Green Pitch Appointment: The Flag Disgrace

The stadium in Hailan City hummed with a nervous energy that crackled like static before a storm. The floodlights blazed down on the pitch, casting long shadows across the empty north and south stands, but the east and west sides were packed. On the east, three hundred young Chinese fans waved red flags and chanted, their faces bright with hope and pride. Among them stood Li Gui, his hands clenched around a banner that read “China Forever.” He was ordinary, unremarkable in every way—average height, average build, a mop of black hair that fell into his eyes. But his eyes were fixed on one person: his girlfriend, Yi Fei’er.

She stood at the front of the cheerleading squad, a towering figure at 175 centimeters, her long black straight hair cascading down her back. Her glasses caught the stadium lights as she turned to lead the first cheer. Behind her, 299 other girls moved in perfect unison, each one a mirror of beauty—full chests, flawless faces, legs that seemed to stretch forever. They were the girlfriends of the east-side fans, and they were a statement. Li Gui’s heart swelled with love and a quiet, fierce pride. Fei’er was intelligent, kind, and stronger than she looked. But when she smiled at him from the pitch, he saw the tension in her jaw.

On the west side, three hundred Korean middle-aged men sat in a dense, murmuring mass. They wore tracksuits and branded caps, their faces weathered from years of drinking and shouting. Park Dae-geun sat in the center, a greasy film of sweat on his forehead. His hair was unwashed, plastered to his scalp, and his eyes were small and cruel. He watched the cheerleaders with a hunger that was more than admiration. Every bounce, every sway of their hips made his pulse quicken. He leaned to the man beside him.

“Look at them,” Park hissed, his voice thick with envy. “Chinese dogs with goddesses. They don’t deserve them.”

The man next to him nodded, licking his lips. “What would we give to have one of those on our side for a night?”

Park’s mind worked fast. He had seen the way the Chinese fans jeered at him, the way they mocked his broken Mandarin. He had a score to settle, and a plan. He stood up, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Hey! Chinese friends!” he shouted across the field. His voice carried, slurred but loud. “Your women are beautiful! But do they know how to cheer for real, or just for losers?”

The east side went quiet. Li Gui’s grip tightened on the banner. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. Then a roar of anger. “Shut up, you ugly bastard!” someone yelled.

Park grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. He motioned for the Korean fans to quiet down. “I make a bet! A friendly bet! If Korea scores a goal, your cheerleaders come to our side. Just three minutes. Sing for us, dance for us. Then they go back.”

The stadium fell into a stunned silence. Li Gui felt his blood boil. He vaulted over the low barrier and started walking onto the pitch. The security guard hesitated, but Li Gui was already striding toward the Korean section. He stopped at the halfway line, his face pale with cold anger.

“That’s our women you’re talking about,” Li Gui said, his voice shaking. “You don’t bet on people.”

Park laughed, a gravelly sound. “Then don’t accept! Stay scared! What are you, men or mice?”

From behind Li Gui, footsteps approached. Yi Fei’er stepped up beside him, her head high. She placed a hand on his arm. “Don’t,” she whispered. “He’s trying to provoke us.”

“He’s insulting you,” Li Gui said through gritted teeth.

“I know.” Fei’er turned to face Park. Her voice carried, clear and sharp. “Fine. We accept. But if China scores, your men come to our side. And you stay silent for the rest of the game.”

Park’s eyes lit up. He had wanted her specifically. The tall one with the glasses. The leader. He imagined her forced to dance for him, her cold dignity shattered. “Deal!” he shouted. “Deal!”

The Chinese fans erupted in protest. “No way! Don’t do it!” A few cheerleaders cried out, but Fei’er raised her hand. She looked back at her team. Their eyes met. They were all girlfriends, sisters, friends. They were not going to be intimidated.

“We won’t lose,” Fei’er said to them. “And if we do, it’s three minutes. We can endure three minutes of anything for our team.”

Li Gui stood beside her, his heart pounding. He hated the bet, hated the way Park’s eyes crawled over Fei’er’s body. But he would not back down. Not when she was so brave.

The referee blew the whistle. The game began.

The first half was a brutal exchange. The Chinese team pressed hard, but the Korean defense held. Park Dae-geun watched from the west side, his legs spread wide, feeling the familiar bulge in his pants. He had always gotten aroused by power. And now, he imagined the tall cheerleader kneeling before him, her glasses askew, her dignity in shreds. He whispered to himself, “Three minutes is just the beginning.”

On the pitch, Fei’er led the cheers, her voice cracking with emotion. Li Gui watched her from the stands, his hands trembling. He had promised to protect her. But how could he protect her from a bet she had chosen to accept? How could he stop the upcoming humiliation if the Korean team scored?

The ball flew. Goalkeepers dove. The clock ticked.

