Chapter 11 | The Roster

The official school team roster was released Monday morning.

It wasn’t posted on a board—it was sent directly to the grade group chat. A simple message, no title, no emphasis, as if it had always been meant to exist.

Zero saw it during a break between study periods.

His phone vibrated, the screen lit up, and he lowered his head to open it. The list was long, from starters to reserves, line after line.

He didn’t immediately look for his own name.

He started at the top.

He knew some of the names already; others he had mentally prepared for.

Point Guard—

First line.

Zero.

His breath caught for a moment.

Not from surprise. From confirmation.

For the first time, he saw his official place on the team roster. No parentheses, no notes, no “tentative.”

Just a clean, solid name.

Zero scrolled down.

The second point guard spot—the name of the old veteran—was there too.

But further down, he noticed a familiar name missing.

The tall player from the sports class.

Not on the list.

Zero’s fingers tightened slightly.

He had expected it, but seeing it was still surreal. That player had the best physical advantage, yet hadn’t made it.

The break bell rang.

The classroom became noisy—some discussing the list, some banging desks, some sighing.

“Did you see? ×× didn’t make it.”
“No way… he’s really strong, isn’t he?”
“Coach just doesn’t like him, I guess.”

Zero locked his phone and put it in his pocket.

Practice was in the afternoon.

The gym felt emptier. Those who remained were more fixed in their positions, spoke less. Everyone understood: from this moment, team dynamics would last a long time.

Coach Zhou stood at the sidelines, holding the roster.

“Congratulations to those who stayed,” he said. “But don’t get too happy.”

No one smiled.

“The list is out, but that doesn’t mean positions are permanent,” Zhou continued. “At least one thing is clear—you’re now worth developing.”

He looked at Zero.

“Zero.”

Zero lifted his head.

“Starting today, you’re the first point guard,” Zhou said.

The gym was quiet.

This time, there were no questioning eyes.

Only acceptance.

Practice continued.

For the first time standing on the court as the first point guard, Zero felt strange. He didn’t do anything extra—he just delivered the ball to the right hands and controlled the rhythm.

But he could feel it. His teammates were watching him.

Not evaluating. Depending.

After practice, the old point guard approached him.

“I guess I’ll be playing the two-guard now,” he said.

Calm tone.

Zero nodded.

“Good,” he replied. The other added, “You’re better up front anyway.”

Zero wanted to say something more, but in the end, he just extended his hand.

They shook.

No words were exchanged.

That night, Zero walked alone on the practice field.

The wind was light, the lights stretched his shadow long. He stopped and looked at it.

Before, he had always felt like he was standing on the edge of the team.

Now, he was at the very front.

He didn’t feel excited.

Only a clear awareness:

From this moment on, he could no longer hide.