In Ryonan Gymnasium, the echo of the basketball hitting the floor had not yet dissipated. Gu Jin wiped the sweat from his forehead; today's 500 shots were complete.

He had just picked up his towel, preparing to shower, when a heavy set of footsteps suddenly approached.

He looked back and saw a middle-aged man in a suit walking straight towards him, his shiny hair meticulously combed, yet unable to hide the arrogance in his eyes.

"Gu Jin," the man said, his tone as if he were ordering a subordinate.

"And you are?" Gu Jin frowned.

"Let me introduce myself, I am Miyamasu Zehei, Administrative Assistant to the Ryonan School Board," the man lifted his chin, pulling a document from his briefcase. "This is the transfer agreement to Ryokufu Middle School. Come and sign it."

"Transfer?" Gu Jin's voice suddenly turned cold. "I never said I wanted to transfer to Ryokufu."

Miyamasu Zehei scoffed, as if he had heard a joke: "You don't need to have an opinion, just sign it."

He was mentally calculating the benefits Fujisawa Eri had promised—establishing ten multimedia classrooms for Ryonan, and the payment that would allow him to buy a new car.

"Is this Chairman Shenmu's intention?" Gu Jin's gaze was icy, even dropping the honorific.

"You can understand it as the school's intention, understand?" Miyamasu Zehei pressed half a step closer, the document almost poking Gu Jin's face. "This is not something you can refuse."

"I won't sign," Gu Jin's voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable firmness.

"Won't sign? This matter is not up to you!" Miyamasu Zehei suddenly raised his voice. "If you don't sign, I can expel you directly!"

"Expel?" Gu Jin laughed, but the amusement didn't reach his eyes. "I haven't violated any school rules. Besides, with my scholarship student status, is it up to an assistant like you to expel me?"

"Scholarship student? I declare you are not one anymore!" Miyamasu Zehei gritted his teeth.

"Are you dreaming? Do you have the authority to strip me of my scholarship student status with a single word?" Gu Jin sneered.

Miyamasu Zehei was hit where it hurt, his face turning crimson. "What I say goes! Today, you will sign this, whether you want to or not!"

Before coming, he had lobbied several influential figures on the school board.

"I'll go talk to Chairman Shenmu," Gu Jin turned to leave.

"Go ahead!"

Miyamasu Zehei sneered triumphantly; Chairman Shenmu was in an important meeting today, so Gu Jin wouldn't be able to see him at all.

In his eyes, Gu Jin was just a high school student, easily manipulated like an ant.

"Then I'll wait until I see Chairman Shenmu," Gu Jin's steps didn't falter.

"Stop! Sign first!" Miyamasu Zehei reached out to grab him, his expression as if he had already pocketed the benefits.

"I advise you not to lay a hand on me, otherwise I don't care who you are!"

Gu Jin's voice carried an undeniable warning, his gaze, like tempered ice, fell on Miyamasu Zehei's outstretched hand.

Miyamasu Zehei's movement paused, a flicker of offended anger crossing his face, which then turned into a disdainful sneer.

He withdrew his hand, straightening his suit cuff, as if his previous action was merely to brush off a speck of dust.

In his view, Gu Jin was just bluffing; how could a student, no matter how defiant, actually lay hands on a school board assistant?

He became even more convinced that his judgment was correct—during the last school board meeting, when someone proposed using Gu Jin to gain those ten multimedia classrooms, Chairman Shenmu remained silent throughout, neither objecting nor agreeing.

In Miyamasu Zehei's eyes, this was tacit approval, a belief that Gu Jin, as a pawn, was far less important than tangible teaching facilities.

He couldn't have imagined how much deliberation was hidden within Chairman Shenmu's seemingly nonchalant silence.

A businessman's keenness allowed him to see the commercial value behind Gu Jin, and an educator's foresight made him realize that the reputation and cohesion a talented player who could lead a team to the National Tournament could bring to the school were something no number of classrooms could buy.

Miyamasu Zehei stepped closer, once again presenting the document to Gu Jin, his tone filled with a condescending impatience: "Don't be ungrateful. Just a basketball player, do you really think you're someone important? There are plenty of clubs at school; if one basketball player is gone, the sky won't fall."

He paused, lowering his voice, with a hint of boastful triumph, "Do you think Chairman Shenmu cares about you? When this was brought up at the last meeting, he didn't say a single word—isn't that clear enough?"

Gu Jin looked at his face, filled with short-sightedness and greed, and said nothing more, his eyes only growing colder.

He knew that talking more with someone who couldn't even grasp the importance of basketball in Japanese schools was useless.

In Japan, basketball had long transcended the realm of mere sports, becoming a cultural symbol deeply embedded in the fabric of schools and even society.

From middle school to high school, the strength of a basketball team directly reflected the school's prestige—the outcomes of regional leagues would appear in local newspapers, and National Tournament events could even occupy a third of mainstream newspaper pages.

Many schools rose to prominence because of a top-tier basketball team, becoming "star schools" in the public eye. This reputation, built on victories, allowed schools to establish themselves in the education sector more effectively than any hardware facilities.

For Ryonan, winning the championship would by no means be solely the result of the team's solitary efforts: the entire school staff and students would stand tall with pride, alumni would boast of their "championship alma mater," and it would attract the attention of local businesses and even large conglomerates—they would vie to associate with this honor by sponsoring the team and training facilities, providing the school with continuous resource support. This commercial value and social attention were simply incomparable to Miyamasu Zehei's ten multimedia classrooms.

This was a consensus ingrained in Japanese school culture: basketball victories have always been a "golden calling card" that brings tangible benefits and long-term development to schools.

Seeing Gu Jin's silence, Miyamasu Zehei assumed he was scared and reached out to grab Gu Jin's arm, trying to force the pen into his hand: "Sign it! Don't make me say it a second time."

His fingers were just about to touch Gu Jin's sleeve when Gu Jin sharply dodged, simultaneously raising his hand to block. Miyamasu Zehei felt a jolt in his wrist, and the pen in his hand clattered to the floor, rolling far away.

"I told you, don't lay a hand on me," Gu Jin's voice was calm, yet carried a suppressive force that made one dare not act rashly again.

Miyamasu Zehei was both startled and enraged, clutching his numb wrist, momentarily forgetting to react.

He had never imagined that a student would actually fight back, nor had he expected the other's movements to be so swift.

Just then, the gymnasium door was pushed open with a bang, and the enraged figure of Taoka Moichi appeared at the doorway. He had heard the argument in the corridor just now, and seeing Miyamasu Zehei's posture towards Gu Jin, he was furious.

"Miyamasu Zehei! What are you doing!" Taoka Moichi's roar echoed through the gymnasium, making ears ring.