(7/10)
Yuying University
Chapter 445: Ball handover
When no one was paying attention, darkness had already crept in silently.
Unknowingly, the entire field had been shrouded in an invisible veil of darkness, using the boundary of the basketball court as a dividing line, forming two sharply contrasted zones.
Inside the basketball court, everything was crystal clear, every detail visible.
But outside the court, it was pitch black—no trace of light to be seen.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Again and again.
The basketball hit the ground, producing a steady, rhythmic sound.
Aside from that, the entire area was silent—utterly devoid of any other sound.
Everyone held their breath, eyes locked on the bouncing basketball, not daring to be distracted even for a moment.
They all knew—something had changed.
Under their watchful eyes, the basketball continued to rise and fall. The height of each bounce didn’t change. But after watching it for more than ten seconds, they suddenly realized—it was gradually moving closer.
“Careful!”
Everyone’s hearts skipped a beat, and they instinctively drew closer together.
Thump.
Another bounce.
This time, the basketball covered a greater distance than ever before. In a single leap, it bounced several meters and slammed heavily onto the ground.
Not far away, Brother Hu, who stood near the edge, suddenly staggered a bit.
“What’s wrong?” A-Bao turned and asked.
“Nothing.”
Brother Hu straightened up. However, unlike before, his face had subtly changed—he looked slightly pale.
“Just felt a little dizzy for a second,” he said, shaking his head.
“What’s your SAN value?”
A calm voice rang out from the distance.
Everyone paused and turned toward the source of the voice.
A young man stood nearby. His simple white shirt made his tall, upright figure stand out all the more starkly against the strange, blackened background behind him.
He had spoken.
Wen Jianyan’s tone grew firmer as he repeated the question:
“What’s your SAN value?”
Brother Hu was taken aback. At Wen Jianyan’s reminder, he slowly looked up toward the top-right corner of his vision.
This time, his expression changed dramatically. He slowly replied:
“Dropped five points.”
Everyone on the field was slightly shocked.
In the first year, SAN value (Sanity Value) had seemed trivial—something that didn’t affect your ability to clear the game much as long as you didn’t actively seek death.
But starting in the second year, SAN loss from simply sleeping at night had begun to increase. At the same time, the number of required classes rose as well. That was when everyone finally realized how scarce and crucial SAN had become.
Its decline came with severe negative effects—and unlike HP, there wasn’t a transparent mechanism to recover it.
And now, the P.E. class had only just begun, yet SAN had already dropped five points…
It didn’t sound like much, but the terrifying cost behind that number was something no one could afford.
Everyone tightened their formation even more, standing back-to-back, warily scanning the surroundings, eyes flickering between the empty basketball court and the sticky darkness beyond it.
They hadn’t seen how the attack happened, didn’t know how it worked—and thus had no idea how to defend against it.
“Do you remember what just happened?”
They asked Brother Hu.
But Brother Hu didn’t know the answer either.
“Any strange sensations?” they pressed.
Thump, thump.
The basketball kept bouncing, each thud sounding painfully loud in the eerie silence.
Wen Jianyan stood still.
Unlike the others, he wasn’t focusing all his attention on the basketball. In fact, he was doing the opposite. While keeping an eye on its movements, he was also scanning the area in silence.
Under the faint lighting, his pale-colored eyes flickered, clearly deep in thought.
“It’s starting again!”
Suddenly, someone noticed and warned in a low voice.
The others immediately reacted, tensing up again.
In the dim light, the basketball bounced toward the group. Everyone took a wary step back, ready to counterattack at any moment.
But—nothing happened.
The basketball bounced aimlessly toward the edge of the court and drifted away.
They didn’t know what had just occurred, but as the ball moved further from the group, everyone let out a small sigh of relief.
“Hey.”
Wen Jianyan suddenly spoke again.
Everyone paused.
They turned to see the young man’s gaze fixed on a nearby anchor.
The anchor looked quite young, hidden among the crowd and not very noticeable. Perhaps due to inexperience, they seemed especially nervous and panicked.
They looked around, startled. “…Me?”
“Yes.”
Wen Jianyan nodded.
His tone was polite and gentle—almost courteous—but somehow made it impossible to ignore or dismiss.
“What’s your SAN value?”
The question.
The anchor froze.
They looked.
Their lips twitched slightly, and they said:
“…Dropped five points.”
Everyone was stunned.
What?!
They all knew the attacks had begun.
