My name is Fan Wen. I work as a book boy and study with our young master.
But this is a world where sports are the most important thing, so my other job is as a sparring partner.
To be more precise, a living target.
At seven o'clock in the morning, I was playing this role on the basketball court in the backyard of the Qian family mansion, which was big enough to accommodate a helicopter.
"Hurry up! Fan Wen, haven't you eaten? Run faster!"
My young master, who has a lot of money, is sitting lazily on the lounge chair under the umbrella. Instead of holding a basketball, he is holding a carbon fiber tennis racket and slapping my calf every time.
Wearing old sportswear that had been washed white, I ran the nineteenth lap of the return run on the plastic track. My eyes were blinded by sweat and my lungs were burning.
