The referee was still speaking to the officials, voices low, hands gesturing at the clock.
The crowd buzzed—half celebration, half confusion.
Ling didn't look at any of it.
She walked back toward Rhea, slow and deliberate, boots steady against the grass. The noise faded for her until there was only the space between them.
"It was your game," Ling said quietly, stopping a step away. Not accusation. Recognition.
Rhea pushed herself fully upright, brushing grass from her palms. Her lips curved—not smug, not kind.
"You lost," she replied calmly. "No results needed."
Ling's eyes flicked once—briefly—to the scoreboard still blinking uncertainly. Then back to Rhea.
"We'll see," Ling said.
Rhea tilted her head. "You stopped for me."
Ling leaned in just enough for the words to belong only to them. "You wanted me to."
Rhea's smile sharpened. "And you did."
Ling's jaw tightened. "Once."
"Enough," Rhea said softly.
They stood there—too close, too still—while the stadium waited behind them.
"If it counts," Ling continued, voice light, taunting, "I'll see you kiss me."
Ling's gaze dropped to Rhea's mouth for a fraction of a second before she caught herself.
"And if it doesn't," Rhea replied evenly, "you'll say my words. You think you still have control."
Ling straightened, posture snapping back into command. "I know I do."
A whistle cut through the tension—sharp, demanding attention.
The referee raised the mic again.
The crowd hushed.
Ling and Rhea didn't move.
Didn't look away.
Didn't break first.
Because whatever the result was about to be—
both of them already knew—
the game had never really been about the score.
Ling's eyes didn't soften. They sharpened.
The referee raised the mic.
The stadium hushed instantly.
"We will now review the final play," the referee announced.
A massive screen lit up above the court.
The clip rolled.
The timer appeared in the corner.
00:56
The ball left Ling's foot.
The crowd leaned forward as one body.
The next frame—
The ball hit the net.
59 seconds.
For half a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then the referee spoke, voice clear, final.
"The goal was scored within the one-minute limit."
The stadium exploded.
Cheers tore through the air, shaking the stands, drowning everything else.
Ling didn't react to the noise.
She looked only at Rhea.
Rhea's smile didn't fade — but it froze.
Ling stepped closer, stopping just inches away. Her voice was low, controlled, unmistakable.
"You lost."
Rhea lifted her chin, pride intact despite the crack beneath it. "So?"
Ling leaned in, close enough that only Rhea could hear.
"For one full minute," Ling said evenly, "you do what I said."
Rhea's eyes darkened. Defiant. Unyielding.
"And you," Rhea replied just as softly, "still think this ends with control."
Ling straightened, already turning toward the center of the field — toward the crowd that was chanting her name.
"It hasn't even started."
"I won't," Rhea said.
Clear. Flat. Final.
Ling stopped.
Slowly, she turned back, one brow lifting—not angry, not surprised. Curious. Amused.
Rhea's jaw tightened. Her fingers curled at her sides. The defiance wavered just enough to give her away.
"…Not here," Rhea added, voice lower now. "I mean—I'll do it. A minute."
A pause, breath uneven.
"But not here."
Something flickered across Ling's face.
Recognition.
Shyness? Fear? Pride cracking under too many eyes?
Whatever it was—Ling saw it. And it pleased her.
Rhea was shaking. Just slightly. Enough.
Ling stepped closer, the crowd still roaring, cameras still raised. She smiled—not sharp, not cruel.
Warm. Dangerous.
Before Rhea could react, Ling leaned in and kissed her cheek.
Not hurried. Not stolen.
Deliberate.
The stadium gasped.
Rhea froze, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat. Heat rushed to her face, humiliation and something else twisting together in her chest.
Ling pulled back, satisfied.
"That," Ling said calmly, loud enough for the mics to catch, "was public."
She leaned closer again, voice dropping so only Rhea could hear.
"The rest doesn't have to be."
Rhea swallowed.
Ling straightened and turned away, already walking toward the exit as if the world hadn't just tilted.
"Tomorrow," Ling said over her shoulder.
"Ten p.m. Dinner. My mansion."
She paused once. Just once.
"After that," she added, unhurried, inevitable,
"one full minute."
Then she left the field.
The crowd was still screaming.
Rhea stood rooted to the grass, cheek burning where Ling's lips had been—
realizing too late that she hadn't delayed the kiss.
She had only postponed the moment
when no one would be watching
except Ling Kwong.
Ling returned to the mansion with the noise of the stadium still echoing somewhere behind her ribs.
She barely made it past the hallway when Rina appeared, arms folded, eyes bright with trouble.
"So," Rina drawled, walking backward in front of Ling, "the great Ling Kwong kisses cheeks now?"
Ling didn't stop walking. "Move."
Rina laughed. "You smiled."
Ling paused.
Just for a second.
Rina caught it. Of course she did.
"Oh," Rina said softly, delighted. "You smiled."
Ling's ears warmed. She looked away, jaw tightening, composure slipping in small, dangerous ways. "It was nothing."
"Nothing?" Rina scoffed. "The entire university saw you claim a girl on the field and you're calling it nothing?"
Ling exhaled through her nose. Annoyed. Exposed.
Rina leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You're blushing."
"I am not."
"You are," Rina said smugly. "And you look… happy."
Ling didn't deny it this time.
They reached the stairs. Ling stopped there, fingers brushing the railing, her smile faint but unmistakable—softened, unguarded, gone as soon as it appeared.
Rina tilted her head. "So," she asked casually,
"what's the plan?"
Ling's gaze drifted somewhere distant—forward, calculated, already arranging the evening in her mind.
"Dinner," Ling said. "Controlled. Quiet."
Rina raised a brow. "And after?"
Ling's lips curved, just barely.
"Sixty seconds."
Rina burst out laughing. "You're doomed."
Ling shook her head, amused despite herself. "No."
She started up the stairs, voice calm, certain.
"She is."
"By the way," Rina said casually, far too casually, "Dadi's waiting."
Ling stopped, then nodded once. "I'm coming. After a shower."
Rina's smile turned knowing. "Sure. Take your time."
Ling didn't answer. She disappeared into her room and closed the door behind her, the click louder than it needed to be.
The shower steamed quickly.
Warm water hit her shoulders, slid down her spine, loosened muscles that had been tight for days. Ling rested her forehead briefly against the cool tile, eyes closed.
And then—
uninvited, relentless—
Rhea's face.
The field.
The net.
The fall.
That smile in the last ten seconds.
Ling's lips curved despite herself.
She replayed everything, backward and forward—the taunts, the way Rhea said you lost like she was already rewriting fate, the shock in her eyes when the goal hit at fifty-nine seconds.
Then the cheek.
The way Rhea froze.
The way her breath caught.
Ling's throat tightened.
"Idiot," she muttered to herself, but there was no bite in it.
Heat crept up her neck. She turned the water cooler, but it didn't help. Her mind kept circling one moment in particular—Rhea standing there, shaking just slightly, asking not here.
Not refusal.
Delay.
Ling exhaled slowly, grounding herself.
Tomorrow.
Ten p.m.
Her mansion.
The thought sent another flush across her cheeks. She straightened, forcing control back into place, reminding herself who she was.
Still—
when she finally turned off the water,
the smile was still there.
And it followed her out of the shower,
down the corridor,
toward Dadi—
who would absolutely notice everything.