And somewhere in the noise, the fans of both sides held their breath, waiting for the first goal.

The stadium buzzed with tension as the second half wore on. Li Gui sat in the east stands, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. The scoreboard still read 0-0, a deadlock that felt like a weight pressing down on the entire Chinese section. Every pass, every tackle, every near miss sent jolts through the crowd. Yi Fei'er stood with her cheerleading squad on the sideline, her long black hair tied back neatly, glasses perched on her nose, her face a mask of focused encouragement as she led the chants.

Then it happened. A swift counterattack from the Korean side, a through ball that sliced through the defense like a knife. The striker latched onto it, one touch, another, then a low drive that skidded past the goalkeeper’s desperate dive. The net rippled. Seoul’s section erupted in wild cheers, flags waving, drums pounding. Park Dae-geun stood at the front of the Korean fan group, his greasy hair plastered to his forehead, a grin spreading across his face like a stain.

“Yes! One-nil!” he roared, turning to his companions. “Now the fun begins.”

Li Gui’s heart sank. He watched as the referee blew the whistle for the restart, but his eyes were already on the cheerleaders. They were moving, reluctantly, toward the west side where the Korean fans were clustered. He knew the agreement—the losing side’s cheerleaders had to perform for the opposing fans. It was part of the bet, the one Park had forced on them before the match. Li Gui had tried to stop it, but Yi Fei’er had agreed, believing it would be harmless.

He was wrong.

The cheerleaders lined up near the railing, their colorful skirts and pom-poms a stark contrast to the hostile faces leering at them. Yi Fei’er stood at the center, her posture straight, her hands gripping the pom-poms so hard her knuckles whitened. She forced a smile, counting off the routine. “One-two-three, go!”

They began to dance, half-hearted but professional. The Korean fans pressed forward, hands reaching over the barrier. One man grabbed a girl’s waist, pulling her closer. Another cupped a breast through her uniform. The girl flinched, but didn’t cry out. They had been warned: no resistance, no complaints.

Li Gui saw it all from his seat. He stood up, his fists balled. “Hey! Stop that!” His voice was lost in the noise. He tried to push forward, but the crowd blocked him. “Fei’er!”

She glanced up, meeting his eyes for a split second. In that look, he saw fear, anger, and a desperate plea for him to stay back. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then turned away.

Park Dae-geun stepped forward, his hand outstretched. He didn’t bother with the barrier; he simply reached over and cupped Yi Fei’er’s left breast, squeezing hard. She gasped, her body going rigid, but she didn’t stop dancing. Her eyes stayed fixed on some point in the distance, as if she could will herself away from here.

“Good girl,” Park murmured, his breath hot on her neck. “You’re learning.”

The Korean fans laughed, their hands roaming, groping, pinching. The cheerleaders continued their routine, tears welling in some eyes, but no one stopped. The bet was clear. The humiliation was part of the game.

Two minutes later, the South Korean team scored again. The ball curled into the top corner from a free kick, and the stadium roared. 2-0. The Chinese section fell silent.

Park Dae-geun’s grin widened. He turned to the cheerleaders, his voice carrying over the din. “Ah, it seems the bet has escalated. You know the rules. Oral service now.”

Li Gui’s blood ran cold. He tried to push through the crowd again, but two Korean fans blocked his path, their eyes cold and amused. “Stay out of it, Chinese boy,” one said. “Your girlfriend is about to be very popular.”

Yi Fei’er stood frozen. She looked at her teammates, all of them scared, some trembling. The referee wasn’t watching. The security guards were looking the other way. She had no choice.

“We have to,” she whispered to the others. “It’s the bet.”

Slowly, reluctantly, the cheerleaders knelt on the concrete floor. The Korean men unzipped their pants, their penises springing forth—pale, thick, some larger than what seemed natural. Park Dae-geun stood in front of Yi Fei’er, his erection jutting out, a full thirty centimeters of girth. He fisted it, stroking lazily.

“Open wide,” he said.

She hesitated, her hands on her knees. Then she parted her lips.

He shoved himself into her mouth. She gagged, her throat convulsing around the sheer size of him. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. She had to endure.

Around her, the other girls were subjected to the same. The muffled sounds of gagging and wet choking filled the air, punctuated by the cheers and laughter of the Korean fans. One girl was bent over the railing, another had her head pushed down onto a lap. Some of the men recorded it on their phones, grinning.

Li Gui watched, his vision blurring with rage and helplessness. He couldn’t get through. He couldn’t stop it. All he could do was stand there, fists clenched, as the girl he loved was violated in front of him.

Park Dae-geun held Yi Fei’er’s head, thrusting slowly, savoring every gag, every sob. Her glasses were knocked askew, her long hair tangled, her eyes closed. She tried to breathe through her nose, tried to survive the minutes that stretched into an eternity.

