N-A-A Chapter 61: Knockout Stage Warm-up! The South Korean Team's Intrigue
Chapter 61: Knockout Stage Warm-up! The South Korean Team's Intrigue
The morning sunlight shone through the thin mist onto the glass curtain wall of the training base, but the usual ease and vitality were gone, replaced by an almost frozen sense of oppression.
The air was thick with the grim atmosphere that only existed on the eve of war.
Lin Hao was the first to arrive at the training hall. He didn't turn on the lights, but simply sat on the floor in the center of the court, spinning a basketball in his hand. The "scratching" sound of rubber rubbing against the ground was particularly jarring in the empty hall.
He had just finished a solo training session—three-pointers, sudden stops, and running—for two whole hours, until his sweat soaked a large area of the floor.
"Squeak—"
The door was pushed open, and Coach Jiang Xingquan walked in, followed by Adi Jiang. Both of them looked much more somber than usual, especially Jiang Xingquan, whose already gray hair seemed to have turned even whiter overnight.
"Lin." Jiang Xingquan walked up to him, his voice hoarse. "Come to the conference room with me."
Lin Hao put down the ball and followed the two into the dimly lit tactics room. The projector beam shone on the wall, the image frozen on the front page of a Korean newspaper.
China's star player Lin Hao suffers a recurrence of his ankle injury and may miss the knockout stage!
Below the title was a photo of Lin Hao during the game against the Spurs when he received a pain-inducing injection – he was clutching his ankle in pain, his expression contorted.
"This is a press release from the South Korean media this morning." Jiang Xingquan slammed his fist heavily on the table, making the water glass jump. "They spread rumors that your old injury has relapsed, saying that the Chinese team's inside game is weak, and that you are the only one who can play in the backcourt. Now even you are useless."
Lin Hao stared at the photo, his eyes cold and devoid of any emotion: "Coach, why bother with this kind of trash talk?"
"If it were just trash talk, I wouldn't have called you here." Adijiang slammed a printout on the table—a screenshot of an email from FIBA. "They complained to FIBA that you used a suona (a traditional Chinese wind instrument) during a game to distract your opponent, which constitutes 'psychological attack' and a serious violation of sportsmanship. They requested that FIBA ban you from playing musical instruments during games worldwide."
"What?!" Lin Hao jumped up, the chair legs screeching against the floor. "The suona is a traditional Chinese musical instrument! It's part of our culture! What right do they have to ban it?"
"Because they're shameless." Jiang Xingquan sneered, "And there's more. At 2 a.m. last night, several unidentified people tried to climb over the wall and sneak into the base, but they were caught red-handed by security. Hidden cameras and listening devices were found on them."
Lin Hao's pupils suddenly contracted: "They were sent by the South Korean team?"
"Who else could it be but them?" Adijiang gritted his teeth. "They secretly filmed our training sessions and have definitely figured out our tactics by now. This is their underhanded tactic—spreading rumors, secretly filming our tactics, and even trying to destroy our mental fortitude within FIBA."
Anger surged within Lin Hao like magma. He recalled the biased refereeing during the previous match against Lebanon, and those dirty tricks. Now, the South Koreans had extended the battlefield from the field to off the field.
"Do they think they can win like this?" Lin Hao's voice was deep, like the rumble of thunder before a storm.
"Lin, calm down." Jiang Xingquan pressed his shoulder. "Public opinion in China is in an uproar. Zhao Dabao is trying to steer the narrative online, but we need your stance at the press conference. We have to put the pressure back on him."
Just then, the meeting room door was pushed open, and Yao Ming walked in with the entire team.
Big Batel slammed the door shut, his face flushed red. "Damn it, these Koreans are scum! Taking pictures without my permission and then spreading rumors, have they no shame?"
Zhu Fangyu threw his jersey on the ground: "Coach, if we meet them in the finals, I'm going to knock those Koreans' teeth out!"
Jiao Jian also frowned: "They're trying to psychologically break us down."
Yao Ming walked over to Lin Hao, his huge hand pressing firmly on Lin Hao's shoulder: "Haozi, don't pay attention to those bastards. Let's see who's the best on the court. The more they resort to these underhanded tactics, the more it shows they're afraid."
Lin Hao took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He knew that losing his temper now would be useless; he had to fight back.
"Coach," Lin Hao looked at Jiang Xingquan, "what did FIBA say? Are they really going to ban my suona?"
