Peninsula: Aiming for a Grand Slam

The game is over.

Switch sides, no rest.

As Chen Jixian walked past Park Joon-ho, the Korean man didn't even glance at him.

Second round.

Park Joon-ho's serve.

Chen Jixian stood in the receiving area, holding his racket with both hands, the racket heads facing upwards, in front of him.

There was nothing in his mind.

Blank.

It was as if someone had pressed the Delete key; the misjudgment, the several double errors, Liu Zhimin's eyes, the red text on the system panel... all of it was gone.

All that's left is a heartbeat.

"Thump, thump, thump."

The ball is coming.

He saw it and ran over, but his swing was like he was sleepwalking. The racket touched the ball, and it went out of bounds.

"Fifteen-Love".

Chen Jixian stood in the receiving area, his posture unchanged. He held the racket with both hands, head up, in front of him.

Park Joon-ho serves second. Chen Jixian lunges forward and blocks—the ball floats softly towards the middle. Park Joon-ho is waiting there…

"30-0"

Fuck!

Chen Jixian muttered a curse under his breath.

He didn't even know who he was cursing. Was he cursing the referee? Himself? The system? He cursed them all, but it was no use.

But I felt a little better.

Park Joon-ho's third serve, his second serve, landed shallowly. After a back-and-forth rally at the baseline, Park Joon-ho's return was shallow, landing near the service line.

Chen Jixian told himself:

"Go!"

This is a good opportunity to go online—normally, he would rush up and intercept the shot to score.

but,

His feet were rooted to the spot.

He asked himself:

"Chen Jixian, what are you afraid of?"

Afraid of going out of bounds.

Fear of misjudgment.

I'm afraid it won't be enough time.

Being afraid of this and that is really just a fear of losing.

He stayed at the baseline and hit a shot down the middle. Park Joon-ho calmly turned and hit a forehand, the ball flying past him.

"Forty-Love".

Three set points!?

absurd!

Am I the little piece of trash?!

Chen Jixian looked down at his hands—his knuckles were white, and his palms were soaked with sweat.

"Grip that tight? What kind of amateur grip is that!"

He suddenly realized something.

Has he been thinking about something else since the start of the competition?

Thinking about the system, the streamlined design, Yoo Jimin, Bae Joo-hyun, that misjudgment, and whether I would lose—

I never even thought about the ball!

Where's the ball?

Where is the ball?

The ball is on the other side.

Fuck!

The ball was always on the other side; he hadn't even seen it.

Chen Jixian took a deep breath.

A rush of cold air filled my lungs, traveled down my throat, and reached my lower abdomen.

He heard his own heartbeat again, thump, thump, thump, one beat after another, like someone lying there beating a drum!

Then he looked up.

He glanced at the scoreboard.

40-0.

Let's skip this round.

He looked at Park Joon-ho:

"Fine, then run."

Park Joon-ho, serving fourth.

Chen Jixian returned the ball—without exerting force or trying to find the right angle, he simply returned it.

His serve reception is +1, which is at the beginner level for professionals. Even without going all out, his serve placement is deep enough to make his opponents uncomfortable.

Park Joon-ho's expression changed, and he changed the direction of the line with his forehand.

Chen Jixian waited there and blocked the shot with a backhand. The tennis ball landed steadily near the baseline—Park Joon-ho had to run again.

Continue pulling.

The pulling continues.

Tony is wearing water.

Finally, Park Joon-ho won this "precious" point with a powerful overhead smash.

Love game.

0-2.

One point,

They struck it for about ten or twenty beats.

After Park Joon-ho scored the point, he bent over and braced himself on his knees. Chen Jixian stood at the baseline, slightly out of breath.

Even without putting any force into it, he can return the ball to the deep area. Park Jun-ho has to run for every shot, sometimes even running back and forth.

Mrs. Park stood up and clapped:

"See that? Love game!"

"Yeah, Junho looks great today!"

Some people said, "That kid on the other side doesn't seem very good," while others said, "He can't even serve properly."

"Coach Huang?"

Park's mother looked at the coach in the front row, wanting to find someone to agree with her.

Coach Huang responded with a sentence:

"Yeah, Junho played well."

"But the other side is not simple either; he is deliberately wearing down Junho's stamina."

Mrs. Park's smile vanished. She looked at the 2-0 scoreboard, utterly unable to believe that the other team could still win.

Coach Huang stared at Chen Jixian—

That last point, this kid was deliberately slowing down the pace.