Finally, he pulled out, a string of saliva connecting them. He didn’t come into her mouth—that was for later, he thought. “Good little cheerleader,” he said, patting her cheek. “You’ll get better with practice.”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her face a mask of blank endurance. She stood up, her legs shaky. The other girls followed suit, their uniforms rumpled, their faces stained with tears and saliva.

The match continued on the pitch, oblivious. The score stayed 2-0. The Korean fans cheered. Li Gui stood in the stands, his heart a cold stone in his chest, vowing silently that this would not be the end.

The stadium lights blazed down on the pitch, casting long shadows across the grass. The crowd hummed with anticipation, the air thick with tension and the smell of grass and sweat. Li Gui stood by the sidelines, his eyes fixed on the tunnel where the cheerleaders had disappeared nearly twenty minutes ago.

When they emerged, his breath caught in his throat.

Yi Fei'er led the procession, her long black hair swaying with each step. But it was her face that commanded attention—a perfect red five-star flag painted across her right cheek, the stars arranged in their precise geometric formation. The pigment caught the stadium lights, giving her skin a glossy sheen. Behind her, the other cheerleaders bore similar markings, some on their foreheads, others on their cheeks or chins. The Chinese flag, rendered in edible pigment, adorned each of their faces like a badge of honor.

Li Gui rushed forward as Yi Fei'er approached. "Fei'er, what is this?"

She smiled, but there was a tightness around her eyes. "The Korean fans demanded it. They said if we're going to cheer for China, we should wear our pride on our faces." She touched her cheek lightly. "It's edible pigment. It won't come off easily."

"Edible?"

"Means you have to lick it to remove it," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. A blush crept across her cheeks, visible even beneath the red pigment.

Li Gui felt heat rise to his own face. He looked away, toward the Korean fan section. There, Park Dae-geun led a rowdy group of men, their faces similarly decorated with the Taegeukgi—the Korean flag. The same glossy sheen caught the light. The same edible pigment.

Park Dae-geun caught Li Gui's gaze and grinned, a wide, predatory smile that made Li Gui's stomach turn. The Korean man gestured to his own face, then pointed at Yi Fei'er, licking his lips slowly.

Li Gui's hands clenched into fists.

"Don't," Yi Fei'er said quietly, placing a hand on his arm. "He wants a reaction. Don't give him one."

"He's—"

"I know what he's doing." Her voice was steady, but her fingers trembled against his skin. "We all know. But the game is more important than his games."

The referee's whistle pierced the air. The second half was about to begin.

Li Gui watched the players take their positions, his mind churning. The score was still 0-0, but the Korean team had been pressing hard in the final minutes of the first half. They were faster, more aggressive, more desperate.

Across the field, Park Dae-geun raised a megaphone to his lips. His voice boomed across the stadium in broken Chinese, amplified by the device.

"Chinese friends! I have new proposal!"

The crowd murmured. Li Gui felt a cold dread settle in his chest.

"My compatriots and I," Park continued, gesturing to the Korean fans with flag tattoos, "we make new bet. If Korea score two goals in three minutes, your cheerleaders perform... how you say..." He paused, enjoying the silence. "Tit job. Five minutes. On us."

The stadium erupted. Shouts of outrage mixed with crude laughter. Li Gui's vision went red at the edges. He took a step forward, but Yi Fei'er grabbed his arm with surprising strength.

"Don't," she said again, but this time her voice cracked.

"Why do you let him do this?" Li Gui spat, whirling on her. "Why do you agree to any of this?"

Yi Fei'er's eyes glistened behind her glasses. "Because if I don't, he'll make it worse. You don't know what he threatened. What he showed me." She swallowed hard. "Photos of my little brother playing in his school's soccer tournament. Videos of my parents' restaurant. He knows everything, Li Gui. Everything."

The anger drained from Li Gui, replaced by something colder. "You should have told me."

"And what would you have done? Fought him? Gotten yourself arrested? Beaten?" She shook her head. "No. I handle this my way. I protect my family my way."

On the field, the Korean team had the ball. They moved with fluid precision, passing, weaving, advancing. The Chinese defenders scrambled, but there was a gap, a seam in their formation.

The first goal came in the forty-seventh minute. A curling shot from outside the box that bent around the goalkeeper's desperate dive and nestled into the top corner.

The Korean fans erupted. Park Dae-geun's laughter boomed through the megaphone.

Li Gui watched the clock. Two minutes now.

The kickoff was messy. The Chinese midfielder lost the ball immediately, and the Koreans surged forward again. They played with renewed confidence, the goal having opened something in them. Their passes were sharper, their runs more direct.

The second goal came in the forty-eighth minute. A header from a corner kick, the Korean striker rising above the Chinese defender to power the ball into the net.

Park Dae-geun's voice cut through the noise. "Five minutes! You owe us five minutes!"

