The Million-Dollar Heart (Percival and Vivienne)
Chapter 164

Percival scored a basket, and a cheer erupted from the seniors on the sidelines.

Tristan gritted his teeth in frustration. He glanced at Vivienne and Anna as a cold glint appeared in his eyes before whispering something to the other four players on his team. The four boys hesitated, but under Tristan's pressure, they had no choice but to agree.

From then on, Tristan and his crew started to single out Vivienne and Anna, taking advantage of their petite frames and deliberately body-checking them.

Tristan, in particular, seemed to enjoy humiliating Vivienne. Instead of passing to his teammates, he made a point of aiming the ball at her face.

"That's low!" Faye, who was cheering from the sidelines, was livid. Her scar had long since healed, thanks to Vivienne.

And ever since, she had been much happier. This was the first time she had been angry since her recovery.

"Have you no shame?" Charlotte shouted at Class One team. "Picking on girls! What a display of 'strength'!"

Class One looked embarrassed. They, too, thought Tristan's actions were distasteful.

Arabella, however, scoffed and said, "The court is a battlefield. You aim for your opponent's weakness. As long as it's within the rules, it's fair game. It's just a strategy." She did have a point, and Class Eighteen was left speechless.

"Look at Ms. Vivienne!" Faye suddenly shouted excitedly.

On the court, Vivienne easily dodged her opponents, no matter how hard they targeted her.

She cast a glance at Tristan, effortlessly caught the ball, and passed it to Percival.

She raised an eyebrow and spoke softly, "Percival, they are bullying me. Will you teach them a lesson?"

Ah, the perks of having a fiancé. She had someone to fight her battles.

Percival's face darkened the moment Tristan began targeting Vivienne.

"Sure, I'll teach them some manners!"

If they weren't in school, he wouldn't mind teaching Tristan a lesson his way.

But no matter.

He would do it the civilized way.

Percival took the ball and easily dribbled past his opponents. He scored layups, dunked, and hit three-pointers.

In no time, he was the center of attention, scoring twenty points.

Each time he scored, Class Eighteen cheered. Even the Class One girls couldn't help but scream in excitement for him.

Arabella watched Percival's graceful figure on the court, filled with greed and resentment. He was supposed to be hers; she was the one who gave him up to Vivienne.

During half-time, Class Eighteen was on cloud nine, looking at Class One with contempt.

The four boys from the Class One complained to Tristan. "Coach, if you didn't want to win, you should have just said so. Was it necessary to target Vivienne and throw the ball at her?" "Exactly! Not only is Ms. Vivienne unscathed, she even passed all the balls to Mr. Ellington, and we didn't score a single point!"

"Damn! We shot ourselves in the foot!"

Class One was silent. Tristan and his team's actions were disgraceful, and they hadn't scored a single point. On the other hand, Class Eighteen, with two girls on the team, were leading by twenty points. "How can you blame Tristan?" Arabella came to Tristan's defense. "Targeting Vivienne, a girl, was a smart strategy. Who knew that you four couldn't even..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but her point was clear. The blame lay with the four boys, who couldn't even guard one girl.

"So, it's our fault that Coach Tristan deliberately threw the ball at Ms. Vivienne instead of his teammates, allowing the other team to score?"

The four boys looked unhappy.

"Shut up!" Tristan glared at them, and they fell silent. They were intimidated by his malicious gaze.

He looked at the members of Class Eighteen, who were cheering happily. Vivienne and Percival were the center of attention. He had underestimated Vivienne and Anna.

He had thought they would be the weak links, but Vivienne's ball control and Anna's scoring abilities were impressive.

"We'll play normally in the second half. We can win." Tristan commanded.

The boys rolled their eyes but didn't say anything else.

In the second half, Tristan and his team stopped targeting Vivienne and Anna. They finally had some scoring opportunities, but Percival and Vivienne's skills were too formidable, and the score gap remained wide.

Halfway through the second half, the score gap had widened to sixty points.

Tristan's eyes flashed with malice. He deliberately fouled and injured Oberon while fighting for a rebound. Oberon fell to the ground, clutching his ankle and crying out in pain. "My foot!"

"Oberon!" Members of Class Eighteen rushed over in a panic. Vivienne hurried over to check on Oberon.

His ankle was swollen. It was a serious sprain.

"Tristan, you have no shame!" Charlotte was so angry that she addressed Tristan by his first name, omitting the customary 'Mr.'

"It was an accident." Tristan replied nonchalantly, his attitude brazen.

Vivienne's face was set in a stern mask as she pressed gently against Oberon's ankle. After she adjusted his sprained bone into place, the pain seemed to lessen, but there was no way he could play anymore. This left her team one player short.

"Maybe I should sit this one out. You guys can continue 4V4." A player from Tristan's team suggested. He'd had enough of Tristan's dirty moves, especially the one he'd just pulled. He was beginning to regret even showing up for this game.

Tristan glared at the player. "If you want to quit, fine. But you're running a hundred laps around the field."

A hundred laps? That was practically suicide.

The player paled, about to argue, when Vivienne stood up. "Four people are enough!"

"You're joking!" Tristan was angered by her defiant posture, and his eyes filled with even more malice.

The second half continued.

Despite being one player short, Vivienne and Percival played with an aggressive edge.

They were specifically targeting Tristan. The moment the ball was in his hands, Percival would swoop in and steal it with unexpected tactics.

In the remaining ten minutes, no one on Tristan's team could hold onto the ball for more than five seconds.

As the end of the match approached, Tristan's face grew darker and more menacing. With only fifty seconds left on the clock, his team hadn't scored a single point.

He couldn't accept this!

Logan managed to get hold of the ball, and Tristan, desperate, tried to trip him. Ignoring the referee's whistle for a foul, he raced with the ball towards the basket, ready to dunk.

No one saw how Percival appeared out of nowhere under the basket. He jumped up, reaching higher than Tristan, and blocked the shot.

Taken aback, Tristan turned around just in time to see Vivienne with the ball. He shouted, "Defense!"

As the four guys on his team charged towards her, Vivienne smoothly tossed the ball behind her to Percival.

Standing outside the three-point line, Percival leaped backward and shot.

Team Eighteen won by a staggering seventy-three points!