The next morning. Two players stood on the court: Jung Ho in a black basketball jersey with the number ten on his chest, and Ming You in an equally dark uniform, but with the number forty-four. Their eyes met briefly before Ming You, feigning friendliness, flashed a fake smile and said:
"Hi-hi, Jung Ho."
"Why did you call me here? Want to give me a chance at a rematch?"
"We don't have time for rematches. But don't worry, I'm not asking you to be my slave over some silly loss. You can refuse any request I make."
Jung Ho crossed his arms.
"Thanks, but as the loser, I should face the consequences. That's just my principle."
"All I wanted to prove in that game was that winning is everything. I see you've understood that, so now we just need to drill it into the rest of the team."
"You plan to make bets against every player on our team?"
"No, our goal is to make them stronger."
"And how do you propose we do that?"
Ming You raised an index finger.
"We need to organize a game. But not just a regular streetball match. I want us to play a stakes game."
"A stakes game? Are you serious? We should be focusing on our skills, not money."
"It's not just a game—it's a chance to test our strength and gain something from it. You've said yourself you want the team to improve, right?" Ming You spoke confidently, a sly grin on his face.
Jung Ho hesitated, his doubts beginning to fade.
"Fine, if you insist. But I don't want this to become a problem for us."
"A problem?" Ming You smirked. "We'll just be playing. And if we win, we get money. It's extra motivation, plus we all need to get used to the pressure from spectators."
"The money part is debatable, but you're right about the pressure."
"Then gather the team. I'll handle the organizers."
As Jung Ho turned and strode decisively toward the exit of the streetball court, Ming You walked in the opposite direction without hesitation. His gaze locked onto a group of thugs loitering on the street corner, lazily smoking. They were no more than a dozen meters away.
"Hey, guys," he began, winking as he stopped in front of them. "I've got a plan. We'll set up an interesting stakes game, and my team will end up in debt."
The thugs in black leather jackets burst out laughing.
"Have you lost your mind?" said one of them, Taek Jung, cackling. "You're gonna make your own teammates owe money? That's shameless!"
"Yeah, but it'll be fun," Ming You replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We'll set up a real game, and they'll dig themselves into debt. I want them to feel like they're losing—it'll give me control over them."
"Then do us a favor and explain your plan," Taek Jung said, pulling another cigarette from the pack.
Ming You spread his arms.
"It's a shooting contest. Two hoops, two players. The first three shots are from the free-throw line, the final deciding one from the three-point line, and an extra from half-court. The first shot—the referee sets the bet, say ten thousand won per make. But the second player, the opponent, can raise the stakes, like saying, 'I'll bet twenty thousand.' If the first player refuses and backs out, he has to pay half the refused bet to the opponent, and the other half goes into the game's collective pot."
Taek Jung and his crew chuckled lightly.
"Sounds interesting. Your plan's impressive, but I don't get the point of the collective pot."
"I'm not done yet, so listen up. Here's how it works for the spectators—someone might bet, say, two thousand won on a make, or the same two thousand on a miss. They can bet on either player. That's how the spectator pot builds up, announced by the referee. For example, if the crowd bets a hundred thousand won, that's the spectator pot. There are two pots—the real-money spectator pot and the player pot, which is empty. For the players, it's just false hope, but for you organizers, it's their debt. The ref has to claim there's a starting sum, like a hundred thousand won, to create the illusion of real money. But here's the trick—the ref can say the pot is two hundred thousand, and then the player instantly owes the full amount."
Taek Jung and the others laughed even louder.
"Hahaha! Didn't think you could come up with such a profitable scheme on the spot! But how do we explain this to the spectators and your players?"
Ming You smiled faintly, adopting a convincing tone:
"Here's the script: Spectators can bet on one or both players. The bet is whether the player makes or misses. Now, the game rules—each player gets ten seconds to shoot, but if they've already scored and have winnings behind them, they can trade those for an extra ten seconds. Basic rules like not stepping over the line apply, but standing farther back is allowed—though pointless, since there's no bonus. Now, the game pot—when the ref announces the bet, the two players can agree and start the contest, but one can raise the stakes. A player can accept, raise, or refuse. If they refuse, it's an automatic miss, and the opponent wins."