The cheerleaders looked at each other, their flag-adorned faces pale beneath the stadium lights. Yi Fei'er stood at the center, her shoulders squared, her chin raised. But Li Gui could see her hands shaking at her sides.

"Fei'er—" he started.

"Don't," she said for the third time. But this time, she turned to face him fully, and he saw the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "Don't watch. Please."

She walked toward the Korean section, her steps measured, deliberate. The other cheerleaders followed, a line of women bearing the flag of their nation on their faces, marching toward their humiliation.

Li Gui stood frozen, the roar of the crowd muffled by the blood pounding in his ears. The flag on Yi Fei'er's cheek seemed to glow under the lights, a beacon of everything they were fighting for, everything they were losing.

And in the center of the Korean section, Park Dae-geun stood with his arms spread wide, a king greeting his subjects, the Korean flag on his face contorting as he smiled.

The stadium erupted in a deafening roar as the Korean forward slotted the ball past the Chinese goalkeeper for the second time in three minutes. The scoreboard glowed 2-0, a cruel reminder of the gap between the two sides. Li Gui, sitting in the stands with his fists clenched, felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. He had seen this before—the way the Korean fans, led by that greasy brute Park Dae-geun, turned victories into spectacles of humiliation.

On the pitch, the Chinese players slumped in despair, their heads bowed. The cheerleaders, led by Yi Fei'er, stood frozen on the sideline. She adjusted her glasses, the long black hair cascading down her shoulders, and tried to steady her breathing. She knew what was coming. Park Dae-geun had made the bet clear before the match: if Korea scored twice, the cheerleaders would perform a tit job for the Korean fans. And if they scored a third, the humiliation would escalate.

Park Dae-geun, his greasy hair plastered to his forehead, strode onto the field with a smirk. He held up a megaphone, his voice booming across the stadium. "Chinese cheerleaders! Time to fulfill your promise! Kneel!" His words were met with cheers from the Korean section, while the Chinese fans fell silent, many looking away in shame.

Yi Fei'er's heart pounded. She glanced toward the stands, searching for Li Gui. She found him, his face pale, his eyes burning with helpless rage. She gave a slight shake of her head, a silent plea for him to stay calm. Then, she turned to her team. Five other girls, all young, all terrified, looked to her for guidance. "We have to do it," she said quietly. "For the team. For the rest of the match."

One by one, they knelt on the cold turf. The Korean fans surged forward, forming a semicircle around them. Park Dae-geun signaled, and the Korean players unzipped their shorts, revealing their erect penises. On each tip, a small tattoo of the Korean flag had been freshly inked—a mark of their victory. The Chinese cheerleaders, their uniforms tight against their bodies, were ordered to remove their tops. Yi Fei'er's hands trembled as she unbuttoned her blouse, exposing her bra. She looked down at her own chest, where a small love heart and the Chinese flag had been tattooed onto her areolas earlier that day, a cruel decoration imposed by Park's thugs.

Park Dae-geun approached Yi Fei'er, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "You are the leader. You set an example." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, forcing her face toward his groin. "Kiss the Korean flag on the tip. Show respect."

Yi Fei'er's stomach churned. The smell of sweat and cheap cologne assaulted her senses. She glanced up at Park, his face close, his breath hot. She thought of Li Gui, of the team, of the deal she had made to protect them. Her lips parted, and she pressed them against the tip of his penis, where the tiny Korean flag was tattooed. She held it for a second, then pulled back, tears welling in her eyes.

"Good," Park said, his voice low. "Now the rest."

The other cheerleaders followed, each forced to kiss the flag tattoo on a different Korean's penis. The crowd cheered, camera phones flashed. Li Gui's hands shook with rage. He wanted to rush down, to fight, but he knew it would only make things worse. He could hear the taunts from the Korean fans, the laughter.

After the last kiss, Park raised his hand for silence. "Since your team is losing, you will continue. Tit job. Overtime." He pointed at Yi Fei'er. "You. Start with me."

Yi Fei'er's breath caught. She knelt before him again, her eyes fixed on the Korean flag on his penis. She could feel the weight of the moment, the eyes of thousands upon her. She reached out, her fingers brushing his thighs, then leaned forward, taking him into her mouth. Her tongue traced the tattoo, the bitter taste of ink mingling with sweat. She moved her head, her hands gripping his hips, trying to block out the world.

Park groaned, his hand gripping her hair. "Faster. Show them what a Chinese cheerleader can do."

Minutes passed. The scoreboard remained 2-0. The Chinese players watched from the sideline, some unable to look, others burning with fury. Then, a miracle. A long ball from the Chinese midfield, a header, and the ball sailed into the Korean net. 2-1.

