me."
Ming You closed the game recordings and opened social media.
"Even if my entire team played against him alone, he'd easily outmaneuver us. So I must to kill him. Kill, kill, and kill again. First step—surveillance. And the first step of surveillance is finding his home. The first step to that is social media."
He clicked the search bar, typed in the name, and filtered by school. Only one profile appeared. But this time, Ming You miscalculated:
"You're really clever—not even a profile picture. I'll have to try another approach. Or rather, pay a visit to your school."
Ming You closed the laptop lid and lay down on the bed. He pulled the sheets over himself and shut his eyes, gradually falling asleep.
…
The next morning, Ming You stepped outside and headed toward Gokudan High School. He reached the school gates, glanced around, and confidently walked onto the premises.
"Today's Saturday—no classes. But clubs or exam prep sessions might still be running. There shouldn't be many teachers around, so getting the address I need won't be a problem."
Ming You opened the door, entered the school, and walked past the security desk. The guard ignored him since Ming You was wearing a school uniform and carrying a backpack.
He started climbing the stairs and spotted an evacuation map on the wall, marking classrooms and offices. He scanned it, found the teachers' lounge on the second floor, and continued up the stairs.
However, a middle-aged man holding a stack of papers blocked his path. It was a teacher, who looked at Ming You and addressed him:
"Good morning. Are you new here? I don't recall seeing you before."
Ming You raised his head, brushed his hair back with one hand, and confidently replied:
"Good morning. No, I just signed up for the basketball club."
"Huh? Did someone recommend you, or do you have friends here? It's a bit odd to join clubs at a school you don't attend."
"I just want to practice with my friend, and he goes here. Also, sorry if this sounds rude, but could you not hold me up? I don't want to miss the first training session."
The teacher averted his gaze slightly and shrugged:
"Yeah, alright. Sorry for stopping you. But out of curiosity, who's your friend?"
Ming You feigned shyness:
"Kwan Soo. We've known each other since middle school."
"Alright. Have a good practice. And if you ever want to transfer here, feel free to reach out."
The teacher started descending the stairs, and Ming You called after him:
"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."
As soon as the teacher nodded and disappeared down the stairs, Ming You dropped the friendly act, his expression turning indifferent as he continued to the second floor.
Upon reaching it, he headed straight for the teachers' lounge. The door was locked. Ming You took off his backpack, opened the front pocket, and pulled out a bobby pin, bending it into an "r" shape.
After ensuring the hallway was empty and no cameras were nearby, he began picking the lock. Though he lacked experience, his understanding of lock mechanisms allowed him to work confidently.
Five minutes later, a click sounded, and the door opened. Ming You pulled the handle, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him.
The room was tidy: a bookshelf with colored folders and textbooks stood to the left of the door. Five steps ahead was a window, and to its right, a desk with a computer, documents, and a jar of pens and pencils.
Ming You moved the office chair aside and sat down, rolling up to the desk. He turned on the computer and thought to himself:
"The fastest way to get his address is through the digital registry. But if the computer's password-protected, I'll have to dig through documents. Hopefully, this goes smoothly…"
A password prompt appeared on the screen, but his composure didn't waver. He turned off the computer and began rifling through the desk drawers. He opened each one, scanning papers until, in the bottom drawer, he found what he needed—class registers for 3-1, 3-2, and 3-3*.
Ming You skimmed the name lists until he found the right one: Kwan Soo, Class 3-3. He accidentally glanced at his grades—above average, with particularly high marks in math.
"Not just a basketball genius, huh?" he muttered, flipping the page.
He found the information he needed—Kwan Soo's address. Though he memorized it, he took a photo for good measure.
After double-checking, Ming You returned the registers to their place, closed the drawers, pushed the chair back, and prepared to leave.
Before opening the door, he peeked through the keyhole to ensure the hallway was empty. Satisfied, he stepped out, closing the door behind him. Relocking it wasn't an option, nor did he have time, so he headed straight for the school exit.
Ming You descended the stairs, passed the evacuation map, and reached the first floor. As he walked past the security desk, he ran into the same teacher again. Their eyes didn't meet, but Ming You initiated the conversation:
"Excuse me, do you happen to know… is Kwan Soo at school today? I can't reach him."
The teacher turned to him and sighed:
"He rarely trains on weekends. But seeing you, I thought he might come since you're his friend. If he's not answering, he's probably still asleep."
"I see, thanks. Then I'll just drag him out of bed." Ming You forced a shy smile and scratched the back of his head. The teacher stepped aside and waved:
"Good luck. Maybe we'll see each other again."
"Goodbye!" Ming You waved before closing the school's front door, finally leaving the building.
After walking a dozen meters, he exited the school grounds, his mind already plotting:
"I could've just asked that teacher for Kwan Soo's address, but that would've been suspicious. Now, I need to confirm his location, analyze the situation, and catch him just like the others. Three blocks from school to his house… not too far."
Ming You walked at a steady pace along the sidewalk toward the residential complex, passing storefronts and other houses. He crossed the street at a green light, though there were hardly any cars.
A few minutes later, he passed the first block, then turned between warehouses—a quiet area with uneven asphalt and scattered trash. Fifteen minutes later, he reached the residential complex: a tall building with large windows, benches, and flower beds out front.
He glanced around—few pedestrians were nearby. Ming You headed to a bench near the entrance, took out his phone, and tapped the screen for appearances.