"You're quite the actor! Even I, knowing the real deal, almost bought into those rules."
"There's one more thing that'll be very profitable and interesting for you."
"Go on."
Ming You grinned slyly.
"Who do you think the winner of this game will be, aside from you organizers?"
"If two players are competing, one will lose, and the other will win. So there's only one winner among the players," Taek Jung mused, but Ming You smirked at his answer:
"That's exactly what people are supposed to think. Heh."
"What do you mean?"
"There'll actually be two losers. They'll all walk away in debt."
"Huh?!" The thugs exclaimed in shock, one of them accidentally dropping his cigarette on the asphalt.
"You forgot one thing—they'll be playing at a relaxed pace. We'll say only the spectators can lose, and the players either walk away with extra winnings or break even." Ming You continued, making Taek Jung laugh again:
"Hahaha! Does your conscience bother you at all? Then again, I doubt you have one."
"So, will you set up my game?"
Taek Jung grinned greedily.
"Thanks for the idea, but the most I can give you is one percent of the bets—and only because you surprised me."
"I don't need money. I have a different condition."
"And what's that?" Taek Jung asked, stubbing his cigarette out on the brick wall. Ming You tilted his head slightly, answering emotionlessly:
"You'll act out a scene I'll ask for after the game—and another one before it. But don't worry, it'll be simple and in your favor."
"Fine. A couple of scenes for such a profitable game is a great deal for us. But if all you're asking for is a scene, that means this is even more beneficial for you, right?"
Ming You smirked greedily.
"Heh, exactly."
"What's the pre-game scene?"
"You'll make it so I don't play, but it still looks like I'm supporting the team," he said, pointing at himself. Taek Jung raised an eyebrow.
"How do you plan to pull that off?"
"The game's only for two players, and there are four of them, not counting me. Here's what you'll do—say I can't play because of my debts to you."
"Haha, seriously? When someone owes us, we make them play more!"
"But not in this game, right?"
"Heh, right. Fine, from now on, you've got a fake debt. It's only a matter of time before it becomes real."
Ming You lifted his chin arrogantly, smiling.
"Don't even dream about it."
"Your audacity knows no bounds."
"So, do we have a deal?" He extended his hand. Taek Jung shook it and said in a low voice:
"Deal."
…
The team confidently approached the basketball court, ready for the upcoming game. All the players wore the club's signature uniforms—black jerseys with red stripes. Jung Ho led the way, warming up his wrists, his eyes fixed on the hoop. Behind him, slightly lagging, Haru Lin and Lu Shen exchanged jokes. Hong Ren, as usual, kept to himself, silently sipping apple juice from a carton through a straw, his face unreadable.
"Hi-hi!" Ming You greeted them with a fake smile, waving.
Lu Shen was the first to glance at him, waving back:
"Hey."
"Ready for the game?" Ming You asked, eliciting slight confusion from Jung Ho:
"Maybe you should explain the game first?"
"The referee will do that. I just let them know we'd be playing here."
"Jung said it's a stakes game. Isn't that too risky?" Haru Lin asked, scratching his head. Ming You grinned with feigned friendliness:
"For us players, it's no risk. The spectators are the ones betting, not us. Even if we get to bet, there's nothing to worry about—we're the players, not the audience."
Lu Shen smirked broadly, glancing at Haru Lin:
"Hey, Haru, you're the one who jerks off in extreme situations, so you're used to taking risks."
"Sounds like you're the risky one, which is why bets don't bother you. But if we're not really at risk as players, let's just start the game."
Jung Ho cracked his knuckles before Lu Shen could reply.
"We should warm up first."
Ming You slung an arm over his shoulder.
"Good point." He looked at the team. "Shall we?"
The team spread out across the court, beginning their warm-up. Jung Ho and Ming You headed straight for the hoop, practicing shots from different distances—their movements precise, the ball effortlessly swishing through the net.