The stadium exploded. The Chinese fans roared. Yi Fei'er stopped, pulling away, her face flushed, her lips swollen. Park's face twisted in anger. He pushed her back, his voice harsh. "No! That was just one goal. You still have to finish the overtime. If China scores again, you stop. If not, you continue until the match ends."

Yi Fei'er's heart soared and sank. She looked toward the pitch, where the Chinese players were huddling, determined. She saw Li Gui standing now, his fists raised, his voice joining the chant. She knelt again, her body aching, but her spirit flickering with hope. She would endure. For him. For her team. For the flag on her chest.

The stadium roared with Korean chants as the Chinese team pushed forward, their striker weaving through defenders with desperate energy. Li Gui watched from the stands, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. The ball soared toward the goal—a header, a deflection, then a groan from the crowd as it sailed just wide. Missed again.

On the sideline, Yi Fei’er stood with the other cheerleaders, her pom-poms trembling in her grip. The Korean fans had positioned them near the corner flag, away from the Chinese supporters, their leers a constant weight. Park Dae-geun’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and mocking.

“No goal, little boys. But you can still cheer, yes? Show us those tits again.”

Yi Fei’er’s jaw tightened. She had already endured the first half, forced to press her breasts against the pom-poms while shaking them in the air, the coarse fabric chafing through her thin top. The other girls obeyed, their movements mechanical, eyes hollow. But Park wanted more.

“Faster,” he said, stepping closer. His greasy hair clung to his forehead, his smile a crooked line. “And open your mouth. You Chinese cheerleaders have two jobs now.”

Yi Fei’er’s breath caught. The other girls hesitated, but the Korean men closed in, forming a semicircle. One grabbed a girl’s wrist and guided her pom-pom to her chest, then tipped her chin up. “Tit job and blowjob at the same time. Or we tell the ref you’re distracting our players.”

Yi Fei’er’s mind raced. She saw Li Gui in the stands, his face pale, his eyes burning with helpless fury. She couldn’t let him intervene, couldn’t let this escalate into a brawl that would get them all banned. She had to endure.

She sank to her knees on the grass, the pom-pom still in her hand. She pressed it against her left breast, the plastic strands digging into the fabric, and began to rub in slow circles. Then she leaned forward, her lips parting as she took the nearest Korean’s cock into her mouth.

It was thick and bitter, and the taste made her gag, but she forced herself to suck. Hard. The man groaned, his hand gripping her hair, guiding her rhythm. “That’s it, Chinese slut. Keep the pom-pom moving.”

She did. Her arm ached, her jaw ached, but she shook the pom-pom with each bob of her head, the sequins catching the stadium lights. The crowd around her laughed and clapped, some filming on their phones. Park stood above her, watching with narrowed eyes.

“Good. Now the other side, too.”

She switched breasts, the pom-pom now pressed to her right chest while her mouth worked on a different man. Saliva dripped down her chin. The second half whistle blew, but the Koreans didn’t stop her until the Chinese team took the field again, their heads down, their spirits crushed.

The match resumed. China attacked again, a desperate long shot that the goalkeeper easily caught. The Korean fans roared. Park motioned to his men, and they pulled the cheerleaders to their feet, shoving them toward a portable screen set up behind the goal.

“Time for souvenirs,” he said, holding up a tattoo gun. The needle buzzed. “Take off your shorts.”

Yi Fei’er’s heart pounded. She looked at Li Gui, who was on his feet now, his fists clenched, but two Korean fans blocked his path. She shook her head slightly, a silent plea. Don’t come. Don’t get hurt.

She pulled down her shorts, her underwear following. The cold air bit her skin. Park pressed the gun to her left buttock, and the needle stung, drawing lines of pain that slowly formed a shape—a five-starred red flag. The Chinese flag, inked onto her flesh. Each girl received the same, their cries muffled by the stadium noise.

When it was done, Park stepped back, admiring his work on Yi Fei’er’s backside. “Beautiful. A little drum for Korea.”

He unfastened his pants. His cock, enormous and already half-hard, swung free. He positioned himself behind her, then slapped the head against her right buttock, just above the fresh tattoo. The impact stung, and she gasped.

“Drum beats cheer,” he said, and began to strike her in rhythm, each slap echoing like a drum. *Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.* The Korean fans joined in, clapping and chanting, “Dae-han-min-guk!”

Yi Fei’er’s eyes filled with tears, but she held still. She could feel the heat spreading across her skin, hear the wet sound of his skin hitting hers. Li Gui’s voice screamed something distant, but she couldn’t make out the words. The stadium lights blurred.

*Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.*

The Chinese team missed another shot. The score remained zero-zero. But the game was already lost.

The locker room stank of sweat, failure, and something sour—the metallic tang of humiliated pride. Li Gui had his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth ached, but he couldn’t look away from his girlfriend Yi Fei’er.