An hour passed. The sun still shone, but foot traffic dwindled. Ming You scanned every corner of the complex and grew slightly tense:
"No mistake—this is definitely his address. The only question is whether he's home now or not. Either way, I'll keep waiting."
Over the next few hours, Ming You occasionally leaned his head back against the bench, staring at his blank phone screen, lost in thought:
"My patience is limitless. I can wait for you until morning, Kwan Soo. But tomorrow's a day off, so that's when I'll get rid of you for good. There's a warehouse in the next block—nice and quiet, heh-heh."
Another three hours passed. The day neared its end, and the sunset painted the sky. The district grew livelier, and Ming You spotted a tall, athletic guy in a white hoodie with short white hair, standing at six and a half feet:
"There you are. Hello, hello! Well, I'll greet you properly when you're tied to a pole. For now, enjoy your last day."
He stood from the bench and moved a few meters away from the residential building. Kwan Soo, expressionless and holding an energy drink, opened the front door and climbed the stairs.
Ming You noted the moment and started walking home, formulating his next steps:
"Tomorrow, I'll have to visit you a bit earlier. Though your teacher said you like to sleep in. You'll be sleeping forever soon. And by tomorrow night, I'll kill you."
About forty minutes later, Ming You reached his apartment building and climbed to the third floor.
After taking off his shoes and entering his room, he opened the closet and knelt by the bottom shelf. He unscrewed the bolts, removed the panel, and pulled out a backpack with tools and rolls of plastic.
"Only enough plastic for one more session. But it's fine—this'll be enough."
He replaced the panel, screwed the bolts back in, and opened the top shelf, retrieving a box of screws. From it, he took a small lock with a key, which he pocketed.
Ming You slung the backpack over his shoulder and left the room. By the time he stepped outside, the sun had fully set. He descended the stairs and headed toward Kwan Soo's district.
Three blocks later, he reached his destination—the warehouses. Some were occupied and locked, while others were abandoned, their doors lacking locks entirely.
Ming You walked around a few before choosing the most secluded one. He attached the lock to the door and tested it by locking and pulling hard. It held.
Satisfied, he unlocked it and pushed the door open. Inside was pitch-black and filthy—about eight square meters of space, cramped but not unbearably so. Wooden planks and trash littered the floor, but the most striking feature was a human-sized wooden cross positioned opposite the door.
Ming You set the backpack outside the entrance and unrolled the plastic, covering the floor, walls, and ceiling. After inspecting his work, he moved the tools inside. One last glance, and he stepped out, locking the door behind him. He pocketed the key and walked home.
…
The next morning. Ming You, dressed in a black T-shirt and school pants, checked his phone—6:06 AM. He leisurely approached the closet near his bedroom door and opened it. From inside, he pulled out a black hoodie and khaki pants on a hanger, examining them:
"Can't wear the black hoodie and khakis anymore—too suspicious after that terrorist attack. I'll have to discard them. No point washing them; they're headed for the dump. Even if the police notice, they won't be able to trace anything."
He set the hanger aside and rummaged through the closet, retrieving a short-sleeved white shirt, black athletic pants with three white stripes, and a dark security cap from the top shelf.
After changing, he put the hangers back and neatly folded the pants onto the top shelf. Closing the closet, he picked up the discarded hoodie and pants.
Holding the hanger in one hand and scissors in the other, he headed to the hallway. Near the apartment's entrance was a beige trash bin with a black garbage bag inside.
Ming You sat on the floor, removed the clothes from the hanger, and laid them out. With scissors in his right hand and the black hoodie in his left, he began cutting it into small square scraps until nothing remained.
He did the same with the pants. Once finished, he gathered the fabric pieces into the garbage bag, tied it, and placed it by the door. He slipped on black sneakers with red laces, put on a medical mask, and grabbed his keys and the trash bag.
After locking the door, he tossed the bag into a dumpster and walked two more blocks. Half an hour later, he reached the residential complex and sat on the same bench as yesterday.
He leaned back and waited, occasionally checking his phone or tapping the screen. Hours passed.
"You should definitely be home now. And when you step out, you'll enjoy your last day, Kwan Soo."
Finally, after four more hours, the entrance door swung open, and Kwan Soo stepped out. He wore a gray T-shirt, blue athletic pants, and a black backpack slung over one shoulder. Ming You stood and began tailing him.
Kwan Soo, unaware, walked calmly down the sidewalk. Thirty meters behind, Ming You followed, pretending to be engrossed in his phone.
After passing the residential complex, Kwan Soo entered a grocery store. Ming You lurked around the corner, still feigning phone use while keeping watch.
Five minutes later, Kwan Soo exited with an energy drink in hand. Ming You spotted him and continued the pursuit. A block later, they reached a basketball court where four athletic guys in white jerseys were already gathered.
Kwan Soo opened the gate, tossed his backpack near the hoop, and joined them. Ming You observed from a distance, hidden behind a building.
Thirty minutes later, Kwan Soo left the court, closing the gate behind him while his teammates kept practicing. He tossed the empty can into a trash bin and walked back to the sidewalk.
Ming You crossed the street to the opposite sidewalk and followed. Fifteen minutes later, after several blocks, they arrived at another basketball court.
Ming You halted abruptly, a thought striking him:
"No way. Are you playing for stakes?"
…
*The first digit indicates the year of high school (e.g., 3 = third year), and the second digit denotes the class number (e.g., 3-3 = Class 3 of the third year).