Peninsula: Aiming for a Grand Slam

Chapter 32 Little Little Little Nadal

Before the match.

Players' tunnel.

Ye Haoran leaned against the wall, scrolling through his phone. Next to him stood a boy wearing a North Face suit and a tall guy with dyed red hair.

"Haoran, who are you going to face in the second round?" Beimian asked, leaning over to take a look at the draw.

"J.Chen." Ye Haoran locked his phone.

Who is this person?

The guy from the North Face thought for a moment: "Was it that guy at the registration desk that day? I remember he wanted to add you on WeChat?"

Ye Haoran was stunned for a moment.

He didn't say anything.

The North Face crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

He smiled:

"If I had arrived a moment later that day, you would have added it for him."

Red-haired Brother recalled: "The one carrying luggage this morning? What does his family do?"

Ye Haoran shook his head: "I don't know, but the conditions aren't great, and the rackets are all old."

"So you still want to add him on WeChat?" North Face clapped his hands. "What's in it for you?"

Ye Haoran remained silent.

Red-haired guy tried to smooth things over:

"Haoran is just shy; once someone asks him for a favor, he feels awkward refusing. By the way, how's that kid's skill level?"

The North Face smiled:

"I watched two games in the first round and then left. We were down 0-2, double-faulting on serve, and my return of serve was terrible. I don't know how we won, but it was pretty ugly."

"Then you've got this round covered."

Red Hair patted Ye Haoran on the shoulder.

Ye Haoran didn't speak, but his lips twitched slightly before he finally nodded.

"Let's go warm up."

Ye Haoran put his phone in his pocket and followed them outside.

As he passed the corner of the corridor, he saw Chen Jixian, who was still holding that secondhand PD in his hand.

There was a duffel bag next to him, its zipper open, containing a coat and a water bottle.

A person.

Ye Haoran withdrew his gaze and quickened his pace to walk over.

……

Qualifying round, second round.

Pick the edge.

The two walked to the net.

Ye Haoran glanced at Chen Jixian—this was the first time he had observed Chen Jixian so closely.

Putting aside his appearance, he was dressed in cheap, mismatched clothes. He sat alone on a bench, his hands wrapped in hand tape, and he even brought his luggage to the competition.

He remembered checking in on Saturday, taking out his phone first and then putting it back. Thinking about his friend's question, all he could say was, "That guy wanted to add me as a friend."

I remembered a friend asking me before the game, "Do you know each other?"

And his answer—

do not know.

"Call it," the referee said.

Ye Haoran did not move.

He glanced at Chen Jixian, then at his friends in the stands. Bei Mian Ge stood with his arms crossed, his expression unchanging.

"Guess."

Chen Jixian was stunned for a moment.

This person even has to let you win when guessing a coin?

Heads.

It's a 50/50 chance anyway.

A positive character, of course you should guess a positive one.

The referee tossed a coin, and it landed on the ground.

reverse side.

Wu Wukai lost.

"You serve," the referee said to Ye Haoran.

Ye Haoran turned and walked towards the baseline without looking at Chen Jixian.

Chen Jixian stood in the receiving area, muttering to himself:

"You're too scared to even try a simple coin toss yourself. Are you afraid to talk to me, or afraid to stand next to me?"

The system popped up another message:

[Warning: Abnormal mood swings detected. Rest and temporary avoidance of social media are recommended.]

Chen Jixian was taken aback.

He felt perfectly mentally healthy. Was he having a systemic neurosis? Besides, he didn't have time to recuperate right now.

The tossing is finished.

Ye Haoran serves first.

The North Face shouted:

"Haoran, ACE is now open!"

The referee glanced in that direction, said nothing, but frowned. A staff member nearby made a "quiet" gesture—they had violated audience etiquette.

North Face chuckled, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Red Hair laughed along and whispered something. The two exchanged a glance and didn't shout anymore.

I couldn't hear what they were saying.

However, we can guess from their expressions:

"It's a small competition, it doesn't matter."

Chen Jixian was speechless for a moment.

He was even a little confused as to whether these two were there to cheer on Fila or to cause trouble.

Or,

Supervisor?

Ye Haoran's face froze.

He stood at the baseline and dribbled the ball a few times. Before tossing the ball, he looked up—

It's not about looking at the opponent.

Not watching the game,

He glanced at the stands! North Face was sitting there, his arms crossed over his chest.

Chen Jixian was stunned for a moment.

Having played tennis for a month, this was the first time he had ever seen someone check "what the audience's expressions are" before serving.

The ball was tossed up.

Ye Haoran swings his racket.

His movements were very precise; it was clear he had been coached. The ball went into the penalty area, landing near the outside corner.

Chen Jixian lunged forward, and the +1 return was no joke; the ball was returned deep, landing near the baseline.

Ye Haoran took two steps back to reach the ball, and hit it back with his forehand. The ball landed in the middle of the field with a shallow, moderate drop.

Chen Jixian turned sideways and swept his hand towards the sideline. Ye Haoran lunged forward but couldn't reach it.

0-15.

"It's okay, it's only the first point."

Red Hair's voice was much quieter.

North Face didn't move.

On the second point, Ye Haoran added a little spin, but he did not gain the upper hand against Chen Jixian, who had a +1 return.

The two players were ralliing from the baseline. On the seventh shot, Ye Haoran attempted a forehand cross-court shot, but the ball went out of bounds.

0-30.

North Face put down his crossed leg and leaned forward.

I couldn't see his expression clearly.

In the next point, Chen Jixian's slice shot went into the net, making it 15-30.

Another point, Ye Haoran's forehand went out of bounds, 15-40.

Break point!

The North Face finally couldn't sit still any longer.

He sprang up from his chair: "Haoran! Use your signature move! Your forehand! Hit his backhand!"

Chen Jixian was slightly taken aback: "A secret weapon?"

He stared intently at Fila.

suddenly,

The system UI popped up.

[Enemy Unit: Ye Haoran]

[Technical Attributes]

Forehand: 0 (any fraction less than 1 is counted as 0)

Gone.

"Forehand +0?"

"No, Ye Haoran's forehand is different from his other techniques."

"Everyone's score is 0, but other attributes are 0.5, so a forehand might be 0.9?"

Chen Jixian secretly became more vigilant.

The staff member next to him immediately made a "quiet" gesture, and the referee also looked over.

Red-haired guy tugged at his friend's sleeve.

North Face shook off his hand, sat back down, crossed his arms, and looked very long-faced.

Ye Haoran heard it, of course.

He took a deep breath.

He tossed the ball… his hand trembled, and the serve went into the net. He wiped his sweat, and this time he didn't look at the stands, perhaps because he was afraid to.

Throw the ball again.

On the second serve, the racket face opened slightly, and the ball flew out of bounds.

Double error.

Breakout.

It got broken so quickly?

Ye Haoran lowered his head, not daring to look at his friend or Chen Jixian's expression.

Second round.

Chen Jixian's serve.

He stood at the baseline and dribbled the ball a few times. He tossed the ball, swung his racket—the ball hit the T-point and bounced away; Ye Haoran hadn't even swung his racket.

ACE.

15-0.

Ye Haoran stood still, gripping the racket, staring at the ground.

Chen Jixian thought to himself:

"Is this kid still thinking about that double fault from the last game?"

He could understand that expression.

During the first round this morning, the stupid referee made an unjust ruling, and I probably looked just like that.

but,

What does it have to do with him?

He can't even afford FILA.

Second serve.

Same landing point, same speed.