Haru Lin and Lu Shen worked on their dribbling, weaving the ball between backpacks, speeding up and changing direction abruptly.
Hong Ren, having finished his juice, joined them, stretching near the faded out-of-bounds line, his limbs moving smoothly into practiced poses.
Twenty minutes later, the first spectators began gathering near the benches by the court. Sung Wo, the game's referee, walked leisurely toward the center of the field.
"It looks like it's starting," said Lu Shen, nodding toward the referee and the spectators.
"I ask the players to pair up," began Sung Wo, causing Lu Shen to frown in confusion:
"But there are five of us!"
"In that case, I ask one debtor to sit on the bench."
"Debtor?" Lu Shen was surprised.
Sung Wo slowly turned his gaze to Ming You:
"Player number forty-four, Ming You, you cannot play games without consequences for the players until you repay your debt."
"Debtor? Ming You?" Jung Ho asked in shock, his eyes darting from the referee to Ming You, who replied without hesitation:
"The important thing is that the game has no consequences."
"Alright, we'll definitely help you with your debts," Jung Ho said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Ming You expertly feigned shyness, averting his gaze:
"Don't bother, guys."
"Either way, it's a game without consequences, so don't worry," Lu Shen chimed in, followed by Haru Lin:
"Jung's right, we'll help you."
"After all, we're a team," Hong Ren suddenly added. Ming You, heading toward the benches, thanked them with even more exaggerated politeness:
"Thank you, friends."
"Now, players, split into pairs," Sung Wo interrupted, scanning the remaining players.
"So, masturbator, with me?" Lu Shen elbowed Haru Lin, who smirked in response:
"Offering me a Dutch rudder?"
"Go to hell!"
"Well, Jung, guess it's you and me against these masturbators," Hong Ren said indifferently, provoking Lu Shen's "anger":
"Since when did you get so chatty?"
"Before we move on to the rules, I'll ask two players to sit on the benches," Sung Wo continued, pointing with his thumb to the benches behind him.
Lu Shen was still baffled:
"Huh? Two of us are debtors now? What the hell?"
"No, just do as you're told and don't drag this out!" Sung Wo snapped aggressively.
Jung Ho stepped forward:
"Fine, Hong, let's go."
"Heh-heh, cowards," Lu Shen sneered, tilting his head up.
"If those two are on the bench, how are we supposed to play? One-on-one or what?" Haru Lin asked the referee, who replied:
"For now, go to opposite sides of the court and stand at your free-throw line."
"Get ready to get wrecked, Haru!" Lu Shen taunted, positioning himself at the free-throw line. Haru Lin turned around and smirked:
"Planning to jerk off to my ass? Or worse, if you're secretly gay."
"You—!"
"Attention to the game, please," Sung Wo clapped his hands.
He moved closer to the edge of the court near the spectator benches, and two organizers in black jackets tossed him two basketballs.
Sung Wo bent down and rolled the balls across the asphalt to opposite halves of the court. Once the players picked them up, he announced loudly:
"Players number six and number nine will compete in shooting accuracy. There will be three free throws and one three-pointer. But if it's a complete tie, players will start shooting from the center."
Lu Shen spun the ball on his finger confidently:
"In that case, with my experience, I'll definitely crush you!"
Haru Lin ignored him, and Sung Wo turned his back to the players, facing the spectators:
"Now, to the spectators—you may place bets on both players. The bet must be whether the player will make or miss the shot. But you can also bet differently—there is a shared jackpot in this game, which spectators can increase, but only in favor of one player."
"What do we do?" Haru Lin asked, gripping the ball with both hands. Sung Wo turned back to the players and continued:
"Now, the rules—you have ten seconds to shoot. If you're late, the shot won't count. Second rule—do not step over the line, but stepping back is allowed. The game's jackpot—I, the referee, will name the starting bid for the shot. Your goal is to make the basket. But one player may raise the bid. If the other refuses, it's an automatic loss, and the other wins without needing to shoot. A player can accept the bid or raise it further."