But unlike Brother Hu, this time the attacked anchor hadn’t shown any reaction—no sign, no warning…
That fact alone sent a chill through everyone’s heart.
“B-but I didn’t do anything,” the anchor said, voice trembling.
Just like Brother Hu, they didn’t know why they’d been attacked or how it had happened.
The area was so small, yet it felt like they had suddenly become trapped in a fog.
Some of the other anchors started to get agitated.
“Damn it, are you stupid? You didn’t even realize your own SAN dropped—”
“It’s not their fault,” Wen Jianyan said. “In this instance, the lower your SAN value drops, the easier it becomes for anchors to subconsciously ignore changes to that stat.”
Even earlier, during P.E. class, he had almost been caught by it.
That’s why, from that moment on, Wen Jianyan had been forcing himself to stay alert to this particular mechanism.
Hearing this, everyone looked surprised.
They truly hadn’t expected that this instance would contain such a mechanic — but this also brought with it another problem.
“Wait a minute… how did you figure out the anchor’s SAN value might be dropping?”
Though the question was directed at Wen Jianyan, the person asking it already had a vague suspicion in their heart.
The other’s reaction had been far too fast — faster than the affected person themselves had realized the SAN fluctuation.
Once might be a coincidence.
But twice? Definitely not.
There was only one possibility: after the second attack, Wen Jianyan had already discovered the pattern and was just waiting to verify his hypothesis.
But… was something like that really possible?
After just one attack — and the person attacked wasn’t even Wen Jianyan himself — how could he find the solution before even seeing the full scope of the puzzle?
Wen Jianyan lifted his head, face exposed beneath the dim lights.
“Shadow.”
He didn’t wait for further questioning. As if anticipating their doubts, he continued smoothly and calmly:
“When the basketball hits the shadow, it counts as an attack.”
The entire court fell silent. Everyone subconsciously held their breath.
Even the questioner hadn’t expected such a wild guess to be proven right.
After just two attacks, the young man before them had already gone through the full process: forming a hypothesis, then confirming it — all in terrifyingly quick time.
Wen Jianyan raised his hand and pointed at the four light posts around the edges of the court.
These were the only remaining sources of light in the darkness.
“The direction of the light changes,” he said succinctly.
But the weight behind that simple sentence was startling.
Everyone looked up, following Wen Jianyan’s pointing finger.
In the darkness, the four lamps gave off dim light, faintly tinged with an almost unnoticeable red. The light fell on the ground, casting long, stretched shadows.
Soon, the anchors observing that area gasped in shock.
Only after focusing intently on the lights for some time did they realize — what should have been fixed light sources were slowly rotating. That movement caused the shadows on the ground to constantly shift.
Because of this, the relationship between the ball and the shadows became obscured, making it difficult to notice the correlation right away.
Of course, as time passed and the attacks increased, they would have discovered this. But by then, the damage might have already been irreversible.
“Then… why were we the ones being attacked?”
Zhao Ze looked at Wen Jianyan, carefully choosing his words.
Wen Jianyan responded quickly, as though he had already anticipated the question.
“The people who got attacked were standing outside the court’s boundary line.”
The entire basketball court wasn’t swallowed by darkness — but the actual playing area was smaller than it appeared, marked by faint and worn-out white lines.
And indeed, both people who had been attacked earlier had been standing just outside those lines.
Upon hearing this, everyone’s hearts skipped a beat. They quickly looked down to check where they were standing and adjusted their positions accordingly.
Thud. Thud.
In just those few seconds of conversation, the cursed basketball bounced toward them once more.
In an instant, everyone’s heart leapt to their throats.
But this time, thanks to Wen Jianyan’s warning, no one remained outside the boundary. So, logically, this attack—
As if reading their minds, Wen Jianyan suddenly spoke:
“When one rule no longer applies, a second rule soon follows.”
He observed the situation closely and said quietly, “Be careful.”
Sure enough, even though everyone was now standing within bounds, the basketball didn’t stop — it continued bouncing, relentlessly closing in.
But since they had figured out the key rule regarding shadows, they now had a way to survive.
They kept shifting their positions continuously. The entire court echoed with disordered footsteps.
Even if the basketball hitting a shadow still reduced SAN value…
There was only one ball.
As time went on, they gradually picked up on the rhythm.
The light was changing, and with it, the position of the shadows — but not without a pattern.
Once understood, the threat became manageable.
As long as they stayed alert and moved before the ball hit, they could avoid each attack.
The atmosphere gradually relaxed a little.