It's not about pushing you to the limit, but it's not about letting you relax either. Every shot pushes you back to the very bottom, forcing Junho to run more.

Furthermore, CN Boy's forehand is exceptional, and his backhand is even more formidable, with deep shots and stable trajectories, forcing Park Jun-ho to take an extra half-step for every shot.

That kid could have won that point.

But they deliberately choose not to win, disdaining to expend energy for even a single point.

"Junho is in danger in the next round!"

The third round.

Chen Jixian's serve.

The first goal.

The first serve went into the box. The ball speed wasn't fast, but the landing point was tricky, landing near the T point.

Park Joon-ho started slowly.

His judgment was correct, but he hadn't even caught his breath yet!

The previous game's long rally of over ten shots had exhausted him; his heart and lungs were still burning. The ball bounced past him, and he hadn't even managed to swing his racket.

15-0.

In the audience, Coach Huang lowered his crossed arms.

He said in a low voice, "This is troublesome, Junho hasn't regained his composure."

Park's mother turned her head: "What's wrong?"

"In the last game, that kid deliberately slowed down the pace, returning to the baseline on every shot, forcing Junhao to run more. Now look, Junhao is still panting."

He paused for a moment.

"The next point is even more uncertain."

The second goal.

Chen Jixian glanced at Park Joon-ho's position—leaning towards the backhand side.

He tossed the ball and swung his racket. The serve hit the outside corner, and Park Joon-ho barely managed to dive over, but the ball bounced away the moment his racket touched it.

I didn't receive it.

Or rather, connecting it wouldn't make a difference.

30-0.

The third goal.

The first shot landed in the net.

On his second serve, he added a little spin, and the ball landed in the outer corner, bouncing and curving outwards. Park Joon-ho lunged to block, and the ball floated back softly.

For most people, it's safer to wait until the ball is at its highest point before striking it.

Chen Jixian didn't wait and rushed to the top.

He shot the ball while it was still bouncing upwards.

"Smack!"

The ball was faster than usual, heading straight for the open space. Park Joon-ho had just turned around when the ball bounced off the ground.

"Forty-Love."

In the audience, Park Joon-ho's mother sat up straight, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag on her knee.

The people around them also fell silent.

Coach Huang shook his head and smiled wryly.

He figured it out: the opponent might lack match experience, but they were just a numerical monster.

The misjudgment in the first game directly changed the course of the match. But a match has at least 12 games.

Winning two games, and the other one was a service game, what's the point?

The Grand Canal is coming.

Park Joon-ho is cosplaying a speed bump.

The fourth goal.

Three match points.

Chen Jixian stood at the baseline and dribbled the ball a few times. His hands were no longer shaking, and his palms were a little sweaty; he was in excellent form.

He looked up and glanced at Park Joon-ho across from him.

The Korean player stood in the receiving area, his center of gravity low, his grip on the racket tight, his eyes fixed on the tennis ball in his hand.

Chen Jixian found it somewhat amusing:

"What are you so nervous about? I'm the one who should be nervous, I'm the one who's down 0-2."

But he wasn't nervous.

Chen Jixian throws the ball.

The height is just right.

Kneel down, turn around, swing the racket—the sound is crisp, like the sound of eating the sweet spot.

The ball hits point T and bounces off.

Park Joon-ho didn't even swing his racket.

Ace!

1-2.

Chen Jixian clenched his fist and turned to walk towards the rest area. There was no shouting, no celebration, just a fist clench.

The towel was on my head, and my heartbeat was still there, but it wasn't as loud as before.

……

There's not much to say about the upcoming matches.

Chen Jixian broke through and held serve, defeating Park Jun-ho 6-2. The second game was even more dominant, with Chen winning 6-0.

When the Korean player shook hands with the team after the match, his face was ashen and his eyes were red.

He probably realized that he was the one who was just a scrap.

"We won... a close call."

As Chen Jixian walked out of the arena, the sunlight momentarily blinded him. He stood at the entrance, his sweat-soaked T-shirt clinging to his back, feeling a bit uncomfortable in the breeze.

My phone vibrated.

It's Bae Joo-hyun.

"Finished?"

"Yes, we won."

Where are you now?

Chen Jixian looked up and glanced at the street corner: "The convenience store at the entrance of the stadium."

"Find a place, I'll be there in a bit."

Chen Jixian was stunned.

What do you mean she'll be there in a bit? Even if she's down on her luck now, she's still a household name in Asia as a female celebrity. How could she possibly show up here?

Less than ten minutes.

My phone vibrated again.

"I've arrived, can you see me?"