She stood near the bench, her long black hair a mess, her glasses slightly askew. The cheerleading uniform—blue and white, the colors of their university—clung to her 175cm frame. Beside her, the other four girls huddled together, their eyes cast down. The Chinese team had just lost 5–0 at halftime, and now the Korean fan group led by Park Dae-geun had taken over the locker room as if they owned it.

Park Dae-geun walked in a slow circle around the cheerleaders. His hair was greasy, slicked back, and a perpetual smirk played on his lips. He stopped directly in front of Yi Fei’er, looking up at her. “You promised a bet, Miss Yi. China loses, you girls dance. But I want more than that.”

Yi Fei’er swallowed, her throat dry, but she met his gaze. “The bet was for us to perform a dance. No more.”

“We won 5–0. Your team is pathetic.” Park’s smirk widened. “The new bet: you lift your asses for us. All of you.”

The girls behind Yi Fei’er gasped. One of them, a petite girl named Xiaolian, started shaking her head. “No. No, we can’t. That’s—that’s not right.”

“It’s my condition,” Park said, his voice calm and cruel. “Or I call the organizers. Tell them your team tried to cheat during the game. You’ll never be allowed to cheer again. Your scholarships gone. Your reputations ruined.”

Li Gui stepped forward, his heart pounding. “You can’t do that. That’s blackmail.”

Park turned to him with a look of genuine amusement. “Ah, the boyfriend. So brave. So useless.” He looked at Yi Fei’er. “Miss Yi, what will you choose? Dance, or your future?”

Yi Fei’er’s hands trembled at her sides. She glanced at her teammates—terrified, young, trusting her to lead. She looked at Li Gui, who was barely restraining himself, his fists white. Then she looked back at Park, her eyes glassy but her chin set.

“The dance,” she whispered.

“Good. Turn around. Bend over the bench.”

The other girls were crying now, soft hiccups. But one by one, they turned around, placed their hands on the wooden bench, and bent over. Yi Fei’er did the same. She could feel Li Gui’s stare burning into her back, and the shame was a hot wave that broke through her bones.

Park walked behind Yi Fei’er. He reached out and lifted her cheerleading skirt, pulling it up over her hips. Her underwear was white, simple cotton. He ran his hand over her buttocks, feeling them through the thin fabric.

“Beautiful,” he said. “A Chinese girl with such a fine body.”

Behind him, the other Korean men were doing the same to the other girls, exposing their underwear, their asses, their vulnerability. The girls cried softly. One let out a small sob.

Park lowered her underwear, revealing her bare bottom. Yi Fei’er squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t think about it. Get through it. For the team. For Li Gui.

He unfastened his pants, and she heard the sound of a zipper. Then the pressure of something thick and hot against her entrance. He didn’t bother with lubricant. He pushed forward, and the sharp, tearing pain made her gasp.

“Keep quiet,” Park whispered in her ear. “Or I keep going rougher.”

Li Gui stepped forward, but two Korean men grabbed his arms, holding him back. “Let me go! Let her go!”

“Watch, little Chinese boy,” Park said. “Watch your woman take me.” He thrust hard.

Yi Fei’er bit her lip so hard that she tasted copper. The pain was white-hot, spreading through her core. But she didn’t cry out. She gripped the bench until her knuckles were white.

Park thrust in a rhythm, deep and slow. “Korea, cheer for the goal!” he said in Korean.

The other men, who were now thrusting into the other girls, began to shout in unison: “Korea! Korea! Korea!” Their voices were raw, aggressive, triumphant.

One of the girls, a blonde named Jenny, tried to shout, “Go—go China!” but a hard thrust cut her off, turning it into a yelp.

“You cheer for us now,” one of the Korean men said, slapping her ass.

Yi Fei’er wanted to protest, wanted to tell them to stop. But Park thrust particularly deep, hitting a spot that made her gasp, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Ah… ah… no…” she said, but the sound was half a moan.

Park laughed behind her. “She likes it. The Chinese girl likes Korean cock.”

Li Gui was screaming now, his face red, tears streaming down his face. “Yi Fei’er! Yi Fei’er!”

She heard his voice, and it was like a thousand small cuts. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, that she was doing this for them both. But all she could do was hold onto the bench, take the rhythm, and try not to break.

They continued for what felt like hours, the room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping, grunts, and the forced Korean chanting. Finally, Park groaned loudly and drove into her one last time, spilling his warmth inside her. He stayed there, panting, for a long moment before pulling out.

“That is the first half,” Park said, buttoning up his pants. “At the next half, if Korea scores more than 10 goals, you girls stay overnight.”

Yi Fei’er collapsed onto the bench, her body shaking, tears now freely streaming down her face. She could hear the other girls crying, the sounds of fabric rustling as they tried to pull their skirts down.

