Early the next morning, Cheng Che took the bottle of [Perfect Eye Drops] out of his drawer.
He tilted his head back and put one drop in each eye. They felt cool, like mountain spring water flowing through his eye sockets.
He kept his eyes closed for three minutes before slowly opening them.
The world looked as though someone had wiped it down with a damp cloth.
The distant mountains outside his window, the white steam rising from the breakfast stall downstairs, the orange cat dozing on the balcony opposite-all of it was crystal clear. He could even make out the little notch missing from the cat's ear.
Cheng Che blinked.
"That fast? Surely this isn't really just a placebo effect..."
He walked onto the balcony and looked into the distance.
The lettering on the sign for the Old Ma Noodle Shop at the street corner used to look a little blurry from this spot.
Now, even Old Ma's greasy face was clearly visible.
He took a deep breath and went back inside to wash up.
After breakfast, he sat down at his desk and began studying.
From six to nine, three hours, he didn't waste a moment.
He completed an English listening test and checked his answers, getting only one wrong. Then he worked through half a comprehensive science paper, his accuracy another notch higher than it had been over the past two weeks.
He hadn't activated Total Concentration.
He relied solely on his 70 intelligence and [Comprehension by Analogy].
The knowledge he had learned seemed to have been combed through anew. Things he had previously memorized by rote now automatically linked into a web in his mind.
Solving one problem brought to mind another rooted in the same principle; memorizing a formula naturally made him think of how it could be applied in other subjects.
This feeling was even more addictive than Total Concentration.
At nine sharp, Cheng Che closed his book, picked up his tennis bag, and headed out.
He was going to the tennis center today.
His ability had reached professional level, but he had yet to test it on an actual court.
Old Chen had messaged him last week, saying a few skilled players had recently come to the center and inviting him back when he had time.
Since it happened to be Saturday, Cheng Che had agreed.
The tennis center at the Spring City Sports Center.
The morning session was already bustling, with people practicing on several courts. Wearing a dark polo shirt, Old Chen was showing a middle-aged man around.
"Coach Qin, look at these courts. Brand-new surfacing, and the lighting's been adjusted to tournament standards too. What do you think? Pretty happy with it?"
The middle-aged man was named Qin Lie. He was in his early forties, with very short hair, darkish skin, and an upright bearing.
He habitually leaned slightly forward as he walked, as though ready to spring after a ball at any moment.
Qin Lie nodded, but his tone held a hint of resignation.
"Old Chen, the courts are good. But let me be frank: tennis doesn't make money in Spring City, or even in our country as a whole. It's niche, nobody watches it, and men's tennis doesn't have anyone who can carry the flag. If you don't branch out into something else here, you might as well turn the place into a gym."
Old Chen bristled.
"Niche or not, that doesn't matter. If someone really came along who could get results at major tournaments, tennis would climb several rungs in this country, at the very least."
Qin Lie shook his head.
"Results at major tournaments? Do you know how hard that is? How many of our countrymen have you ever seen so much as a shadow of in a Grand Slam final? And then there's the environment here... You and I both know what certain nongovernmental associations are like. If a genuinely talented prospect emerges, they sweet-talk them into signing a contract first. Once it's signed, they're stingy with the money, and the player even has to front their own training expenses. The people at the top don't understand business or tennis. All they know how to do is sit in their offices issuing documents."
By the end, his temper had flared.
Old Chen wasn't annoyed after hearing him out. He merely looked at him with a broad smile.
"That's why I brought you here, isn't it? You, Qin Lie, have actually worked at an international sports company. In management, business, and connections, you're miles ahead of those people."
Qin Lie caught on and glanced at him. "You've got a promising prospect?"
Old Chen nodded.
"What results?"
Old Chen hesitated. "None."
Qin Lie: "?"
"But he's extraordinarily gifted," Old Chen hurriedly added. "I've never seen anyone this freakish before. A senior in high school, only picked up tennis two months ago. He hit a couple of balls with me, then practiced by himself in the park for an hour every day. And guess what? The way he played, his technique, his feel for the ball-it was like he'd become a different person."
Old Chen knew Cheng Che practiced on his own, but he didn't know Cheng Che's ability had already reached professional level.
Still, he felt talent like Cheng Che's shouldn't go to waste.
As long as he showed his talent, Qin Lie would definitely take him on, and then he would be able to realize his potential.
Qin Lie's brow furrowed deeper and deeper. "Old Chen, are you pulling my leg? Two months, an hour practicing in the park every day, and you can't beat him?"
