John nodded dumbly, pressing the timer. "Start."

The first shot went straight through the net. And then, something unbelievable happened.

As soon as Jonathan released the first ball, he didn't even bother to look—he just grabbed the next one and fired.

The crowd's jaws collectively dropped. Before anyone could process what was happening, more than a dozen basketballs were soaring through the air at once. Each ball maintained a precise distance from the next, flying in a perfectly aligned sequence—and all of them soared cleanly through the net.

Frederick was stunned. Was this even allowed?

Owen, who had been jogging back and forth to retrieve balls, slowed down for a second and then caught a glimpse of the scene out of the corner of his eye. "Wait, what?"

Realizing the balls were running low on Michelle's side, Owen picked up his pace, sprinting harder despite being drenched in swea

Winona walked over with a frown. "Jonathan, why didn't you tell us you're this good at basketball?"

Michelle instinctively hid behind Jonathan the moment she saw Winona approaching.

Jonathan wasn't in the mood to entertain her as he thought her question was pointless. Taking Michelle's small hand, he started to leave. "And why would I tell you? Who are you to me?"

Winona froze for a moment, quickly trying to explain. "If you don't share these things, how can we understand you?"

Winona stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "Jonathan, maybe you're not as bad as we thought. Right?"

"Oh? What does that have to do with you?" His tone was sharp, laced with impatience. "Move. I'm busy."

Winona stood there, helpless. She had considered letting go of her previous prejudices and trying to have a real conversation with him. But Jonathan clearly wasn't interested.

Frustrated, she turned 

John called out, "First group!"

As the words landed, three students from the first group stepped up to the three-point line.

Each basket was worth one point. The first group ended with a total of two points.

The other students watched with a mix of anxiety and dread. None were athletes, and many hadn't even played basketball before. For some, scoring anything above zero would already feel like a miracle.

Jonathan, however, paid no attention to their shots. Instead, he walked over to find Owen, who was practicing his own shooting.

Owen was drenched in sweat, and so far, not a single one of his three-point attempts had gone in.

Jonathan stopped him mid-shot. "Go to the equipment room and grab more basketballs."

The gym teacher had only brought three balls, which clearly wasn't enough.

Owen wiped the sweat off his face, looking puzzled. "Why do we need so many basketballs?"

"When I'm shooting, you'll retrieve the balls as quickly as possible, and Michelle will hand me new ones." Jonathan's tone was calm but firm. "If there aren't enough balls, I'll have to wait for you to bring them back. That's just wasting time."

Owen stared blankly. Wait, what?

Was Jonathan so obsessed with winning that he'd completely lost touch with reality? Weren't three basketballs enough?

Still confused, he nodded. At this point, he knew he wasn't going to contribute much to his group anyway.

Shooting three-pointers? That might as well cost him his life.

With no room for argument, he just did as he was told. After all, the only thing he could really offer was manual labor.

Wiping away more sweat, he hurried to the equipment room.

Meanwhile, the competition was heating up. After announcing each group's score, the gym teacher couldn't help but shake his head in disappointment.

By the time the tenth group finished, the highest score among all teams was just eight points.

"Group Ten, seven points," the teacher announced flatly.

Now it was time for Group 11, the group Frederick was in. All eyes turned their way.

From the sidelines, Winona was holding a lunchbox, watching Frederick step forward with confidence. She couldn't help but beam with pride.

Frederick had always excelled in sports. Even with his fragile health, he'd never slacked off when it came to physical training. This shooting competition? Of course, he'd take first place again.

But then, something—or rather, someone—caught her eye. Completely out of sync with the excited crowd, Jonathan sat off to the side, casually chatting with a pretty girl.

Winona frowned. Skipping practice? Worse—flirting?

Hadn't Gregory explicitly warned Jonathan to keep his distance from any girls except Stella? He hadn't taken that advice seriously at all! He'd ignored Gregory's rules like they were nothing.

Annoyed, Winona turned her focus back to Frederick, who was the obedient one.

She didn't have to worry about his studies, he gave his all in sports, and his relationship with Stella seemed solid.

In the meantime, Wesley, a regular on the basketball court, stepped up and scored seven three-pointers in just one minute—an impressive feat.

The class erupted into cheers and applause. After all, the highest-scoring group so far had only managed eight points total, and Wesley alone had nearly matched that. With that performance, it was clear Group 11 was going to win.

Next up was Stella. Though she missed a few shots, she still managed to score five points, an excellent score compared to most of the class.

Finally, it was Frederick's turn.

