Chapter 12 – Technique
Zane moved through the school grounds with a steady pace, every step calculated and silent. His eyes swept across the landscape like a scanner, mentally mapping out the layout. He passed the outdoor tennis courts, the football field, and a pristine baseball diamond—all perfectly maintained, almost as if no one had touched them.
Despite the futuristic touches to the campus, there was an odd, almost eerie stillness hanging in the air. No laughter, no shouting kids. Just wind brushing through the trees and the faint creak of swings in the distant playground.
"Big place," Zane muttered under his breath, glancing left and right. "No wonder they only need one middle school."
Every inch of the school would help him blend in when the time came. Knowing the layout—every hallway, every building—was essential. The more he knew, the easier it would be to stay ahead of whatever challenge the system decided to throw at him next. And based on what he'd experienced so far, he doubted it would be anything pleasant.
Eventually, the trail of his exploration led him toward a larger building on the far end of campus. The sound of sneakers screeching against the floor and a basketball echoing off the walls drifted toward him.
Zane squinted up at the structure. It had a domed roof, wide glass windows, and open metal-frame doors. "That's gotta be the gymnasium."
His body moved instinctively, almost too silently for someone his size. Despite the extra weight, the way he walked—light, smooth, precise—was all assassin training. He could pass within inches of someone without being heard, and the habit hadn't faded in this new life.
As he approached the gym, the voices became clearer. There were people inside.
"Pass it!"
"Right here, I'm open!"
Zane stopped just outside the doorway and leaned in to peek without being seen. Inside, four boys were playing basketball—two teams of two, all roughly his age. They wore casual athletic clothes, their shoes pounding against the polished hardwood floor.
He tilted his head slightly, observing their movements with the scrutiny of a trained killer evaluating targets. Their passing was quick, their dribbling clean. Not bad for middle schoolers. If he had to guess, they were either part of a club or just obsessive about the sport.
'They could use some more practice, though. There are many flaws in their technique, and they aren't fast enough.' He noted with his eyes as if he were their coach. Zane was very familiar with basketball and most other sports, and he was very skilled at most of them. He needed that for his job as an assassin required to blend wherever he went and to do that, one must learn all the skills they could fathomably learn.
He was about to turn away and disappear back into the empty school when—
[Ding!]
The familiar chime of the system echoed in his mind. He froze mid-step, already dreading what was coming.
"Don't you dare," he muttered.
A glowing screen materialized in front of him.
[Your tasks have been updated!]
[Tasks:]
Objective: Score 12 points in a basketball game against the four students.
Difficulty: F
Reward: +2 Agility, +2 Stamina, 100 Store Points.
"Son of a…" Zane pinched the bridge of his nose.
There was no doubt now—the system was deliberately screwing with him. He had no intention of interacting with anyone yet, let alone playing a damn basketball game against four strangers in his current body. He was sore, tired, and running on minimal fuel.
Still…
The reward was far too generous to ignore. Four stat points and 100 store credits for scoring a few baskets? He couldn't afford to pass that up. Especially not when he needed every advantage in a world that had already proven hostile.
"Greedy bastard," he mumbled, referring to himself this time. "I can't miss out on this now. Tsk."
With a deep sigh, he turned and walked into the gym, the bright overhead lights reflecting off the floor as he stepped across the edge of the court. The boys didn't notice him at first—not until a bad pass sent the ball bouncing in his direction.
Zane caught it with ease and looked up.
One of the boys called out. "Hey, pass it back!"
Then another squinted at him. "Wait… isn't that—?"
"That hair… That's 'Snow Fatty,' right?"
The mood in the gym shifted in an instant. Laughter and mocking smirks spread across the boys' faces like wildfire.
"Oh yeah, that's him! What the hell is he doing here?"
"Did Damian send you on another errand, snowball? Man, what a pathetic life."
"I swear, I don't know how you stomach it. Must love being walked on."
Zane said nothing. His grip on the ball remained steady as he absorbed every insult like a stone wall. His expression didn't waver—not even a twitch.
'So that's how it is. The old owner of this body was bullied. Severely, if they're this comfortable talking like that to my face.'
He filed away the name—Damian. A possible ringleader. Useful information for later.
Another boy stepped forward, arms crossed, lips curled into a sneer. "Well? Gonna pass the ball or just stand there looking stupid?"
Still, Zane didn't move.
"Fatty, I said pass the goddamn—"
"How about this," Zane cut in, his voice low and calm. "A game. You four versus me. First to twelve."
The gym fell deathly silent. A funny expression formed on the boys faces in real time.
Then—
"PFFFT—HAHAHAHA!"
They burst out laughing. One clutched his stomach, the other doubled over and nearly fell. They looked like they just witnessed the funniest thing happen before their eyes.
"Holy crap, I think I just died."
"He wants to 1v4 us? Is he brain-damaged?"
"I knew the bullying would get to him eventually, but this… this is art."
Zane simply watched them with that same neutral expression, their laughter bouncing off his ears like rain off glass. The truth was… he expected this. No one ever took him seriously in this body. Not yet, anyway.
But that was about to change.
'These boys think I'm weak. Useless. That's fine. Let them think that. I guess it's not too bad to have a little bit of fun of my own.' He decided. At first, it was purely for the rewards, but now... He wanted to do it to mess with these idiots.
Without another word, Zane turned toward the basketball hoop. He held the ball lightly in one hand, adjusted his grip, then bent his knees. He was a court away from the ring, a distance that should be impossible to score from.
In one smooth motion, he jumped and launched the ball into the air with precise form. It soared in a perfect arc—clean, effortless—and dropped through the hoop with a satisfying swish.
The laughter died instantly.
"Huh?"
"What the—?"
They all stared, stunned into silence. One of the boys blinked, his mouth hanging open. "Did he just—?"
Zane landed softly on the floor, his white hair catching the light as he turned back to face them.
"I'm serious," he said flatly. "1v4. Unless you're all too scared."
That single sentence lit a fire under them. All expressions of disdain vanished as quickly as they appeared.
'How the hell did he do that?'
'It must've been some kind of luck.'
'A full court 3 pointer... I don't think I can pull that off from a 100 tries...'
Their reactions varied from shock to disbelief. But that only caused their egos to flare up even more. They can't let this disrespect go unpunished.
"Tch. You think that was luck? Alright then, you're on," one of them snapped, stepping forward. "I'm gonna break those skinny legs."
"Let's make him regret even setting foot in here."
Zane's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. Not because he was cocky, but because this was familiar. Combat, even in the form of a game, was something he understood.
'Let's see what this body can really do.'
He moved to the center of the court and took position, knees bent, eyes sharp.
Game on.
"You can take the ball, fatty. Let's see you score a point, let alone twelve."