Li Gui broke free from the men holding him. He rushed to Yi Fei’er, kneeling in front of her, his face full of shame and love. “Fei’er… I’m sorry… I couldn’t…”

She put a hand on his cheek, her fingers cold, her gaze hollow. “It’s not your fault.”

Park walked away, followed by his men. At the door, he turned around. “Half an hour. Then we will see.” And then they were gone.

Yi Fei’er stood, slowly, painfully. She fixed her underwear, her skirt. She straightened her glasses. Then she looked at her team—her teammates, her girls—and she forced a tiny, fragile smile.

“We fight the second half,” she said, her voice raw. “We survive.”

The final whistle blew like a death knell. The scoreboard blazed 12-0 in blinding red digits, each number a fresh wound carved into the hearts of the Chinese fans who had stayed. Li Gui stood frozen on the sideline, his knuckles white against the chain-link fence, as the Korean players jogged past with smirks and raised fists. Park Dae-geun peeled off his jersey, tossing it into the air, and strode toward the center circle where Yi Fei'er stood with the other cheerleaders, their pom-poms limp at their sides.

"Congratulations," Yi Fei'er said, her voice measured, but Li Gui caught the tremor beneath. She adjusted her glasses, long black hair falling over her shoulders like a shield.

Park laughed, a wet, guttural sound. "The bet, Miss Yi. You remember the bet."

"I remember." Her chin lifted, but her eyes flicked toward Li Gui, a silent apology. He wanted to vault the fence, to drag her away, but two Korean assistants had already moved to block the gate—one of them pulling a heavy iron bolt across the entrance. The loud clang echoed through the empty stands. Chinese male fans, those who had lingered, pounded on the locked doors from the outside, their shouts muffled and desperate.

"Let them in!" Li Gui screamed, but Park only turned, his greasy hair plastered to his forehead.

"Rules are rules, friend. Your men lost. They stay out. The girls—" He swept his arm toward the cheerleaders, a dozen young women trembling in their mini-skirts and letter jackets. "—they stay with us."

The Korean men closed in like wolves. One grabbed a cheerleader by the waist, pulling her into a crushing embrace. Another laughed as he lifted a girl off her feet, her legs kicking uselessly. Yi Fei'er backed away, but Park was faster. His hand shot out, fingers clamping over her left breast through the thin fabric of her uniform. She gasped, freezing as he squeezed, hard enough to make her eyes widen in pain.

"Don't," she whispered.

"Don't what?" Park's thumb circled her nipple, his grin spreading. "You agreed. Or did you think I'd forget?" He grabbed her by the arm, yanking her toward the field, her heels scraping against the turf.

Li Gui's vision went red. He sprinted along the fence, searching for a gap, a loose panel. Behind a restroom shed, he found it—a rusted section where the chain-link had been cut and poorly re-welded. He threw his shoulder against it, the metal screeching as it gave way. He slipped through, tearing his jacket on a jagged edge, and dropped onto the grass.

The stadium lights blazed, but the field was a chaos of shadows and bodies. Korean men clustered in groups, some already pulling cheerleaders onto the grass, their hands roving. Li Gui darted from bench to bench, keeping low. He heard a giggle, a muffled sob, and then—Park's voice, low and triumphant.

"You're beautiful, you know that? Even with those glasses. I've wanted you since the first match."

Yi Fei'er's reply was a strangled whisper. "Let me go. Please. I have a boyfriend."

"He's outside, locked out. Like the rest of your weak men." Park laughed again, and Li Gui crept closer, peering through the gap between two equipment carts.

Park had her pinned against the goalpost, one hand twisting her hair, the other fumbling with her skirt. She turned her face away, tears streaming down her cheeks, but she didn't scream—because she had agreed, because she thought she could endure it, because she thought it would protect the team. Li Gui's stomach churned. He saw other girls, some limp in men's arms, some laughing hysterically, as if dissociation was the only way to survive.

A Korean man nearby had his hand up a cheerleader's shirt, her eyes blank, staring at the sky. Another was kissing a girl's neck while she stood rigid, fists clenched. The scent of sweat and cheap cologne mixed with the damp grass.

Li Gui's hands shook. He could rush Park, but there were at least twenty Korean men, and they would beat him to a pulp. He could call the police, but his phone was dead—had been dead since halftime. All he could do was watch, his heart tearing in two, as Park forced Yi Fei'er to her knees on the penalty spot, her glasses falling to the grass, her long hair spilling forward to hide her face.

"Don't look," she whispered, though he wasn't sure if she meant him or herself.

Park unbuckled his belt. Li Gui closed his eyes, but the sounds—the zipper, the wet laugh, the soft sob—painted a picture he would never unsee. When he opened them again, the stadium lights seemed dimmer, the world smaller. He pressed his forehead against the cold metal of the cart, grinding his teeth, tasting blood.