"Perfect, that just makes it easier to wreck you, Lu."
"Keep dreaming!"
Sung Wo raised his whistle:
"If everyone understands the rules, it's time to begin! The shared jackpot starts at one million won! The bid for the first shot is 100,000 won. Spectators may now place bets—ten seconds start now!"
The spectators began shouting over each other:
"Fifty thousand on number nine missing!"
"Seventy thousand on number six missing!"
"Thirty thousand on number nine missing and thirty thousand on number six making it!"
Lu Shen grinned and raised his hand:
"Heh-heh, I double the bid!"
"Huh?" Jung Ho, sitting on the bench, was surprised.
Haru Lin held up two fingers:
"Then I double it again!"
"Multiply by ten!" Lu Shen dropped the ball and spread his fingers. Haru Lin lifted the ball slightly:
"Agreed!"
"The bid has increased to four million won! Ten seconds—go!" Sung Wo blew the whistle and started the timer, turning it toward the spectators.
Haru Lin froze at the free-throw line, the ball heavy in his hands. The crowd fell silent, only rapid breaths audible. Ten seconds. He jerked his head up, eyes locking onto the hoop. Knees slightly bent, fingers checking the grip. Inhale—then a sharp push upward. His wrist snapped straight at the last moment, adding spin. The ball arced high, nearly grazing the rim, then whistled through the net.
Lu Shen clenched the ball tighter, knuckles whitening. His eyes flicked to the backboard, calculating the angle. Eight seconds left. He straightened abruptly, launching the ball with strong backspin. It smacked the backboard hard, bounced off the square, teetered on the rim—then dropped through with a swish.
Sung Wo stopped the timer, which showed four and a half seconds left:
"First shots counted! The shared jackpot is now 8.5 million won! The next bid is 500,000 won!"
"Multiply by ten!" Lu Shen shouted.
"Agreed!"
Sung Wo blew the whistle again:
"The bid has increased to five million won! Ten seconds—go!"
Haru Lin stood at the line, the ball feeling weightless despite the tension in his fingers. Ten seconds. Inhale. A sharp rise onto his toes, wrist flicking at the last instant—the shot. The ball soared, hit the rim's edge, spun around the hoop, silencing the court.
One rotation, two—then finally, with a sharp rustle of net, it dropped through.
Lu Shen didn't hesitate, bouncing the ball once. Time was tight, but his gaze stayed cold. Finally, he jumped—short, sharp, no arc.
The ball didn't even touch the rim, snapping cleanly through the net.
Sung Wo spread his arms:
"Still no misses! The shared jackpot is now fifteen million won! The next bid is one million won!"
"Holy shit…" Lu Shen's jaw dropped.
"Hah-hah, Lu, already giving up? I double it!"
"Screw it, I accept!"
Sung Wo blew the whistle and reset the timer:
"The bid has increased to two million! Time starts now!"
Haru Lin stood at the line, the ball trembling slightly in his hands. Wind blew straight into his face, breaking his focus. He exhaled sharply, lifting the ball higher than usual, feeling its weight.
Ten seconds. A sharp push with his legs, wrist snapping—the shot was slightly too strong. The ball hit the back of the rim, teetered, spun, silencing the court again.
One wobble, another—then it finally slipped off, thudding onto the asphalt.
"Hah-hah! The money's mine, loser!" Lu Shen laughed loudly until the referee cut him off:
"Ten seconds passed. The shot doesn't count."
"Hah!" he scoffed—then processed the words. "Wait, WHAT? Haru missed, so the win's mine!"
"A forfeit win only counts if the opponent refuses the bid. In your case, you both agreed to the raise—number six missed, and you didn't shoot in time," Sung Wo dismissed, sparking Lu Shen's fury:
"What the hell?!"
"Relax, Lu, we're not losing anything," Haru Lin said, walking toward the benches.
Referee Sung Wo scanned the front benches:
"Next players—number ten and number twelve!"