Chapter 57: Relying on Results, Not on Advertising

No. 3 High School, Combat Training Ground.

The fights on the field were in full swing. On the sidelines, Fang Ju stood in line, yawning incessantly, his eyes half-lidded, as though he’d been deprived of something—no, rather, as though he hadn’t gotten what he needed.

Damn it! Damn it! He’d been so vigilant, telling himself that stuff was unreliable, but in the end, he’d played anyway. He’d thought he’d only play for a little while, but before he knew it, “just a bit longer, just a bit longer” kept him up all night.

Heaven help him—today was packed with training, extra sessions, make-up classes, and a mountain of things to do. How was he supposed to survive on no sleep?

Fang Ju bemoaned his fate inwardly, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, until suddenly he realized it was his turn.

“Fang Ju, what’s with that half-asleep look?”

“Focus up—did you forget what’s riding on the match with Class Three? Don’t you dare let us down!”

Some cheered him on from the sidelines, while others snickered quietly.

“Tch, as if being in good shape means he’ll win…” his opponent scoffed, but the instant the referee’s hand dropped, he charged forward like a bargain-hunting auntie at a market.

A match with Class Three? Right—the bet with Class Three!

Fang Ju snapped awake.

Today’s fight wasn’t just a match—there was a wager at stake!

And what kind of wager could a group of teenagers who hadn’t even graduated make? It was the same old story: two boys from different classes vying for the affections of a round-faced, sweet-smiling girl, their rivalry stirring the boys on both sides to draw lines and take sides in a battle for pride.

The winning side would earn the right to confess openly after the college entrance exams—if they had the guts.

The losers would have to keep their feelings bottled up.

In truth, for a bunch of hot-blooded, bashful boys, such showdowns were all too common. There was even a good chance—say, eighty percent—that the girl herself had no idea any of this was happening; it was all an unseen struggle.

But that didn’t dampen the boys’ enthusiasm in the slightest. Like young men before a storm, they’d do anything to attract attention on the basketball or soccer field—even if it was all for nothing.

In any case, the fight began!

Fang Ju had only just remembered what was at stake when his opponent, sharp as ever, was already upon him.

His brain hadn’t caught up yet, but his body reacted instinctively. As his opponent charged, Fang Ju pivoted sideways, twisting his back toward the attack. The other boy, aiming for his throat, only managed to grab a solid, retreating back.

Before he could adjust his move, Fang Ju bent and straightened, driving his hips upward like a motorized piston.

The Class Three boy felt his arm tighten—then the force of Fang Ju’s back, rising like a pile driver, hurled him into the air with a powerful twist.

The world spun violently.

Hold steady, don’t panic—at a time like this, he could twist his waist like a cat and—

“Aaahhh—!”

Without warning, a jolt of electricity coursed through Fang Ju’s body from below.

His fire-seed weapon—a charged electric baton.

Normally, he might have endured it, but he was midair—his limbs seized, his body paralyzed.

When he finally came to, he was cradled in the referee’s arms like a princess.

If the referee hadn’t caught him, he’d probably have landed on his head—maybe making an impression in the floor, maybe flattening himself entirely.

“One-handed Tornado Over-the-Shoulder Throw!”

The entire gym was stunned.

Fang Ju, average in academics and combat, neither excelling nor lacking, had just executed an incredibly difficult technique!

“When did Fang Ju secretly master that move?”

“We all went through the same nine years of compulsory education—when did you get so good?”

Even the referee, awkwardly and politely setting him down, was surprised—let alone his classmates.

For these seniors, landing like a cat was nothing special, so a normal over-the-shoulder throw didn’t mean much. But a Tornado Over-the-Shoulder Throw—with one hand, no less—was something else entirely. It was as flashy as a windmill dunk on the basketball court, or a dazzling move on the soccer field abroad.

Everyone was so shocked, they forgot about the bet, forgot to boast to Class Three.

A one-handed Tornado Over-the-Shoulder Throw?

Was that really what he’d just done?

Not just the audience—even Fang Ju himself was stunned by his own display.

Last night, in the game, he’d pulled off several slick and practical moves—the one-handed Tornado Over-the-Shoulder Throw among them.

He’d never imagined he’d be able to use it so easily in real life.

With his mediocre fitness and skills, he’d never managed that move before in a real bout—especially not so cleanly and expertly.

“Want to know the secret to scoring higher on the college entrance exams?”

“Here, you’ll have infinite stamina, infinite lives, and just as many sparring partners…”

“Here, you’ll master combat techniques in the most efficient way possible—your progress will exceed your wildest dreams…”

“Don’t believe it? That’s fine. We don’t rely on advertising, only on results.”

“Want to know where to learn the best skills? China’s Sh—oops, sorry, got carried away.”

Unbidden, Fang Ju remembered the voice of that irreverent woman in the space—a devil’s whisper, tempting him.

He’d thought it was just a sales pitch; when he was woken from the game, he’d intended to resist buying. But now, he realized those temptations might have been real.

And that made them all the more dangerous.

==========

Imaginary Space—Fang Ju logged in.

He’d skipped class.

Well, not exactly—since it was already free study time, with the college entrance exam looming.

But with his parents’ ironclad surveillance, not following the jam-packed schedule at the school training ground was tantamount to skipping class.

But what could he do? Even before the disaster, knowing that skipping class to play games was a bad idea didn’t stop countless teens from braving the risks of addiction, electric therapy, or psychiatric wards.

Besides, this Imaginary Space game wasn’t just fun and addictive—it actually helped his grades!

“How much is this helmet…?”

He’d spent all of last night indulging in the game, determined not to buy, so he hadn’t even asked the price. Now he had to sneak off somewhere to ask.

His chosen hideout was Ye Chao’s house.

If he got caught, he could claim he was there to ask Ye Chao for help with a problem—his plan was solid, just like his face.

What he forgot—or perhaps deliberately ignored—was that Ye Chao was in extra training at this hour, and no one was home.

So, using the spare key, he let himself in, called out to the cat (which was at the training ground with Ye Chao), then made his way to the bed and logged into the Imaginary Space.

The fish had taken the bait!

Upon receiving the notification, Alpha Ji jolted upright, rubbing her hands together in excitement.

Why? Not only was Fang Ju her first customer, but she’d always felt that her emotional judgment system was best suited to—bargaining and haggling!

Since her creation, she’d never had the chance to fulfill that dream—romantic negotiations were a dead end, a one-way ticket to singlehood. Today, at last, she could put her skills into practice!

Alpha Ji was positively thrilled.

Meanwhile, downstairs at Ye Chao’s apartment—

“Central City, Second Gate, Eighth Ring, Alley 9:15, Apartment 503.” A man in a black suit, tie, sunglasses, and carrying a briefcase stopped, comparing the plaque at the alley’s entrance to the handwriting on a slip of paper. His gaze shifted to the fifth-floor window.

“You have to let it all go.

Fear, doubt, and disbelief.

Free your mind.”

His eyes grew resolute as he ascended the stairs.