Asake—the young man who stood above everyone else—seemed to have a different kind of interest in Man.
Orson didn’t like it. Not one bit. The way others stared at his Avira, as if she were prey, made him deeply uncomfortable.
“Avira, I think I might have scratched myself earlier.”
He instinctively stepped in front of Avira, blocking her from Asake’s view. Lifting his shirt, he revealed his skin.
His fair complexion shimmered under the sunlight, almost translucent. Though his frame appeared slender and delicate, it was adorned with perfectly defined abs—a sight so striking that several girls in the crowd fainted with nosebleeds.
Orson ignored the onlookers and focused entirely on Avira. A bewitching smile curved his lips, as mesmerizing as a butterfly dancing in the misty night. His beauty was beyond words.
“It hurts a little. Can you check for me?”
Of course, this was just an excuse to show everyone how close he was to Avira. He wanted certain people to give up hope sooner rather than later.
Avira was his.
From a long time ago, Orson had decided that Avira belonged to him.
In his world, there had never been anything he absolutely had to have. Avira was the one exception—the only exception.
Avira Nassy looked up at him, her face blank with confusion. Her dazed gaze lingered on his handsome smile before slowly shifting down to his waist.
On Orson’s fair skin was a faint scratch, resembling the soft blush of cherry blossoms in bloom.
Avira pursed her lips. “Hmm… It’s a little red…”
“A little red?”
Seeing her casual attitude, Orson raised an eyebrow in dissatisfaction. “You call this ‘a little’? Good thing you didn’t say it’s ‘barely there.’ How much bigger does it need to be for you to take it seriously?”
He grabbed her hand and placed it over the faint scratch. “Look, Avira, I’m a model. My body is my livelihood, you know? What if it scars? What if it doesn’t fade?”
“Hmm…”
Avira tilted her head thoughtfully, genuinely considering his words. Her cool hand remained in his grasp, and she didn’t pull it back. After a moment, she lifted her face to look at him. Her expression was still tinged with sleepiness, but for once, it carried a rare note of seriousness. “I’ll buy some medicine for Orson. Your body is so important, and yet you still came to play basketball with me… So, thank you, Orson…”
Orson seemed momentarily stunned by her response. Then his elegant lips curved into a dazzling smile, a smile so radiant it seemed to light up the heavens.
That simple expression immediately triggered an eruption of screams from the girls surrounding them.
“Then… will Avira help me apply the medicine too?”
“Hmm… Sure… I’m good at applying medicine…”
She nodded without much thought and agreed readily.
Asake’s eyes narrowed slightly at this exchange, but the movement was so subtle that no one noticed.
“There’s one more thing I’d like to inform everyone about.”
Luca’s gentle voice rang out again, effortlessly drawing Avira’s attention.
“The coach from Whitewall Academy reached out. They’d like to schedule a friendly match with our academy.”
“Whitewall?”
George, who had been silent until now, furrowed his brows slightly.
“Hmm… Avira, do you know them?”
“Yes.”
George gave a slight nod. “Whitewall was the academy I attended before coming here.”
“I didn’t think you’d ever want to bring up your past, George.”
Orson ran a hand through his hair, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile that carried an unclear meaning.
His crystalline fingertips seemed to shimmer faintly, like golden fireflies in motion. “For example, the fact that we used to be teammates.”
Standing in place, George’s deep blue eyes—so dark they were nearly black—flickered briefly with an unfathomable light.
But it lasted only a fraction of a second, unnoticed by anyone.
His expression remained as composed as always, his handsome features betraying no emotion as if they were incapable of doing so.
“Teammates…? George and Orson were teammates?”
Avira looked at the two of them in confusion, unable to reconcile how these two seemingly unconnected people could have such a past.
Although they trained together as part of the same team, George and Orson rarely interacted outside of practice matches. Most of the time, they barely spoke a word to each other.
They seemed like strangers who happened to share a team, and their relationship was limited to that of teammates.
But to think they were once actually teammates?
“Yes.”
Orson reached out and gently wiped a droplet from her eyelashes, the movement entirely natural. “Honestly, I was really surprised when George joined Eastwest’s basketball team. Back then, you left Whitewal’s club without a second thought and transferred here. I thought you’d made your choice and would never play basketball again.”
