Autumn Whitman was watching with great interest. He really didn’t understand basketball very well—he’d never even played a full game. Back in school, he’d just messed around during PE class, a dozen or so people crowding into half a court, scrambling for the ball, tossing it at the hoop at random, laughing out loud if it went in, not caring at all if it didn’t.

But now that he was preparing to become a legendary basketball superstar, he couldn’t just fool around anymore. He had to fully master the rules of the game, or else he’d make a fool of himself.

He had to remember today, April 9th—the gears of fate had begun to turn. A legendary superstar was officially stepping into the world of sports. His ordinary urban wish-fulfillment life was evolving into a campus sports club + sweet romance story...

Scratch the sweet romance part. That second-year upperclassman girl wasn’t much to look at—her O-line wasn’t big enough, her legs weren’t very straight, her skin wasn’t fair enough, and she didn’t have long, straight black hair. Not his type at all.

He wondered if the club president’s last name was Akagi, and whether there was a super cute little sister named Haruko.

Autumn Whitman sat there reading a popular science booklet, daydreaming about the future, dopamine surging—he was already starting to feel great. But suddenly, he faintly heard a commotion—shouting coming from the next train car over. Even with two doors between them, the noise carried all the way here. At this rate, the glass over there might shatter.

The passengers stirred uneasily, and Autumn Whitman grew curious.

What was happening over there?

Was there a train groper?

Even as a transmigrator, he didn’t have the guts to grope a girl’s butt on the train. Who the hell would dare to be so brazen?

Someone actually had more guts than him?

He couldn’t sit still anymore. He got up, ready to check out the next car. If someone really was groping girls over there, then that was it—he’d have to step in and deliver a righteous punch of justice—punish evil and uphold good, right here and now!

And maybe boost his physical fitness a little in the process.

But just as he lifted his butt off the seat, the situation changed again. The door between the two cars was being pounded on with a loud “thud thud.” A middle-aged, chubby office worker was being pressed up against the door, his face squished against the glass, distorted like a pancake.

The noise from the next car changed too—from initial commotion to a series of shrill screams. It sounded like quite a few women were in extreme terror, all shrieking at once.

Everyone realized something was wrong. Autumn Whitman hurried over, taking two quick steps and yanking the door open—it wasn’t a push door, it was a pull. The fat man was wedged against it, making it impossible to open, blocking a whole line of people behind him.

As soon as the door opened, the fat man tumbled in, followed by a whole crowd, all falling over each other in an instant, causing a new wave of panic in this car. Autumn Whitman reached out and caught a petite girl in a Seisui Private High School uniform, quickly asking, “What happened?”

It didn’t look like a train groper incident at all—more like a terrorist attack.

The girl was half-held in Autumn Whitman’s strong arms, but unlike in wish-fulfillment stories, she didn’t blush or have her heart race, let alone fall in love at first sight and vow to warm his bed forever. She just kept trembling, her face streaked with a bit of blood, full of terror, clearly scared out of her wits, her lips quivering so much she couldn’t say a word.

But there was no need for her to speak—people sprawled on the floor were already shouting:

“Call the police, there’s been a murder!”

“Stop the train, I want to get off! I want to get off!”

“Mama, wuuu...”

“Close the door, quick!”

“Move, don’t block the way!”

Shouting as they scrambled to their feet and kept running forward, dragging the passengers in this car along, pushing everyone toward the other end. It even triggered a collective panic—everyone wanted to escape. In that instant, Autumn Whitman also caught a strong whiff of blood, and his brow furrowed deeply.

So it wasn’t a terrorist attack—was it a murder on the train?

A vendetta? A crime of passion?

He set the petrified girl down on a nearby seat, then, without a trace of fear, headed straight for that car.

Skill breeds courage. After two years of grueling training under “high gravity,” constantly brawling with tree spirits, he felt he was already close to the physical limits of teenagers in this world. Even if the other party had a gun—as long as it wasn’t an automatic rifle—he was confident he could put up a fight.

Besides, in a modern city, a random murder like this would just be committed by an ordinary person, right? At most, they’d have a kitchen knife—nothing to be afraid of. Just knock them out with one punch and hand them over to the police. No big deal.

Maybe he could even get a “righteous act award” or something, earn a bonus, and have enough money to buy a basketball hoop.

But as soon as he entered that car and took one look, he knew he’d guessed wrong.

This wasn’t an ordinary murder. On the floor and seats lay several people, students and office workers alike, their bodies mangled and bloody. Even the train windows were splattered with blood, the stench so thick it was suffocating—like he’d suddenly walked into a slaughterhouse.

Even with all his skill and courage, this kind of scene—straight out of a horror movie—left Autumn Whitman stunned, frozen in the doorway. Even after two years of fighting tree spirits and facing death, he’d never seen anything this disgusting. The tree spirits had never made such a mess.