Chapter 3: The Coach's Scrutiny

The air inside the gymnasium had solidified into a thick, oppressive gel. High above, the harsh halogen lamps cast down a sickly white glow, illuminating every speck of suspended dust and, more pressingly, the two starkly different figures on the court.

On one side of the table, Lin Xiao's racket slashed down like a bolt of lightning, releasing a shrilling crack. The sound ricocheted off the empty walls, carrying a metallic friction that made teeth ache. Chen An’s pupils squeezed shut; as his shoes skidded, the auditory world suddenly cleared up with terrifying precision.

He heard that strike not as a simple impact, but as a complex waveform mixing high-frequency tremors with a low, dull thud. It was a trace of subconscious hesitation buried in the snap of tense muscles, like a turbulent current churning beneath thin ice.

Chen An’s body jerked to a halt. His fingertips grazed the ball, and at that breaking point of speed, he forcefully twisted the return trajectory. This split-second change didn’t just neutralize the killing blow; it yanked what should have been a guaranteed point for Lin Xiao off its intended rails.

Su Wanwan stood in the shadows, her fingertip tapping lightly on the high-precision speedometer on her wrist. The screen’s pale blue light reflected off her stern face, like a cold star in a deep sea. She said nothing. She simply aimed the device at the center of the table, and the data stream began to jump erratically.

Every ball’s path was decomposed into precise XYZ coordinates—spin velocity, landing error, exit angle—nothing was missed. The flickering numbers washed over her vision like a downpour. She narrowed her eyes, studying Chen An, the seemingly clumsy sparring partner, as if appraising an unverified antique, her gaze heavy with scrutiny and probe.

Chen An steadied his center of gravity. His breathing grew shallow, nearly merging with the surrounding silence. The Spirit Sound resonance roared in the depths of his mind, a perception from another dimension. Lin Xiao’s next shot was imminent, but Chen An had already caught the frequency of the air’s vibration. He didn’t look at the ball. He just tilted his head slightly, as if listening to a symphony about to begin.

Sweat slid down his temple and dripped onto the table surface, evaporating in an instant. He had predicted where the ball would go, even the lateral spin shift it would undergo the moment it hit the racket. This wasn’t calculation. It was intuition, a total mastery over some hidden rhythm of the physical world.

Lin Xiao served. The ball carved a bizarre arc. The trajectory defied every optimized simulation he had run in his head, carrying an indefinable sense of chaos. The speedometer screen flashed, red warning signs popping up frantically.

The data showed the ball’s rotation axis deviated from the standard model by a massive seventeen degrees, and there was an inexplicable micro-deviation between the predicted landing spot and the actual path. Su Wanwan’s brows knit tightly. Her eyes, sharp as blades, locked onto the seemingly ordinary racket in Chen An’s hand. A dangerous guess formed in her mind: illegal modification.

"This is impossible." Lin Xiao wiped his brow, his voice laced with barely concealed anxiety and arrogance. He stepped closer to the table, his heel clicks marking a crisp rhythm on the floor. "Coach Su, do you data nerds even remember basic physics? No normal human being can return a ball with that speed and spin."

"Unless what's in his hands isn't a racket, but some kind of illegal device." He let out a cold laugh, trying to mask his fear of the unknown with mockery. The confidence that usually filled his eyes was now clouded with a gray, dying pallor.

Chen An slowly removed his earplugs, moving with the delicacy of untangling an ancient knot. He took a deep breath, placed the plugs on the table’s edge, then laid his racket down flat. He spread his hands, palms up. His gaze was terrifyingly calm. There was no defense in his eyes, only pure focus, as if he wasn't facing an opponent but a mathematical problem that had to be solved.

"Captain Lin, if you trust the instruments, then let's trust the facts. No racket, just hands. I'll replicate that side-spin ball you just served. If the error exceeds one millimeter, I voluntarily drop out of all training."

Zhao Tiezhu, watching from the sidelines, had his mouth agape. He bellowed, "Good kid! Gutsy!" He crossed his arms, his mouth splitting into a grin, his eyes filled with admiration. That reckless, life-defying spirit was exactly the backbone he'd relied on when he dominated the international stages years ago. In that moment, the air in the gym seemed to freeze. Every eye was focused on those slender hands.

They were pale, the knuckles distinct, without a single callus, yet they gave the eerie illusion of immense energy about to be released.

Chen An reached out to catch the ball. For that instant, time seemed to stop. The surrounding noise receded like a tide, leaving only the roaring in the depths of his mind. He heard the air being torn apart by the ball, the high-frequency hum of the spin, even the microscopic resistance of the ball's rough grain against his skin.

His wrist flicked lightly. His thumb and index finger applied a reverse torque with precision. It was a near-instinctive muscle memory, yet it transcended instinct—it was a dialogue between his soul and the laws of physics. The ball left his hand, tracing an arc identical to the previous one, flying straight to Lin Xiao’s scoring point.

The ball hit the table, bounced, and stopped steadily on the marker. The gym fell into a deathly silence. Su Wanwan rushed forward, pulling up the playback data on the speedometer. The comparison showed an error of only zero-point-three millimeters. The instrument hadn't thrown an error; the data was a perfect closed loop. Looking at the cold numbers on the screen, she felt a shiver for the first time.

This wasn't equipment. This was a perceptual ability that surpassed physical intuition. This power wasn't in any tactical manual or training plan. It was wild, it was dangerous, and it was incredibly precious.

