The Cannon Fodder Who Fell in Love at Art School - Chapter 6
Fang Chen was so anxious that he paced in circles around the room.
He didn’t know whether Sis had transferred the wrong amount, and the worst part was he didn’t even have any way to contact him.
Fortunately, just a few seconds later, his phone rang.
He picked up immediately, and before he could say anything, the man on the other end spoke first. Sorry. We had a practice match today. It ran late, so I only just had time to send the transfer.
Fang Chen could tell from his voice that Sis must have just finished training, his tone was slightly hoarse, his breath still rough and unsteady. Even through the phone, it felt like that breath brushed right against Fang Chen’s ear.
He froze for a couple of seconds before collecting himself. “It’s fine. But… did you send the wrong amount? I received a hundred thousand dollars.”
“No mistake.”
Sis had actually wanted to transfer more, but he’d worried that too large a sum might scare the boy off.
In the locker room, Sis sat on the bench, bare-chested, sweat still dripping down his body after the match, tracing the hard ridges of his abs as they slid lower.
“Would it be convenient for me to see you tomorrow?”
Fang Chen’s voice immediately became cautious. “Why?”
“To deliver a small gift of apology.”
“That’s not necessary,” Fang Chen refused at once. “You’ve already sent way too much.”
He managed to keep his tone even, though inwardly his mind was spinning with excitement.
A hundred thousand dollars.
He wouldn’t have to work a single day this year.
Rich people really did live in another world just the money leaking from between their fingers was enough to keep him fed.
“It’s necessary,” Sis said. His voice was steady, neither commanding nor humble, but just slow and sincere enough to make people instinctively listen. “I frightened you that day, and I tied you up. I owe you an apology.”
Anyone else overhearing that sentence would have been shocked. Sis never spoke in such a gentle tone to anyone.
But his words didn’t match his actions.
While apologizing, he opened his locker. Inside sat a small, fluffy ball and a crumpled tie.
Unfortunately, Fang Chen couldn’t see that part.
He hesitated. After all, anyone who could casually transfer a hundred thousand dollars probably wouldn’t bring a cheap “gift.”
And really, who turns down money?
“Alright then,” Fang Chen finally agreed. “I’ll be at the pizza place near the school gate tomorrow. The one with the red sign you know it?”
“I do.”
“Good.” Fang Chen paused, feeling the silence grow awkward. “Then… see you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow,” Sis replied softly.
And just like that, somehow, they had made an appointment.
When the call ended and the screen dimmed, Fang Chen couldn’t shake the strange feeling in his chest.
Wasn’t Sis being a bit too… approachable?
He didn’t seem quite like the person everyone described.
Fang Chen’s schedule wasn’t too heavy that week, so he headed to the pizza shop early the next morning.
Jemmy was already there.
He looked positively radiant, humming to himself as he wiped tables with a towel.
Fang Chen walked over, curious. “You win the lottery or something?”
“Almost!” Jemmy grinned. “Remember the hunk I met at the party two nights ago? Amazing stamina. You have no idea how last night.”
“Stop!” Fang Chen quickly cut him off with a gesture.
Knowing Fang Chen wasn’t exactly open to hearing those details, Jemmy shrugged and changed the subject, eyes sparkling. “But get this he’s part of the WK Boxing Club! He promised to get me tickets to Sis’s match!”
At the sound of that name, Fang Chen stiffened.
“By the way, Xiao Chen, did you sell your watch yet?”
Fang Chen coughed lightly, feeling guilty. “Yeah, I did.”
For a hundred thousand dollars.
Before Jemmy could press for details, Fang Chen hurriedly nudged him toward the counter. “Alright, alright, enough chatting. If the boss catches us slacking, we’ll lose pay again.”
During the lunchtime rush, Fang Chen usually delivered pizzas, and when he wasn’t out, he helped around the shop.
He’d just taken two orders when his phone vibrated in his pocket.
The only person who’d contact him today was Sis.
For some reason, guilt fluttered in his chest. He slipped quietly into a corner before answering.
“Busy?” The man’s low voice came through the speaker, deep and close, like it brushed right against his ear. “I’m outside the shop. Can I come in to see you?”
“No, I’ll come out!” Fang Chen said quickly.
“Alright. Same car as last time.”
After hanging up, Fang Chen unfastened his apron, waited until no one was watching, and quietly slipped out the door.
Sis’s car was parked across the street. Fang Chen ran over, opened the door, got in, and shut it in one smooth motion.
The next second, a paper bag appeared in front of him.
“Think of it as a gift,” Sis said. “I’m still sorry for that day.”
“You’ve apologized enough already.”
Fang Chen hugged the bag, glancing up. “Can I open it?”
“Go ahead.”
The bag felt light. Fang Chen wondered what could be inside, then froze when he saw it.
Inside were several neatly stacked tickets.
“These are…”
“Is it too forward of me?” Sis looked at him intently. “May I invite you to come watch my match?”
“I have a few tickets. You can give them away or sell them if you’d like. I just hope you’ll keep one for yourself.”
Fang Chen was stunned, words caught in his throat.
He hadn’t expected this. And now, looking at the tickets, he suddenly regretted agreeing so easily last night.
“This…” he murmured, awkward and flustered, “this is a bit too much.”
“They’re just tickets,” Sis said calmly. “I picked them up on the way.”
Since the gift was already in his hands, refusing would seem rude. Fang Chen swallowed his nerves and said, “Thank you. I’ll accept them then.”
There wasn’t much else to say after that. The purpose of their meeting had been fulfilled, and the silence between them felt faintly awkward.
Fortunately, Sis seemed to sense it too. After a glance at his watch, he said nothing more.
