Zheng stood on the court, trying to steady his breath despite the rapid pounding of his heart. His eyes were fixed on Jian, who stood just a few feet away, calm and composed as always. The third quarter was nearing its midpoint, and the scoreboard showed a twelve-point gap.
Zheng clenched his fists as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Was it still the sa? The gap between them?
His mind drifted back to that day years ago. The first ti, he'd asked Jian to play. How easily he'd been defeated.
He lost, and he watched as Jian walked away from him like it was nothing. However, Zheng had said sothing that day—sothing that stuck with him.
"I'll et you there soday," he had told Jian after their one-on-one match.
Jian had raised an eyebrow at him, not turning around. His hand had waved carelessly over his shoulder.
"Got it," Jian had said, his voice nonchalant, almost amused. He had probably heard those words countless tis before from other players who thought they could challenge him. But sothing in the way Zheng said it must have struck a chord, if only for a mont.
Still, they hadn't played against each other again. Not for two whole years. Jian kept rising through the ranks, his na becoming more well-known with every ga.
anwhile, Zheng toiled away in the background, constantly pushing himself, constantly working harder.
And then, last year, they t again in the Nationals. Zheng had just made it into the Elite Five. He rembered the satisfaction that had co with it, the feeling that he was finally catching up.
"I made it," Zheng had told himself that day, standing tall with the title of Elite hanging above him. Jian, of course, had already been part of the Elite for a year. Two bi-annuals—to be exact.
Zheng had felt confident going into that ga. They had trained harder than ever, preparing ticulously down to the last detail. That was supposed to be the mont he proved that hard work could stand toe-to-toe with natural talent. But even with the team's efforts, even with everything Zheng had given, they still lost.
The ga had been close, closer than anyone had expected. But it wasn't close enough. In the end, Jian's team erged victorious, and the gap between them remained.
After that, they played a few more gas—friendly matches, casual ones that Jian probably treated as nothing more than practice. But Zheng took them seriously.
Every ti they stepped onto the court together, Zheng gave it his all, trying to close that gap.
And every ti, he lost.
Zheng never let those losses break him, though. Each defeat only fueled his determination, pushing him to work harder, train longer, and refine his skills.
And now, here they were, standing on the sa court again. The gap between their teams was twelve points, and once again, Jian stood before him, seemingly unchanged.
His presence and the way he carried himself—it was as if no ti had passed at all. Jian remained the sa dominant force he had always been, and Zheng wondered, for a mont, if everything he sacrificed all ca down to this.
Zheng could hear the sounds of the ga around him—the squeak of shoes on the hardwood, the shouts of his teammates, and the steady thud of the basketball bouncing against the floor. But all of it seed distant, drowned out by the beating of his own heart and the intensity of the mont.
Jian had the ball now, effortlessly dribbling it between his legs as he surveyed the court. His eyes flicked briefly to Zheng, and for the first ti in a long ti, they were face-to-face in a real match. No more friendly gas. No more practice runs.
This was it. The Nationals. The stage they had both fought to stand on.
Zheng's muscles tensed as Jian moved. In a blur, Jian drove toward the basket, his movents smooth and confident. But Zheng was ready this ti. He stayed with him, step after step, forcing Jian to change direction. Jian hesitated, just for a second, before pulling up for a jump shot.
Zheng leaped, his hand outstretched, trying to contest the shot. The ball sailed just over his fingertips, and for a brief mont, everything slowed down. He watched as the ball arced through the air, seemingly in slow motion, before it swished through the net.
Jian's expression didn't change. He landed softly, turned, and jogged back down the court as if nothing had happened. Another two points. Another small victory for the man who made it all look so easy.
Zheng couldn't help but feel disappointed—the years of hard work, the countless hours spent training, and the repeated losses.
But then he shook his head, forcing the doubt away. No. Things weren't the sa. Not entirely.
Zheng wasn't the sa player he had been two years ago, and he wasn't the sa player he had been at last year's Nationals. He had grown. He had learned. And more than anything, he had endured. He might not have been born with the natural talent that Jian had, but he had sothing else. He had persistence. He made an effort. And he wasn't going to let this mont slip away. Discover hidden content at My Virtual Library Empire
As Jian moved down the court, Zheng followed, his eyes focused, his body ready. He didn't know if today would be the day that he finally closed the gap between them. He didn't know if this would be the ga where hard work triumphed over talent.
But he knew one thing for sure. He wasn't going to stop. Not now. Not ever.
The gap was twelve points. It wasn't impossible.
Zheng took a deep breath. The ga wasn't over yet.
This ti, he was determined to leave everything on the court.
As Jian dribbled past him, their eyes t for the briefest of monts, and for the first ti in a long ti, Zheng saw sothing flicker in Jian's gaze. It wasn't quite a surprise, but it wasn't indifference either.
Maybe, just maybe, things were different after all.
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