The whistle blew.
And Ling Kwong owned the court.
From the very first sprint, it was clear — she wasn't just playing basketball, she was asserting dominance. Her movements were sharp, controlled, almost predatory. Every dribble hit the floor with intent. Every pass was precise. Every shot landed clean.
Flawless.
The crowd roared.
Ling leapt, spun, scored — again.
Sweat clung to her skin, her breath steady, eyes cold and focused. At one point she hooked her fingers under the hem of her jersey, wiping her face, unintentionally pulling it up just enough to reveal her toned abs.
The reaction was instant.
Gasps. Whistles. Girls screaming her name.
"LING—"
"KWONG—"
"Oh my god—"
A group of girls near the front leaned forward shamelessly, blowing kisses, shouting flirtatious nonsense.
"CAPTAIN, LOOK HERE!"
"STEP ON ME!"
"YOU'RE INSANE!"
Ling glanced at them mid-game.
Didn't slow down.
Didn't smile.
She raised her hand casually and showed them her middle finger.
The crowd erupted louder.
They laughed like it was a gift.
"She acknowledged us!"
"That's hot—"
Ling turned away immediately, uninterested, already back in motion, stealing the ball from the opposing captain like it was nothing.
To her, they were noise.
Disposable.
Rhea watched from the stands.
Every second felt like poison.
She hated the way Ling moved like she had never been hurt. Hated how effortless she looked. Hated how the world still bent toward her like nothing had changed.
And she hated — hated — the way others looked at her.
The way their eyes traced Ling's body.
The way they leaned closer.
The way they thought they had permission.
She used to look at me like that, Rhea thought bitterly.
Only me.
Her hands curled into fists in her lap.
Ling jumped again, muscles flexing, power undeniable — and Rhea's chest tightened painfully.
She remembered those hands.
Those arms.
The way Ling used to hold her like possession before affection, like claiming before confession.
Now those same arms were everywhere — public, admired, wanted.
And Rhea was nothing.
"She doesn't even see you," a girl near Rhea whispered to her friend. "Imagine being noticed by Ling Kwong."
Rhea's jaw clenched.
She noticed me enough to ruin me, Rhea thought.
On the court, Ling dunked hard, hanging for a fraction of a second before dropping cleanly to the floor.
The scoreboard flashed their lead.
Ling's team swarmed her, cheering.
She didn't celebrate.
She didn't look toward the stands.
Not once.
Not even when her eyes passed right over the section where Rhea sat.
That hurt more than anger ever could.
Rhea felt it then — sharp and humiliating.
Ling wasn't trying to hurt her by flirting.
Ling wasn't trying to provoke her.
Ling was simply moving on in front of everyone.
And the worst part?
She looked untouchable.
Rhea swallowed, eyes burning.
So this is how you destroy someone, she thought.
You don't scream. You don't explain.
You just let the world want you — and leave them behind.
The buzzer rang.
Half-time.
Ling walked off the court, sweat dripping down her neck, expression calm, ruthless, unreadable.
As she passed the benches, girls surged closer, calling out to her again.
Ling didn't slow.
Didn't glance.
Didn't care.
But for half a heartbeat — just one —
Her eyes flicked toward the stands.
And Rhea felt it.
Not warmth.
Not longing.
Recognition.
Then Ling looked away.
And Rhea knew:
This wasn't over.
It was escalation.
The game ended in chaos and applause.
Ling didn't stay for it.
She walked straight off the court, sweat still clinging to her skin, expression unreadable. In the locker room she changed quickly — black shirt, blazer back on, dominance sealed back into place. By the time she stepped into the academic wing, she was no longer the captain.
She was authority.
The classroom buzzed when she entered.
Ling didn't head to the student seats.
She walked straight to the front.
Straight to the professor's chair.
And sat.
One leg crossed over the other, elbow resting casually on the armrest like the room belonged to her — because it did.
Gasps. Nervous laughter. Shocked silence.
The professor hadn't arrived yet.
Ling smiled thinly.
"Well?" she said, eyes scanning the room lazily. "Why are you all standing like I committed a crime?"
No one answered.
Rina leaned against the front desk, amused. Mira perched on a table, swinging her leg. Rowen and Jian took seats nearby, grinning like spectators at an execution.
Rina laughed first. "Relax. She's just borrowing the chair."
Ling tilted her head, mock-thoughtful. "Borrowing implies I'll give it back."
A few students swallowed hard.
Ling's gaze locked onto a boy in the third row who had been whispering earlier.
"You," she said, pointing lightly. "What's your name?"
"Uh—A-Aram," he stammered.
Ling hummed. "Aram. You were talking during my game."
"I—I was just—"
She raised a finger.
He stopped.
"That's rude," Ling said calmly. "I play. You watch. That's the arrangement."
Rowen snorted. Jian laughed openly.
Ling leaned back further into the chair. "Tell me, Aram. Do you think you deserve to be in this university?"
The room froze.
Aram's face went pale. "Y-Yes?"
Ling smiled — sharp, merciless. "Convince me."
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Ling sighed dramatically. "Disappointing."
She looked around the room. "This is what fills our seats now? Noise with no spine?"
Mira clapped slowly. "Harsh, captain."
Ling glanced at her. "Truth isn't harsh. It's efficient."
Her eyes drifted — unintentionally — to the back rows.
Rhea sat there.
Quiet. Still. Watching.
Ling didn't react.
She turned back to the class.
"Here's today's lesson," Ling said coolly. "Power doesn't announce itself. It sits down and waits for everyone else to realize they're standing."
She tapped the armrest once.
"And fear?" she added. "Fear keeps you seated even when you're allowed to leave."
The door opened then.
The professor stepped in — froze instantly at the sight.
"Miss Kwong—"
Ling stood smoothly, unhurried, giving the chair back like a queen returning a borrowed crown.
"Relax," Ling said. "I was warming it for you."
The professor swallowed. "Please… take your seat."
Ling smiled politely.
She didn't go to the back.
She took the front row seat — center.
Rina, Mira, Rowen, and Jian followed suit, laughter soft but cruel.
As Ling sat, she felt it again.
Rhea's gaze.
Heavy. Unblinking.
Ling kept her eyes forward.
Look all you want, she thought coldly. You don't get access anymore.
Behind her, Rhea lowered her eyes slowly.
The class began.
But no one learned anything.
Because Ling Kwong had already taught the lesson.