A system notification suddenly popped up in his mind: [Detected that the host is being completely dominated. Would you like to redeem a tennis-related skill?]
Song Shi'an braced his hands on his knees, panting, and prodded the system with his mind. "What skill?"
[Basic Tennis Technique. Redeemable for just 20,000 Affection Points.]
Song Shi'an did the math. After spending 20,000 Affection Points, he would still have over 30,000 left.
If he couldn't reclaim his pride here, he would get beaten into the ground every week in class from now on.
"Redeem it."
[Congratulations to the host on successfully redeeming Basic Tennis Technique. Remaining Affection Points: 36,800.]
A warm current surged out of his brain, traveled down his cervical spine, flowed through his shoulders, arms, and wrists, and finally pooled in the fingertips gripping his racket.
The grip that had felt awkward just moments ago now felt perfectly natural.
Standing across from him, Cheng Haotian twirled his racket. "What are you spacing out for? Can't keep going already?"
Song Shi'an took off his mask. His face was covered in sweat, damp strands of hair clung to his temples, and a faint flush colored his cheeks from the exercise.
He folded his mask, slipped it into his trouser pocket, and raised his head.
Their surroundings fell silent for a moment. The water bottle in Zhang Yuanyuan's hand stopped in midair, and several girls chatting nearby looked over at the same time.
Their gazes all landed in the same direction.
Song Shi'an looked at Cheng Haotian. "But is bullying a beginner something to be proud of when you're a club member?"
Cheng Haotian's expression darkened. "We're just practicing. I'm not bullying you."
Song Shi'an said nothing more. He walked to the receiving position and planted his feet, bending his knees slightly, lowering his center of gravity, and naturally relaxing the wrist of his racket hand.
Basic Tennis Technique had already etched the standard ready stance into his muscle memory.
Cheng Haotian served, sending the ball even faster than before.
Song Shi'an's feet moved ahead of time. He turned sideways, drew back his racket, and drove a flat backhand into the ball. The sweet spot struck its center precisely with a crisp crack.
The ball shot back into the opposite half even faster, slamming into the edge of the baseline.
Cheng Haotian swung a beat too late. The ball had already bounced away.
He gritted his teeth and put more force into the next ball. The two traded shots from the baseline, the ball whizzing back and forth above the net tape.
Song Shi'an returned every shot steadily.
On the final shot, Cheng Haotian played a drop shot near the net, trying to leave him stranded.
Song Shi'an anticipated it. He pushed off hard and shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.
His strides were long and powerful, carrying him to the net a second before the ball's second bounce.
He dropped his center of gravity sharply, his knees nearly touching the ground, and his racket precisely scooped up the ball from an extremely low angle just as it was about to hit the ground.
Then, riding the momentum of his sprint, he leaped into the air.
His jump wasn't astonishingly high, but in that instant of suspension, he drew his arm back, tightened his core, and held his wrist straight, his entire body forming a smooth arc in the air.
The wind lifted the hem of his white short-sleeved shirt, exposing a small patch of firm waist and abdomen.
Then he twisted sharply, channeling the strength of his whole body from his core to his shoulder, from his shoulder to his arm, and finally into the racket's sweet spot as he smashed down hard.
The ball slammed just inside the baseline on Cheng Haotian's side like a white cannonball, slicing through the air with a piercing whistle as it bounced.
Cheng Haotian stood rooted to the spot, not even managing to swing.
The entire tennis court fell silent for two seconds.
"Great shot!" Zhang Yuanyuan was the first to shout.
Coach Ma had been drinking water nearby. At the sight of that smash, his bottle stopped at his lips.
From chasing balls all over the court during the first half of class to that textbook jumping smash just now, his rate of improvement hardly seemed human.
He lowered his water bottle and wrote something in his notebook.
Song Shi'an landed near the net, panting. The hair over his forehead was soaked with sweat, and his face was flushed from the intense exercise.
He grinned across the court. "Thanks for going easy on me, Cheng."
Cheng Haotian tucked his racket under his arm and walked off to the sidelines for water, his face expressionless.
Zhang Yuanyuan ran over and handed Song Shi'an a bottle of water, unable to hide the admiration on her face.
Coach Ma came over too and looked him up and down. "Have you trained before?"
"No. Today's my first time holding a racket."
Coach Ma fell silent for two seconds, then patted his shoulder. "All right. Keep practicing hard this semester. You've got a lot of potential."
Song Shi'an nodded obediently.
When Chi Xun scrolled across the video, he was curled up in his chair eating chips.
He had no classes that afternoon and was browsing Xu Che's latest content on D Station as usual.
Among the homepage recommendations was a video whose thumbnail showed a boy in a white T-shirt bent over on a tennis court, panting. His cap was pulled low and a mask covered his face. One look was enough to tell he was getting thoroughly thrashed.
The title read, "Caught a handsome guy getting destroyed in tennis class-then he took off his mask and everyone went silent."
That's some serious clickbait, Chi Xun thought, but his finger honestly tapped it anyway.
The video had clearly been shot on a phone. The resolution was low, and with the person in frame constantly running around and the camera shaking back and forth, his face was a blur.
He could barely make out a tall boy chasing balls all over the court, missing as many as he returned. He was certainly putting his all into it, but his footwork couldn't keep up at all.
The guy in the blue T-shirt opposite him served hard and at vicious angles, every stroke carrying an undisguised air of domination.
Chi Xun chewed his chips, thinking how pitiful the guy was. Then the boy on-screen braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath and reached up to take off his mask.
The image was still blurry. Whoever was filming was probably sitting far away, and the resolution was too low to make out his features.
But when that outline emerged through the blurry footage, the chip fell out of Chi Xun's mouth.
He jerked upright, not even caring about the chip crumbs scattered all over his trousers.
Wait, why does this guy look so familiar? He brought his phone closer. The person in the video had already moved into the receiving position, his stance utterly different from before.
His opponent served. He turned sideways, drew back his racket, and hit a flat backhand that slammed into the edge of the baseline. A series of rallies followed, ending with a sprint to the net and a leaping smash, the entire sequence flowing in one seamless motion.
That build, that white T-shirt, those black athletic shorts-Chi Xun had watched Song Shi'an leave in that exact outfit with his own eyes this afternoon.
The barrage of comments exploded after the smash.
"??????"
"Wait, who's this guy??"
"Getting destroyed at first, then activating cheats-what kind of power-fantasy plot is this?"
"Uploader, can you please do something about this resolution!!!"
"Why is the blurry look actually doing even more for me?"
"Can't see his face, but that build, that jump, that smash-I'm dead."
Chi Xun forwarded the video straight to the dorm group chat, stabbing at his screen so hard he nearly shattered the tempered-glass protector. "Shi'an! Is this you?! You're blowing up on D Station!!!"
Song Shi'an had just finished class. He washed his face in the restroom and headed back.
His phone kept vibrating in his trouser pocket until his thigh was going numb.
He took it out and looked. Messages from the dorm group filled the screen, the latest one a video link from Chi Xun.
What did he mean, blowing up on D Station?
He opened the video and watched it from beginning to end. In the first half, Cheng Haotian had led him around the entire court for fun. His returns were all awkward and crooked, and several times he had nearly tripped over his own feet.
So he really had played that badly before. From a spectator's perspective, he looked utterly pathetic.
In the second half, he took off his mask, the system skill kicked in, and he executed the leaping smash in one seamless motion.