"Every word is true."
"Impossible." Qin Lie shook his head. "That's a monster, not a human."
Old Chen was about to say something when a clear, bright voice came from behind him.
"Brother Chen."
Both men turned.
A teenage boy walked through the entrance with a tennis bag on his back.
He wore a white T-shirt and black athletic shorts, his exposed arms and calves lean, firm, and long.
He stood 180 centimeters tall, with broad shoulders and long legs. His back was straight as he walked, but not stiff.
Looking higher, his features were handsome and refined, his skin fair and clear, his eyes dark and bright. His jet-black hair shone, a few loose strands sticking up slightly in the breeze.
The morning sunlight streamed in behind him, bathing his entire figure in an exceptionally soft glow.
Qin Lie's gaze changed.
He had thought Old Chen's "extraordinarily gifted" prospect would, at most, be some self-taught kid who could run and jump.
But just standing there, the boy before him looked more like a star than the vast majority of professional players he had seen over the years.
No, not merely looked like one.
He was the type who, even if his tennis was average, could land endorsements, shoot commercials, and appear in magazines on the strength of that face and physique alone.
Sports were also a business.
Someone with looks like these would definitely be able to make a living, as long as his skills weren't too awful to watch.
If his skills really were as outrageous as Old Chen claimed...
Qin Lie's heart quickened ever so slightly.
"Who's this?" he asked quietly.
Old Chen didn't answer. He was already striding over.
"Cheng Che! You finally made it, kid!" As Old Chen approached, he suddenly stopped short, his eyes going wide. "Holy shit, did you get plastic surgery?"
Cheng Che: "...Brother Chen, have you ever seen anyone get their stitches out this soon after plastic surgery?"
"Then how have you gotten even better-looking?" Old Chen circled him. "Not just better-looking, taller too. Last time I saw you, you only came up to the tip of my nose. Now you're up to my eyebrows, aren't you? Even a boy's eighteen transformations shouldn't be like this."
Cheng Che smiled without answering.
Old Chen composed himself and grew serious.
"Come on, let me introduce you. This is Qin Lie, Coach Qin. A former professional player who later joined a sports agency overseas, specializing in scouting and signing tennis players. Haven't you always wanted to test your level? Play a match against him."
Cheng Che's eyes lit up.
A professional player.
Those words set the blood throughout his body running hot.
He put down his tennis bag, unzipped it, and took out his old racket.
"Hello, Coach Qin."
He walked up to Qin Lie and bowed slightly.
Qin Lie had already put away his earlier shock and looked him up and down. "Old Chen's been talking you up like you're some kind of monster. Don't be nervous. We'll just hit a few balls and get a feel for things."
Cheng Che tightened his grip on his racket and shook his head earnestly. "No, Coach Qin. Let's play it as a match."
He raised his head, his eyes bright.
"Only winning or losing matters."
Qin Lie froze for a moment, then smiled.
"Good. You've got ambition." He drew his own racket from his bag and loosened his wrist. "Then let's play seriously. I won't go easy on you just because you're a student."
The two stepped onto the court.
Cheng Che walked toward the baseline.
He held his racket in one hand, its head pointing toward the ground, his body leaning slightly forward.
Morning sunlight slanted through the windows, illuminating his entire figure clearly.
He took a deep breath.
[Total Concentration activated.]
[Ever-Full Power Reserves] circulated throughout his body, warming up every muscle.
[Enduring Progress Without Fail] sank into his marrow, fully preparing him for a sustained contest.
He tossed the ball with his left hand.
Across the court, Qin Lie's gaze suddenly sharpened.
The boy's service motion was so textbook that even he, a former professional player, couldn't find a fault.
Toss, rotation, arched back, leg drive, swing-all flowed together in a single movement, power surging from the soles of his feet straight into his racket.
The ball vanished.
A second later, a streak of yellow-green light slammed into Qin Lie's backhand side.
Qin Lie's pupils contracted sharply.
He moved sideways on reflex, turned his wrist, and barely managed to block the ball back.
The vibration through his racket left his palm slightly numb.
That speed, that power, that angle...
"Not bad at all," Qin Lie said quietly, his hands trembling slightly with excitement.
He looked at the boy across the court.
Cheng Che had already returned to the center, his center of gravity lowered slightly, like a leopard locked onto its target.
Qin Lie licked his lips and tightened his grip on his racket.
Suddenly, he felt a little excited.
Perhaps, this time, Old Chen really hadn't been bragging.