“Eri, how did we play today?” Mike Okita swung his towel, sweat dripping down his jawline, his excitement practically overflowing.

Fujisawa Eri tidied her wind-blown hair, a faint smile playing on her lips: “You played well. The whole team is having a barbecue tonight, my treat.”

“Oh! That’s great!” The players’ cheers erupted instantly, and they swarmed towards the locker room, their green jerseys a flowing block of color in the corridor.

Fujisawa Eri asked her assistant to arrange the restaurant first, while she lagged a step behind, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the cuff of her tracksuit—the stitching there was a bit frayed, just like the Ryonan Team uniform Gu Jin often wore.

As she reached the corridor outside the gymnasium, a familiar figure suddenly came into view.

Gu Jin was leaning on a crutch, moving slowly, one step at a time. Aida Hikoichi followed beside him: “Gu Jin, I’ll go buy it, you just sit and wait!”

“I need to get some exercise too, besides, I’m thirsty!” Gu Jin waved his hand, joking.

The Sakuragi Legion members were also nearby, waving in their direction.

Gu Jin didn’t let Hikoichi help him, slowly moving towards the vending machine, his back looking a bit thin.

Fujisawa Eri’s heart felt as if something had suddenly squeezed it tight, and a sharp pain spread through her veins.

“Gu Jin?” She called out subconsciously, her voice trembling in a way she didn’t even notice.

Seeing that he didn’t turn around, she quickly caught up and called out again: “Gu Jin!”

Gu Jin finally stopped, slowly turning around.

Sunlight fell on his face, revealing the fine sweat on his forehead. “Miss Fujisawa?” He frowned slightly, his tone as indifferent as if he were speaking to a stranger, “Is something wrong?”

“Your leg…” Her gaze was fixed on his heavily bandaged left knee, her voice trembling uncontrollably, “What happened?”

“Oh,” he said, as if just remembering, his tone so casual it was almost an understatement, “I got a bit injured during the game. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.” With that, he turned around, the ‘thump-thump’ of his crutch hitting the ground, striking Fujisawa Eri’s heart with each sound.

“Gu Jin!” She quickly took a step forward, almost blurting out, “Have you been to the hospital? What did the doctor say? I know the best sports rehabilitation doctor, I can help you contact them…”

“I appreciate the thought.” His voice came from a few steps away, leaving no room for negotiation, “But it’s really nothing.”

His footsteps gradually faded away.

Fujisawa Eri stood rooted to the spot, watching his back disappear around the corridor corner, her eyes suddenly burning, and tears welled up without warning.

She didn’t know why she was crying—was it anger at his indifference, anger that he wouldn’t even say an extra word?

Or was it pity for him leaning on a crutch, pity that he was clearly sweating from pain but still tried to act as if nothing was wrong?

All the feelings she had forcefully suppressed, like a breached dam, instantly overwhelmed her.

“Eri, why are you crying?” Mike Okita walked out, having changed his clothes, and seeing her red eyes, he instantly bristled, “Who bullied you?!”

“No, no…” She hastily wiped away her tears, her voice still thick with a nasal tone.

Mike Okita followed her gaze and saw Gu Jin’s figure turning into the end of the corridor, his eyes instantly flaring with anger.

“Is it that jerk Gu Jin?!” He didn’t even notice the crutch in Gu Jin’s hand, assuming the other person had made someone he cared about cry. He immediately rolled up his sleeves and charged over, “You stop right there! How dare you bully Eri, get back here and apologize now!”

“Mike, stop!” Fujisawa Eri rushed to pull him back, but he shook her off.

Just then, the Sakuragi Legion from across the way witnessed the scene.

Mito Yohei’s eyes narrowed, reacting like a cheetah. Almost at the moment Mike Okita lifted his foot to charge, Yohei sprinted over and forcefully pushed Mike Okita away: “What are you doing?!”

Takamiya Nozomi and Oonan Yuuji also immediately surrounded them, rolling up their sleeves and shouting: “What do you want, you blond monkey? You want to hit Gu Jin?!”

The air in the corridor instantly became tense.

Mike Okita stumbled back half a step from Mito Yohei’s push, his rage completely severing his reason. He roared and swung his arm, crashing into the other person: “Get lost!”

Mito Yohei didn’t even raise an eyelid. His body suddenly slid back half a step to the side—this half-step was perfectly timed, not only dodging Mike Okita’s forceful charge but also causing the opponent’s center of gravity to tilt completely forward.

He didn’t speak, but the moment Mike Okita stumbled, his left hand lightning-fast seized the opponent’s swinging wrist, and his right elbow bent, pushing with all his might into Mike Okita’s ribs.

“Ugh!” Mike Okita bent over in pain. Relying on his 195 cm height advantage, he clenched his other hand into a fist and swung it with a whoosh towards Mito Yohei’s head.

But Mito Yohei, like a loach, ducked and slipped under his armpit, his left hand still firmly gripping his wrist, and his right hand flipped upwards along the inside of the opponent’s arm, his fist precisely hitting Mike Okita’s ulnar nerve at the elbow.

With a “smack,” Mike Okita’s fist instantly went limp.

Mito Yohei didn’t give the opponent a chance to breathe. His left foot hooked between Mike Okita’s legs, he yanked it back hard, while simultaneously pulling the wrist he held forcefully upwards and to the side.

The 195 cm giant seemed to have his bones pulled out, his center of gravity completely lost. With a “thud,” he crashed into the corridor wall, the impact shaking the wall tiles.

“You’re asking for it!” Mike Okita, enraged and humiliated, turned to kick out.

Mito Yohei had already used the wall to spring back, and as he landed, he casually grabbed a nearby mop handle. Instead of swinging it, he used the end of the handle to precisely poke Mike Okita in the back of his knee.

Another muffled grunt, and Mike Okita knelt on one knee.

Only then did he realize that the short guy in front of him, barely 160-something centimeters tall, had eyes as cold as ice, and movements so fast he couldn’t even discern the technique—every move avoided brute force, specifically targeting weak points like joints and nerve points. Despite a height difference of nearly thirty centimeters, he was being spun around like a puppet.

“Yohei!” Takamiya Nozomi and Oonan Yuuji watched in stunned silence, only then realizing they needed to step forward.

Mito Yohei, however, raised a hand to stop them, looking at Mike Okita with an icy voice: “Move again, and it won’t be as simple as these few hits.”

Mike Okita gasped for breath, veins bulging on his forehead, but found himself dizzy from being thrown around.

He finally realized that this short guy in front of him was not an opponent that could be dealt with by brute force—that was the ruthlessness and precision honed on the streets, every step calculated with an escape route and a weakness, ten times more terrifying than defensive predictions on the court.

When Fujisawa Eri rushed over, her voice, filled with anger, was distorted: “Stop! Everyone, stop! Mike, you’re too impulsive. Gu Jin didn’t provoke me at all, besides, can’t you see he’s injured?!”

Mike Okita gritted his teeth, his molars almost shattering, only a furious roar remaining in his heart: Can’t you see that I’m injured now?!