Next day basket ball court
Ling never missed.
Not on bad days.
Not under pressure.
Not for anyone.
The whistle blew, sharp and final.
Ling rolled her shoulders once, eyes cold, unreadable. The black captain's band hugged her arm like a crown earned through bloodless war. Her jersey clung lightly already—sweat beginning to bead at her temples, sliding down her neck.
The crowd was loud.
They always were.
She didn't look at them.
Her gaze cut across the court—and found Rhea.
Rhea Nior sat two rows up, legs crossed, posture lazy, dressed in fitted black trousers and a sleeveless ivory top. Hair loose. Nose ring glinting under arena lights. Expression bored, almost amused.
As if this was beneath her.
Ling's jaw tightened.
Watch, she thought coldly. And learn where you stand.
"Captain!" one of her teammates called.
Ling caught the ball, fingers steady, grip flawless.
First shot.
Perfect arc.
Swish.
The arena erupted.
Ling didn't smile.
Second possession.
Drive. Spin. Fake.
Score.
Again.
Her movements were sharp, deliberate—no wasted energy, no hesitation. Sweat rolled down her spine now, darkening the fabric at her back, but her breathing stayed controlled.
Rhea looked away.
On purpose.
Ling noticed.
Something dark flickered behind Ling's eyes.
Third quarter.
A foul.
Ling straightened, irritation flashing briefly across her face. She dragged the hem of her jersey up—just enough to wipe sweat from her head.
White skin.
Hard muscle.
Defined abs tightening with the movement.
The crowd lost its mind.
Shouts. Whistles. Phones raised.
Ling didn't even glance at them.
Her eyes were on Rhea.
Rhea's jaw tightened as she looked anywhere but the court—anywhere but Ling's body on display like it meant nothing.
Ling smirked faintly.
Liar.
Free throw.
Ling bounced the ball once.
Silence fell.
She shot.
Clean.
No rim.
No mercy.
Mira sat with the group below, clapping just a second too eagerly, eyes fixed on Ling with something sharp and hungry. Ling didn't look at her.
She didn't need to.
Final minutes.
Score tied.
The opposing captain lunged. Ling blocked her effortlessly, stole the ball, sprinted down the court.
Heartbeat steady.
Mind clear.
For one split second, she felt it—Rhea's gaze finally on her, heavy, undeniable.
Ling didn't slow.
She jumped.
Released.
The ball cut through the air like judgment.
Swish.
Game over.
The arena exploded.
Ling stood still as her teammates swarmed her, sweat dripping from her jaw, chest rising slow and controlled. She looked up once more—just once.
Rhea was already standing.
Eyes unreadable. Expression cool.
But her fingers were clenched at her side.
Ling's smile was sharp and brief—gone before anyone could be sure it existed.
She turned away, accepting the cheers like they were owed, like this was nothing more than routine.
Inside, something burned.
Not doubt.
Not desire.
Control—tested, strained, but intact.
Lingling Kwong walked off the court undefeated, flawless as ever.
And Rhea Nior walked out pretending she hadn't watched every single move.