"We're appealing," Jiang Xingquan sighed. "The FIBA bureaucrats have always favored East Asian powers, especially South Korea. But this time we're in the right, and Zhao Dabao mobilized millions of fans in China to sign a petition. Now the whole world is watching, and FIBA won't dare to act recklessly."
"That's good." Lin Hao nodded, a fierce glint in his eyes. "Since they want to play dirty tricks, then we'll use open tactics to defeat them."
"What do you mean?" Adijiang asked.
"Didn't they say I was injured?" Lin Hao sneered. "Then I'll show them what a healthy Lin Hao looks like. As for the covert filming tactic..."
Lin Hao walked to the tactics board, picked up a marker, and drew a big X on it: "Since they're taking pictures secretly, then we'll show them fake ones. From today onwards, all public training and drills will be fake tactics. I'm going to make them crash headfirst into our maze in the finals."
Yao Ming looked at Lin Hao, a hint of admiration flashing in his eyes: "Good idea. Let them guess."
"And there's the matter of Suona." Lin Hao pulled a small USB drive from his pocket. "This is the evidence I compiled last night. It contains clips of the South Korean team committing malicious fouls, bribing referees, and even assaulting opponents in international competitions over the past five years. If FIBA dares to ban my Suona, I'll leak this information to the media worldwide."
Jiang Xingquan looked at Lin Hao, his eyes filled with satisfaction. This young man was no longer the reckless player who only knew how to play basketball, but a commander who knew how to use the rules and public opinion.
"Alright." Jiang Xingquan stood up. "Now that everyone's here, I have an announcement. The rest of the training will be completely closed to the public. Without my permission, no one is allowed to give interviews, go online, or have any contact with the outside world. We're going to vent all our anger on our opponents in the knockout stage!"
"Understood!" everyone roared in unison.
For the next three days, the training base became a military restricted area.
Lin Hao poured all his energy into the court. He stopped practicing fancy moves and focused on physical confrontations and drawing fouls. With each breakthrough, he charged into the crowd like an armored vehicle, determined to score even if he was knocked down.
The knockout stage of the Asian Championships officially began on June 30.
China will face Qatar in the quarterfinals.
The outcome of the game was never in doubt. Lin Hao played only two quarters, racking up 25 points and 12 assists. Every drive he made seemed to be an outlet for the frustrations of the past few days, and every pass he made was as precise as if he had a GPS tracker.
105:60.
The 45-point victory shocked the entire Asian basketball world.
At the post-match press conference, a South Korean reporter provocatively asked Lin Hao, "Mr. Lin, I heard you were injured. Was today's performance your best?"
Lin Hao sat on the stage, looking at the reporter with a sinister gaze. He didn't answer, but slowly rolled up his trouser leg.
His muscular calves were well-defined, and there were no bandages or protective gear on his skin.
"Do you see any injuries on my body?" Lin Hao asked coldly.
The reporter was speechless.
"Go back and tell Fang Chengyun," Lin Hao stood up, looking down at the camera, "that the people he sent to secretly film me even know how much my dog food costs per pound. As for his plan to ban my suona?"
Lin Hao laughed, his smile laced with murderous intent: "Let him try. If he dares to take a free throw in the final, I'll show him what a real 'funeral' sounds like."
That same night, the South Korean team also won the match and advanced to the final.
In a post-match interview, Fang Chengyun looked at the camera and said in broken Chinese, "Lin Hao, don't be stubborn. In the finals, I'll show you who the true champion of Asian basketball is. I'll break your suona with my own hands."
The news reached the Chinese team's base.
Lin Hao was sitting in his dorm room when Zhang Qingying sent him a text message. Just a few simple words, yet they instantly dissipated the anger in Lin Hao's heart.
"Win or lose, I'll be there."
Lin Hao looked out the window at the Harbin night view and tapped his fingers on his phone screen.
"Wait until I come back with the championship."
July 2nd, the night before the final.
Harbin is under martial law.
Taxi drivers stopped taking passengers, restaurant owners stopped operating, and everyone was glued to their television sets.
In the Chinese team's training hall, Lin Hao practiced alone until late at night.
He picked up the golden suona, placed it to his lips, and played a mournful and tragic melody.
That was the "General's Order".
On this night, under the Harbin night sky, no one slept. Everyone was waiting for tomorrow's decisive battle.
A life-or-death battle concerning dignity, honor, and that ticket to Athens.