"I'll find you," he breathed. "After this, I'll find you, and I'll carry you out."

But for now, he could only wait, crouched in the shadows, as the pitch became a prison.

Li Gui crouched behind a stack of discarded bleacher seats, his heart hammering against his ribs. The floodlights above the pitch cast a harsh, sterile glow over the scene below, turning the grass into a stage for a nightmare. In the center of the field, where once the university’s team had trained and cheered, now loomed a massive Korean flag—blue and red and black—spread taut on the turf like a conquering banner. Its edges fluttered slightly in the night breeze, but the air was thick with the smell of sweat, cheap cologne, and something acrid Li Gui didn’t want to name.

He watched from the shadows as a group of Korean men, led by the greasy-haired Park Dae-geun, moved among the scattered cheerleaders and a few other girls he vaguely recognized from campus. The men were naked from the waist down, their bodies slick with exertion. The girls—some crying, some silent, some with vacant stares—lay or knelt on the flag, their clothes torn or discarded. On their thighs, arms, and even faces, fresh tattoos of the Korean flag gleamed red and raw, as if painted with a crude brush. The men laughed, their voices coarse and triumphant, as they took turns with the girls, treating them like objects on display.

Li Gui’s stomach churned. He wanted to look away, but his eyes searched frantically—for her. For Yifei’er. He’d seen her dragged onto the pitch earlier, her glasses knocked askew, her long black hair tangled. Now, as he scanned the crowd, a sickening recognition rooted him to the spot.

There, near the center of the flag, Yifei’er knelt in front of Park Dae-geun. Her cheerleading top was torn open, exposing her chest, and her skirt was bunched around her waist. Her head moved slowly, rhythmically, as she performed fellatio on the man who had orchestrated this humiliation. Park stood with his legs braced, his hands resting on her head, not guiding her but simply enjoying the submission. His face was a mask of smug satisfaction, his greasy hair plastered to his forehead. Li Gui could see the muscles in Yifei’er’s jaw working, her glasses slipping down her nose, her eyes half-closed—whether in shame or exhaustion or both, he couldn’t tell.

A hot wave of rage surged through Li Gui. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to charge down there, to tear Park away, to wrap Yifei’er in his arms and run. But he knew he was no match for the dozen or more Korean men scattered around the pitch. He’d seen what they did to boys who interfered—the broken fingers, the fractured jaws. He had to wait. He had to think.

Then Park made a noise—a low, guttural chuckle—and pulled back slightly. Yifei’er gasped, her mouth empty, and looked up at him. Her eyes were red, but she didn’t cry. She met his gaze with a defiance that made Li Gui’s heart ache.

“Nice mouth, Yifei’er,” Park said, his accent thick. “But I want something different now.”

He gestured to two of his men, who grabbed Yifei’er’s arms and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled but stood tall, her chin raised, her torn top barely covering her. Park walked around her, a predator circling prey. He stopped in front of her and pointed at the Korean flag beneath them.

“You see this flag?” he said. “You defiled it with your Chinese feet. So now you must honor it with your body.”

Yifei’er said nothing. Her teeth were clenched.

Park reached down and cupped his flaccid penis in his hand. It was absurdly large—Li Gui could see it even from his hiding spot, thick and long, already beginning to stir again. “I propose a bet,” Park announced, loud enough for the whole pitch to hear. “A simple game. You use your breasts—your nice, big titties—to rub me. If I come in thirty minutes, I let you go. Free. No more tattoos, no more games. You walk away.”

He paused, letting the silence drag. Yifei’er’s lips parted, but no sound came.

“But if I don’t come,” Park continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that still carried, “then you stay with me for one week. My personal property. You do everything I say.”

Li Gui’s blood ran cold. He saw Yifei’er’s shoulders tremble. She looked out across the pitch, perhaps searching for him, for anyone, but the other girls were too broken or too far gone to help. The Korean men laughed and hooted, slapping each other’s backs.

Yifei’er closed her eyes. For a long moment, she was still. Then she opened them, and they were clear.

“Fine,” she said. Her voice was steady, though it cracked at the edges. “I accept.”

Park grinned, a wolf’s grin full of yellowed teeth. He snapped his fingers, and one of his men brought over a stopwatch, holding it up so everyone could see. The time started now.

Yifei’er knelt again, this time in front of Park. She reached up and pulled her bra aside, freeing her breasts. They were full and pale, and Li Gui could see the faint outline of a bruise on her left rib. She leaned forward, pressing her chest against Park’s erect shaft. He let out a satisfied sigh as she began to move, sliding her breasts up and down his length, sandwiching him between her soft flesh.

Li Gui watched, his vision blurring with tears of rage and sorrow. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. He needed to see this through. He needed to remember every detail, so that one day, he could make Park pay.

The stopwatch ticked. Twenty-eight minutes left.