Taking the cue, Fang Chen spoke up. You must be busy. I should get back to.
He was just reaching for the door handle when Sis suddenly called his name.
“Fang Chen.”
This time, his pronunciation was nearly perfect.
Startled, Fang Chen turned to look. Sis was smiling faintly, the corners of his mouth lifting. “How was that?”
Fang Chen blinked twice, then replied stiffly, “Pretty good.”
Honestly, if Sis really wanted to improve his Chinese, he could just hire a tutor. Repeating his name over and over like that was… weird.
When he returned to the pizza shop, Fang Chen clutched the paper bag tightly, hurrying into the staff room to shove it deep into his backpack.
After all, each ticket was worth three thousand dollars.
That was practically a fortune.
When his lunch shift ended, he told the boss he had afternoon classes, but in truth, he raced straight back to his dorm.
The moment he stepped inside, he shut the door, pulled the tickets out, and laid them on the desk one by one.
Three thousand, six thousand.
There were eight in total.
The little miser’s eyes were practically shining.
Alright then, he’d keep one to watch the match himself. That left seven. Jemmy had helped him out quite a bit lately, so he’d give him one too.
Even so, after a quick estimate, Fang Chen realized that selling those tickets could bring in almost twenty thousand dollars.
He happily sat on the chair, swinging his legs as he snapped a few pictures of the tickets with his phone and listed them online.
In just a few days, he’d already made this much money it was unbelievable.
Fang Chen lay back on the bed, turning one of the tickets over in his hand. “Sith isn’t just Sith,” he thought cheerfully. “He’s basically my god of fortune.”
As he played with the ticket, something caught his eye. When the sunlight from the window hit it just right, one corner turned slightly translucent, revealing a faint red mark underneath.
“What’s this? A security mark?”
He remembered what Sith had said about people secretly selling counterfeit tickets. If they could pass for real ones, they must look almost identical. But then… could this anti-counterfeiting mark be faked too?
Just as that thought crossed his mind, his phone buzzed. Fang Chen quickly set the ticket aside. It was a message from Jeming, asking if he wanted to grab dinner together.
He thought about it for a moment. Perfect timing he could give Jeming one of the tickets. That would definitely make him happy. So Fang Chen readily agreed.
Neither of them could afford fancy food, so they met at a small burger joint for dinner.
While waiting for their food, they both spoke at the same time: “I have something for you!”
They froze, then burst out laughing.
Jeming went first. “I got two tickets for a boxing match! Let’s go together!”
He slapped the tickets onto the table, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.
Fang Chen’s expression turned a little odd.
Without a word, he reached into his bag and took out his own tickets. “Actually… I was going to give you one too.”
For a moment, they both stared, then laughed again.
Stuffing a fry dripping with ketchup into his mouth, Fang Chen asked curiously, “So, that guy you mentioned gave them to you?”
“Yeah,” Jeming said proudly, raising his brows. “His name’s Chuck. We’re dating now.”
Fang Chen frowned. “You just met him. Do you even know what kind of person he is?”
Jeming shrugged. “As long as he’s good in bed, that’s all that matters.”
“Come on,” Jeming teased, “you should loosen up a bit. Have some fun. Life’s too short to be so uptight.”
“Fun…?” Fang Chen echoed uncertainly.
“If you want, I can introduce you to a couple of guys. I promise you’ll be very happy.” Jeming held up his hands to indicate a length. “Such a long.”
Fang Chen immediately waved both hands. “No, no, no thanks.”
Jeming sighed in mock disappointment.
To him, Fang Chen was exactly the type of person who went crazy for an Asian boy with black hair and dark eyes, soft-spoken and delicate. Too bad he was so thin; he looked like he’d break at the slightest rough touch.
And in Jeming’s experience, men could get pretty rough.
So, where did your tickets come from? Jeming asked suddenly.
Fang Chen had just taken a sip of cola and nearly choked. He coughed hard, barely keeping from spraying it out.
Where did they come from?
From Sith Bolton himself.
If he said that out loud, Jeming would probably think he’d lost his mind.
“I… got them from a friend too,” Fang Chen muttered vaguely.
Jeming squinted, sensing something was off. “A friend, huh?” He leaned in, ready to pry further.
Fang Chen hurriedly changed the topic. “You said that guy Chuck is part of the logistics team, right? Then those tickets must’ve been free. Anyway, since I already have mine, you can sell your extra one. Might as well make some money.”
“His name’s Chuck,” Jeming corrected, resting his chin on his hand. “But it was a gift from him. Wouldn’t it be rude to sell it?”
Fang Chen, who had just sold six tickets himself, said weakly, “I… don’t think so.”
“Then you’d better keep them safe,” Fang Chen added quickly, handing the ticket over. But as he passed it across the table, the light hit it at an angle, and he froze.
Just as Jeming reached out, Fang Chen snatched the ticket back.
“What are you doing?” Jeming frowned.
Fang Chen didn’t answer. He lifted the ticket closer to his face, his brows furrowing tighter and tighter.
Strange. This one wasn’t the same as the ones Sith had given him. The corner didn’t turn translucent under the light, and there was no red mark.
Could it be.
A fake ticket?
Fang Chen doesn’t like wearing slippers at home, and he refuses to use rugs, so he’s always running around barefoot.
Sith warned him about it several times, but Fang Chen never listened.
Until one night, Sith caught him barefoot again.
That night, Sith coldly listed every single time Fang Chen had gone barefoot that month and decided to “discipline” him with his own feet.
By the next morning, Fang Chen’s soles were red and sore. He didn’t dare step out of bed, let alone go barefoot again.
And from then on, that bad habit was cured for good.