Lin Xiao’s face turned instantaneously pale, like plaster painted over dead bone. The data system he was proud of collapsed in that moment, exposing the barren waste beneath. He was used to controlling everything through calculation, but he had forgotten that intuition and hearing couldn't be fully quantified. His gaze at Chen An shifted from disdain to deep awe and fear.

The sparring partner he once dismissed as a liability now stood at a height he couldn't reach, looking down on the battlefield he thought he knew so well.

Su Wanwan stowed the speedometer, the metal clink clear and sharp. She turned to face Lin Xiao, her voice cold and firm, like a sword sliding from its sheath: "Lin Xiao, your arrogance is your blind spot. Chen An’s existence proves that intuition can correct data deviations. He is the key variable for us to break through technical bottlenecks, and the only key to whether you can shatter your ceiling."

She looked directly into both their eyes, no longer avoiding them. Her gaze pierced through Lin Xiao’s disguise, striking the most fragile corner of his heart.

Lin Xiao clenched his fists, nails digging into his flesh. The sharp pain pulled him back from the dizziness. He was silent for a moment, the blue veins in his forehead pulsing slightly. Finally, he unclenched his fingers, his voice dry, as if gravel was stuck in his throat: "Coach Su, are you sure... keeping him next to the starting position? It's too risky."

He looked at Chen An. A flash of reluctance crossed his eyes, but it was mostly a resigned acceptance. He knew this battle had only just begun, and his opponent was no longer the sparring partner he could crush at will.

A glint flashed in Su Wanwan’s eyes. Her mouth twitched slightly, almost imperceptibly—a predator’s excitement when locking onto prey. "Lin Xiao, serve at half strength."

She spoke lightly, as if delivering a final judgment. This wasn't showing weakness; it was pulling the battle from simple skill testing into a deeper layer of tactical maneuvering. The air flowed again, carrying a hint of heat and tension, signaling that every point from here on would be a wrestling match of souls.

Lin Xiao stared at Su Wanwan, her icy face reflected in his pupils. That chill that went to the bone made the back of his neck shiver. He stopped arguing. He just slowly nodded, turned, and walked to the other side of the table. The rubber friction of his shoes on the floor was particularly sharp in the dead silence of the training hall, each step feeling like walking on the edge of a cliff.

Chen An stood opposite, racket hanging loose, the sweat on his palm long dried. He watched Lin Xiao set up his stance, the familiar pressure once again enveloping him. But things were different this time. There was no disdain in Lin Xiao’s eyes, only a bottomless calm, like the sea before a storm.

"Ready." Lin Xiao’s voice was low, devoid of emotion.

Chen An took a deep breath. He shifted his stance, formed a lunge, and drew his racket back. His muscle memory activated instantly, an instinct polished by millions of repetitions. Lin Xiao tossed the ball, Chen An swung, the movement smooth as flowing water. But just as the racket face made contact with the ball, the situation changed.

It wasn't a normal serve. Lin Xiao’s ball speed looked like it was only half of usual, but the degree of spin was far beyond the limit of full speed. The ball let out a dull thud against Chen An’s racket face, as if lead had been poured into the rubber.

Chen An felt his wrist being forcibly twisted by an invisible giant force. His body lurched forward with uncontrolled inertia, a bead of sweat flinging off his forehead in a crystalline arc.

The ball flew out of bounds.

"0 to 1." Su Wanwan’s voice rang out coldly, as if just reporting a trivial number.

Chen An stabilized himself, but his mind was a tempest. Half strength? This wasn't half strength. It was a dimension-reducing strike based on supreme ball control. By lowering the speed, Lin Xiao had vastly increased the proportion of spin, making the ball’s trajectory unpredictable. This style was extremely stealthy; without closely observing the rebound angle on the table, no one could predict the landing spot.

"Again." Lin Xiao gave Chen An no room to breathe.

Second ball. Third ball... The rhythm quickened, the air seeming to solidify again. Chen An started activating every nerve in his body, his eyes locking死死 onto Lin Xiao’s racket angle, frantically calculating the spin vectors in his head.

Su Wanwan watched quietly from the side. Her speedometer lit up again, the numbers on the screen jumping in a way that held breath— the spin coefficient had breached the threshold of human physiological limits.

Just as Chen An prepared to return the fourth ball, Lin Xiao suddenly stopped. He tossed the ball up gently. This time, his movements were so slow they were nearly stagnant. The ball hung in the air for a split second before dropping at a bizarre angle.

Chen An instinctively went to strike, but the moment his racket face was about to touch the ball, a wave of dizziness hit him. It wasn't visual blurring, but a cognitive conflict. Lin Xiao’s shot had simultaneously layered two completely opposite directions of spin. Topspin and sidespin intertwined inside the ball, forming a complex chaotic field.

"If you can't break it, don't force it." Su Wanwan suddenly spoke. Her voice remained cold, but carried a cruelty of pity. "Lin Xiao, hold back."

Lin Xiao retrieved the ball, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint, thin smile, the composure of a hunter closing the net. He looked at Chen An. There was no joy of victory in his eyes, only deep confusion and scrutiny. He seemed to doubt just how many uncharted depths lay hidden within that clumsy sparring partner.

Chen An gripped his racket, his knuckles white. He lifted his head, meeting Lin Xiao’s gaze. The timidity in his eyes was gone, replaced by a sharpness that was unsettling. He spoke softly: "Captain Lin, I haven't lost this round yet."

Before his words faded, the training hall doors were suddenly pushed open. A beam of blinding sunlight slashed in, illuminating the dust dancing in the air. Outside, a familiar figure lingered in the shadows, their phone screen glowing faintly, playing a slow-motion replay of that last ball.