The sudden wave of weakness coursing through LiWei's limbs was sharp and disorienting. His legs wobbled slightly as sweat trickled down his neck—not from effort, but from the strange drain on his body. His vision blurred for a brief second. It was as if something had reached inside him and flipped a switch. The noise of the basketball court, the bouncing ball, the laughter, even Tao's jokes… they all became distant.
His heart pounded faster.
What the hell is this?
Then, like a storm breaking through a clogged sky, something in him snapped.
A surge. Raw and wild.
Power flooded every vein like liquid fire. His eyes cleared. His breathing steadied. His body no longer felt weak—it felt enraged. That same moment, his senses sharpened, and his instincts screamed in one direction: Zhiwei.
Zhiwei stood a few meters away, smugness written across his face like graffiti. He must've done something—LiWei knew it. There was no way the sudden weakness was natural. But more disturbing than Zhiwei's involvement was the way his body responded.
"What the hell am I?" he whispered to himself.
But now wasn't the time to confront him. Tao was still rambling, oblivious, and Jiang Mian stood close, clutching the sweetly packaged snacks she'd brought him. He couldn't afford a scene, not yet.
So the day rolled on, painfully slow, with his muscles tense and mind burning. Classes ended, and so did training. His usual joy of draining every drop of energy on the court was hollowed out by the storm brewing inside.
Even as he changed back into his uniform, LiWei's hands trembled—not from fear, but from the pressure of holding back questions he couldn't answer.
Later, as the city basked in the glow of a golden sunset, he walked home. His hands buried deep in his pockets. His jaw clenched. The familiar path gave him no comfort today.
I need answers. But from who?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp sound of boots behind him.
He stopped humming the ridiculous pop tune he had been half-singing a few minutes ago—"Baby, your love hit me like overdue rent!"—and narrowed his eyes.
"Not again," he muttered, glancing back.
Shadows shifted at the alley ahead. Then came the sound of approaching footsteps—fast, heavy, too many to be random.
He turned the corner, and just like that, they surrounded him.
The same thugs from yesterday. Bruised, bandaged, and still dumb.
The leader stepped forward with a crooked grin. "Miss me?"
LiWei scoffed. "You're either brave or brain-damaged. I'm betting on both."
"You got lucky last time," the thug said, cracking his knuckles. "This time, we've prepared."
LiWei rolled his neck, then cracked his knuckles too.
"Prepared?" he asked mockingly. "You brought a prayer circle with you?"
The first one lunged.
Big mistake.
LiWei sidestepped, grabbed his arm mid-air, and used his momentum to slam him against the wall. Bones cracked.
The second tried to swing a bat.
LiWei caught the bat mid-swing, yanked it from his hands like pulling a leaf from a branch, and jabbed him in the stomach with the handle. The guy dropped like a stone.
One by one, they came. And one by one, they fell.
LiWei didn't just fight. He moved like a shadow with a grudge—too fast, too strong. Each punch seemed to explode with hidden power. Each movement was fluid, like his body knew how to fight better than he did.
But then—he was punched.
A fist, unexpected, clipped his chin and made him stagger back a step. The blow didn't hurt much, but it shocked him.
Someone had landed a hit?
He turned, eyes blazing.
It wasn't one of the previous attackers.
Standing near the back was a man who hadn't moved until now—taller, lean but muscular, with a wolfish smirk on his lips. He wore a black hoodie and hadn't said a word the whole time.
LiWei wiped his lip, blood barely noticeable.
The man took a step forward, still silent.
LiWei returned the favor with a grin, then stretched his arms.
"So," he said with a dangerous smirk, "how do you want to be beaten?"