Some of the anchors even exchanged a few words occasionally — warning each other of rolling balls or changes in lighting.
Unconsciously, time passed. Though the ball’s assault didn’t let up — sometimes fast, sometimes slow — the danger remained under control.
Zhao Ze dashed forward, narrowly avoiding the ball’s shadowy impact.
“You okay?”
Brother Hu helped him up.
“I’m good,” Zhao Ze panted, shaking his head.
“How much time is left in PE class?” he asked.
Hu replied, “Almost done. About ten minutes left.”
Though the ball wouldn’t stop attacking, PE class would eventually end. Once it reached the “free activity” period, the anchors could freely leave the court — and the crisis would be over.
Thinking of this, everyone breathed a small sigh of relief.
Even though they’d figured out the mechanics, that didn’t mean they wanted to be stuck here forever.
The ball’s speed was increasing. The attacks were becoming more frequent, and the changing lights more erratic. If this kept up, someone was bound to slip up.
“Careful! It’s coming again!”
Zhao Ze caught sight of the ball heading their way and urgently warned the others.
Those nearby immediately tensed, ready to react.
Thud!
The ball hit the ground hard and bounced high.
Everyone held their breath, eyes locked on its path.
Thud!
Another bounce — heavier this time.
It had closed the distance in a blink. In just seconds, it would be upon them.
Someone’s shadow was barely grazed by the falling ball — but just in time, they dove away from danger.
Crisis averted again. Everyone exhaled in relief.
But just as they relaxed, the ball — mid-air — suddenly paused.
In that moment, time seemed to freeze.
No one could process what was happening.
A chilling, eerie sensation swept through them. And then, accompanied by the howling wind, the basketball arced into a high-speed throw — faster than the eye could track — flying toward a distant target.
What—!?
It all happened in a blink. No one had time to react.
They only heard the sharp whistle of air being torn apart, and a blur passed through their peripheral vision.
How…?
Thud!
A dull impact.
The noise stopped.
Stunned, the group turned their heads toward the direction the ball had disappeared.
By the hoop, the young man leapt. His long arms stretched mid-air in a graceful, instinctive, and elegant motion — intercepting the cursed basketball.
Time slowed to a crawl. They could even see the arc of his coat and the dust rising as his feet landed.
Wen Jianyan hit the ground.
He was panting, sweat glistening on his forehead. His outstretched right hand, now lowered, trembled from exertion, reddened from the impact.
He had stayed near the hoop the entire time — just like everyone else, dodging and hiding — but never letting his guard down.
The persistent chill in the air had set his hairs on end, a silent warning.
But unlike the constant threat of attack, Wen Jianyan had never sensed immediate, overwhelming danger.
It was like… something was watching. Waiting.
While everyone focused solely on the ball, Wen Jianyan observed more — not just the ball’s path, but also who was being attacked.
Who got chased. Who became a priority target…
He even deliberately adjusted his position and behavior to test his theories.
As time passed, a pattern emerged:
The ones who got targeted first were all rule breakers.
Those who walked slowly.
Those who broke the rules of basketball.
Once he realized this, Wen Jianyan’s heart tightened.
He knew clearly: they weren’t just dodging a cursed ball — they were playing a game.
A basketball game, between humans and an unknown void.
And because of that, Wen Jianyan never left the hoop’s side again.
Of course, the instance’s rules wouldn’t match the real world exactly — but some fundamentals would remain: no traveling (walking while holding the ball), and if a ball enters the opponent’s hoop, it counts as a score.
Because of this, when the ball came flying earlier, he could jump and intercept it in time.
The cursed basketball fell to the ground, bounced twice, and gradually lost height.
“Catch it!”
Wen Jianyan shouted sharply.
His voice sliced through the silence like tearing fabric.
Zhao Ze, the closest, reacted first — lunging out and grabbing the ball.
Only then did fear hit him. Cold sweat soaked his back. He looked down in alarm.
The ball that had been so dangerous now sat quietly in his arms. Aside from a faint chill radiating from its surface, it was indistinguishable from a normal basketball.
Wen Jianyan seemed to read his unease.
He beckoned. “Throw it to me.”
Zhao Ze didn’t hesitate — he tossed the ball.
Wen Jianyan caught it lightly.
He dribbled a few times. Then he looked up — pale eyes gleaming faintly in the dark — and a tiny smile curled on his lips:
“Ball possession has switched.”
“Now it’s our turn to win this game.”