The crowd held their breath. His performance was what everyone was waiting for. Rumor had it that Frederick's shooting skills were good enough to make the national team.

Winona was practically vibrating with excitement. She had been looking forward to this moment.

Frederick thrived under the spotlight. He jumped and shot with precision, sinking a three-pointer every four seconds. Not a single shot missed. By the end, he had racked up an astounding 15 points.

John's eyes lit up. "Impressive!"

The class went wild, breaking into thunderous applause.

Winona grinned ear to ear. She knew it—Frederick was the best.

"Frederick, you're incredible!" a student exclaimed.

Another said, "First place, no contest!"

Another student chimed in, "Haha, except there's still Jonathan's group left. Maybe he'll get first… first from the bottom!"

John announced the results with a smile. "Group 11, 27 points!"

Owen slumped. He probably wouldn't even make one three-pointer. Michelle looked fragile, so she'd probably be just as bad.

And Jonathan? Well, at least he was good at fighting. Maybe brute force would give him the luck he needed to score once or twice.

Sighing, Owen regretted every harsh thing he'd ever said about Jonathan. He hadn't exactly been much better himself, so what right did he have to judge?

Owen tilted his head back with a sigh. It was only when everything happened to him that he belatedly realized just how harsh and biased his attitude toward Jonathan had been in the past.

As Group Eleven finished, everyone's attention shifted to Jonathan's Group Twelve.

No one expected much. This wasn't about winning—it was about watching Jonathan embarrass himself.
Jonathan stayed calm. "Owen, you're up first."

"Uh, okay," Owen mumbled. Better to get it over with.

"I'll go second!" Michelle chirped with a sweet smile at Jonathan.

Jonathan nodded. "Sure."

Owen stepped to the three-point line nervously. Focusing as hard as he could, he jumped and shot. He missed the first ball.

The same thing happened to the next few shoots. With only ten seconds left on the clock, he gave it everything he had, jumped, and… he scored!

He jumped up and down, ecstatic. "I made it! Finally!"

The class, on the other hand, was unimpressed. One shot? Big deal.

He finished with one point.

John had more or less predicted the final outcome.

Michelle stepped forward next.

Jonathan turned to Owen. "Make sure you're quick."

Owen, holding an armful of basketballs, looked puzzled. Quick for what?

Michelle didn't look like much. Maybe she'd manage one, too?

But before Owen could even process what was happening, Michelle had already sunk five three-pointers.

Owen's jaw dropped, while John stood frozen, like a statue. The rest of the class stared in disbelief.

Wesley muttered a string of curses under his breath.

Stella's face darkened. Michelle had just surpassed her five-point score. People were naturally competitive, and Stella was no exception.

Frederick admired Michelle's skill, but as her score climbed closer to his 15 points, that admiration turned into discomfort.

It was fine if she was good, but better than him? That was a problem.

By the end, Michelle had scored an astonishing 33 points—averaging a shot every two seconds.
The gym erupted in chaos.

Winona was so shocked she nearly dropped her lunchbox.

Owen looked like his eyes might fall out of his sockets. "I thought she was a rookie, but she's a legend!"

They were very close to winning.

Finally, it was Jonathan's turn. He took a moment, gauging the hoop's height, the distance from the three-point line, and the angle he'd need.

Physics, he thought. The force and trajectory of the ball would determine its initial speed and direction. Once in motion, gravity and air resistance would come into play…

His mind raced, calculating one formula after another.

Frederick, watching from the side, sneered at the pile of basketballs beside Jonathan. Winning relying on a girl's skill? What a joke.

"Mr. Smith, start the timer," Jonathan said, glancing at the stunned John with an air of nonchalance.

John nodded dumbly, pressing the timer. "Start."

The first shot went straight through the net. And then, something unbelievable happened.

As soon as Jonathan released the first ball, he didn't even bother to look—he just grabbed the next one and fired.

The crowd's jaws collectively dropped. Before anyone could process what was happening, more than a dozen basketballs were soaring through the air at once. Each ball maintained a precise distance from the next, flying in a perfectly aligned sequence—and all of them soared cleanly through the net.

Frederick was stunned. Was this even allowed?

Owen, who had been jogging back and forth to retrieve balls, slowed down for a second and then caught a glimpse of the scene out of the corner of his eye. "Wait, what?"

Realizing the balls were running low on Michelle's side, Owen picked up his pace, sprinting harder despite being drenched in sweat. 

He was utterly exhausted. Had he known Jonathan could shoot at this ridiculous speed, he would'

Chapter 18