8:00 Fri<b>, </b><b>Sep </b>26 <b>T </b>
Badass in Disguise
<b>Chapter </b><b>218 </b>
…
<b>86 </b>
Brock stood in the center of the court, hands on his knees, staring at me with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. But he wasn’t done yet.
“It’s not over,” he insisted, straightening up with visible effort.
I smiled coolly. “Then let’s continue.”
What followed was less a basketball game and more a demonstration. I moved at full speed now, no longer holding back. Brock’s team couldn’t even track my movements, much less counter them. Their frustration mounted with every point I scored, every attempt they failed to block.
“How is she not even tired?” one of Brock’s teammates gasped, watching me sink another perfect three–pointer.
Brock, his pride in tatters, made onest desperate attempt. As I dribbled toward the basket, he charged directly at me, clearly hoping to use his superior size to knock the ball away.
He didn’t evene close. I sidestepped his charge effortlessly, and somehow–though no one saw exactly how it happened–Brock’s calf received a powerful kick. The impact was so forceful that no one suspected it came from me. He stumbled forward, knee hitting the hardwood with a painful crack before he copsedpletely, clutching his leg and crying out in pain.
I looked down at him with cold contempt, then turned toward the basket. With calcted force, I mmed the ball into the hoop. The backboard exploded in a shower of tempered ss that rained down on the court as the final buzzer sounded.
Final score: 97:13.
The gymnasium erupted in thunderous apuse and cheers. Students who had never noticed me before were on their feet, shouting my name. Phones were raised everywhere, capturing the aftermath of my performance.
“Holy shit!” a guy in a Princeton sweater eximed. “NBA yers would look weakpared to that!”
“She’s not just a goddess,” another student dered. “She’s the fucking queen of the court!”
Even the girls were swept up in the excitement. “I’m definitely learning basketball now,” one announced to her friends. “How does someone so slim have that much arm strength?”
Brock remained on the floor, his calf and knee already turning an ugly purple. One of his teammates knelt beside him, confusion evident on his face.
“What happened to your leg, man? How’d you get hit like that?”
I shrugged, expression neutral. “Physical contact happens on the court. Isn’t that what you said?”
8:00 Fri<b>, </b><b>Sep </b>26 <b>T </b>
…
Brock said nothing, just stared at me with aplex mix of emotions in his eyes.
“So… we really have to run?” one of his teammates asked reluctantly.
Another one sighed. “It’s just running shirtless for ap. Not a big deal for guys like us.”
86
Chase sauntered over, his grin predatory. “You wish it was that simple. He said we could do whatever we want if he lost, right?” He looked pointedly at Brock.
“What do you want?” Brock ground out through clenched teeth.
“I’m feeling generous today,” Chase announced. “You can keep your underwear on. But you’re running around the entire Princeton campus, then all the way back to Randview College.”
He paused, his smile widening. “And you’ll be shouting ‘Princeton is the best‘ the whole way.”
Brock’s face contorted with anger. “You set me up,” he spat, ring at me. “Pretending you’d never yed before. ying dumb to trick me.”
I looked down at him, my expression bored. “ying dumb? Why would I need to? This isn’t exactly rocket science. One look and anyone could figure it out.”
“Hear that?” Chase interjected. “Why would she need to trick someone like you? That’s what genuine talent looks like. Now stop making excuses. Keep stalling and we’ll take those underwear too.”
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