Chapter Twelve: Love Game

Jiang Hong stood just behind the baseline, repeatedly tapping the tennis ball against his palm, the ball’s textured surface leaving faint impressions in his hand.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze fixed like a nail on the opposite baseline.

Wang Li, watching his stance, felt an inexplicable unease.

This kid had only been practicing for a year—how could he stand there exuding such an overwhelming presence?

He shook his head to dispel the thought. "What am I imagining? He’s just a beginner."

Though he spoke with bravado, his body betrayed him, tensing up. His legs spread shoulder-width apart, knees bent, shoulders lowered, hands gripping the racket tightly in a defensive posture.

Jiang Hong relaxed his fingertips, sending the ball soaring straight into the air.

At the apex, he suddenly sprang forward like a taut bowstring released, twisting his body, swinging his arm with a whip-like snap. The racket traced a smooth arc through the air, smashing into the ball with a sharp crack.

“Whoosh—”

The yellow-and-white ball shot across the net like a streak of green lightning.

Wang Li saw the trajectory and knew disaster was imminent. He dashed desperately toward the sideline with all his might, stretching out his racket at full speed, but it was too late.

“ACE! Corner of Zone One!” Yu Lin stood by the sideline, reporting the play with a hint of surprise.

At that angle and speed, even last year’s collegiate champion might have struggled to return it.

Wang Li froze, eyes nearly popping out. “How... how is this possible?”

Half a month ago, Jiang Hong couldn’t even get the ball over the net, and now he was pinning it to the very edge of the center line.

“Fifteen-love!”

“Wow! Old Jiang’s amazing!” Li Hua jumped up from the crowd, having just worried that Jiang Hong would get crushed, now transformed into his number one fan. “Is the vice president really this good? I didn’t even get close to the ball!”

The surrounding whispers pricked at Wang Li’s ears like needles:

“Wasn’t Wang Li supposed to be strong?”

“That serve is insane...”

“Jiang Hong’s a rookie, right? I think he’s playing the fool to catch everyone off guard!”

Wang Li’s face flushed a deep liver red as he glared at the onlookers, silently screaming inside: If you’re so capable, come try to return it!

He took several deep breaths to calm himself.

“It must be luck, absolutely luck!”

Which beginner suddenly got this good overnight?

Jiang Hong gave him no time to think. The second ball was already tossed into the air.

Pushing off the ground, twisting his torso, powering through his shoulder, his wrist cracked like a whip.

“Bang!”

The ball sped toward the Zone Two service line with incredible velocity and a cunning angle.

“What a deep shot!”

Wang Li’s face changed drastically. He had guessed Jiang Hong wouldn’t risk such a gamble, as it was prone to error.

But this ball landed directly on the service line.

The ball hit the ground and bounced back up.

Wang Li scrambled backward, bending his knees, but the speed was too much. By the time he got into position to defend, it was already too late.

He couldn’t wrap his racket around the ball; it flew off the court out of bounds.

“Thirty-love! Perfect serve!”

Even those unfamiliar with tennis could see—Jiang Hong wasn’t just lucky.

A freshman nudged a club member beside him. “Where would this serve rank in your club?”

The member hesitated, then said, “At least top three.”

In truth, he hadn’t seen a better serve before, but he wanted to give due respect to the president and the vice president.

Jiang Hong didn’t stop moving, turning back to Zone One.

This third serve was no finesse—just raw power slammed down hard.

The moment the ball struck Wang Li’s racket, the force twisted his wrist sharply, sending the ball flying out of bounds.

“Forty-love!”

“Is it going to be a love game?”

“The vice president’s getting wiped out? That’s brutal!”

“Who said Jiang Hong would get beaten to tears? Step up and take a hit!”

The crowd’s chatter grew louder. Wang Li’s face darkened like spilled ink. He stared at Jiang Hong, the last shred of hope shattered. This guy’s progress was alarmingly fast.

Yet, stubbornly, he refused to believe it was all skillful serving.

What about rallies and baseline exchanges? That had to be Jiang Hong’s weakness!

After all, he’d only been playing for a year; it was impossible to master everything.

For the final ball, Jiang Hong served a body shot.

Wang Li hurriedly raised his racket to block, but in his haste, he could only loft the ball.

Jiang Hong immediately surged forward, accelerating, and before the ball landed on the net, he cut it off with a volley.

“Thud!”

Wang Li couldn’t react in time; the ball hit the ground, bounced, and flew out past the baseline.

“Game point! Jiang Hong leads 1-0!”

Yu Lin’s voice rang out, followed by uproarious laughter.

Wang Li wasn’t well-liked in the tennis club.

He was always picking apart others’ skills.

He stood frozen, the racket in his hand nearly crushed by his grip.

Someone shouted, “Quit already, just forfeit.”

That fire and frustration boiled in Wang Li’s head, but not a word of protest escaped his lips. He hadn’t even touched the ball properly that whole game.

When it was Wang Li’s turn to serve, he took deep breaths at the baseline, though his hands trembled uncontrollably.

His first serve barely made it in; the second was worse—netted outright.

The ball bounced softly on the ground, landing just before the net.

“Double fault!”

Love-fifteen!

Wang Li wiped his sweat and repositioned to serve from Zone Two.

This time the serve landed in, but as soon as it touched down, Jiang Hong seemed to anticipate perfectly, rushing forward. His wrist flicked lightly, and what should have been a cross-court shot suddenly changed direction, piercing the open space on Wang Li’s left side.

“Whoa! Cross-court turned straight line?”

A knowledgeable onlooker gasped.

This wasn’t something often seen in amateur matches.

“That move is a killer in amateur play!”

Because turning a cross-court shot into a straight line requires precise control of ball placement and racket face angle.

One slip, and the ball flies off court.

The club member who had earlier insisted “Jiang Hong’s serve reception must be weak” now blushed deeply.

A newbie beside him teased, “Isn’t that a decent return? Do you guys have professional players in your club or what?”

Wang Li was completely stunned.

He watched Jiang Hong stand calmly at the baseline, breathing quickened. No matter how he played, he couldn’t score; Jiang Hong easily countered everything.

The skills he once prided himself on now seemed like child’s play against absolute strength.

The rest of the points were hopeless.

Wang Li’s serves were either smashed back by Jiang Hong or forced out beyond the baseline, unable to sustain a decent rally.

Continuing was pointless—he had no chance of winning, only humiliation to endure.

“I quit! I surrender!”

Wang Li slammed his racket onto the ground, his voice hoarse.

He had meant to humiliate Jiang Hong, but instead, he was crushed without even a chance to fight back, swept aside 2-0.

His pride was completely shattered.

“Coach, I never want to play tennis again!”

Yelling this in his heart, Wang Li pushed through the crowd without looking back, fleeing in panic.

He felt uncomfortable the very moment he stayed here.

Jiang Hong watched his retreating figure, picked up the fallen racket, and tapped it lightly.