N-A-A Chapter 4: A Show of Force in the Locker Room, A One-on-One Bet
Chapter 4: A Show of Force in the Locker Room, A One-on-One Bet
The moment Lin Hao pushed open the locker room door, the previously noisy space seemed to be muted.
The smells of sweat, rubber from sneakers, and the sweet aroma of protein powder mixed with sports drinks hit the air. A dozen or so tall, burly black men turned around in unison, their eyes fixed like searchlights on the Asian face carrying a large suitcase at the door.
Jason Richardson sat with his legs crossed in the middle of the locker room on a genuine leather chair—the team's reserved spot for the leader. He twirled a Spalding basketball in his hand, making it whirlwind, and glanced at Lin Hao from head to toe three times, his eyes practically overflowing with mockery and disdain.
The basketball bounced off his palm with a "thud," rising half a meter into the air. He caught it, and slowly opened his mouth, speaking in fluent American slang. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly throughout the entire locker room:
"I heard you're that internet celebrity who plays the suona? Welcome to the NBA, rookie."
As soon as he finished speaking, a burst of laughter erupted in the locker room.
Several substitute players joined in the commotion, whistling and imitating the tune of the suona in strange, exaggerated ways. One of them even slammed his fist on the table and shouted, "Hey, Chinese kid, where's your suona? Aren't you going to give us an opening performance?"
"I heard he got a draft pick by playing the suona during halftime of the Finals? The Warriors are short of circus performers, not players, right?"
"Internet celebrities should stay where they should stay. You can't just dunk on an NBA basketball hoop whenever you want."
The barrage of sarcastic remarks would have terrified most rookies, leaving them speechless and too intimidated to even lift their heads at the door.
But who is Lin Hao?
In his previous life, he worked at a youth training camp in a county town in Northeast China, training mostly thirteen or fourteen-year-old boys who were disliked by everyone. What kind of troublemakers hadn't he seen? Compared to when he led his students to compete in the provincial tournament and was booed by the entire audience at an away game, this situation was nothing.
Without changing his expression, he put the 28-inch suitcase he was holding aside. The lid wasn't closed properly, and after a couple of wobbles, a can of yellow peaches rolled out and stopped right at Richardson's feet.
The laughter from the audience stopped instantly.
Everyone stared blankly at the can of yellow peaches with Chinese characters printed on it.
Lin Hao bent down to pick it up, wiped the dust off the can with his sleeve, and calmly put it back in his pocket, casually adding, "Sorry, I dropped my rations."
Richardson's lips twitched, and his anger flared up instantly.
He originally wanted to give this new internet celebrity rookie a hard time and let him know the rules of the NBA, but who knew that this kid was so stubborn and dared to act calm and collected.
He slammed the basketball to the ground and stood up. Standing at 1.98 meters tall with a muscular build, he looked like a small mountain in front of Lin Hao, instantly exuding an aura of intimidation.
"Kid, don't try to talk your way out of this." Richardson narrowed his eyes, his tone full of malice. "This is the NBA, not your stage for attention-seeking. A social media influencer who only knows how to blow a horn doesn't deserve to wear a Warriors jersey, much less stand on this court."
The teammates around him fell silent, watching the spectacle with their arms crossed.
Everyone knows that Richardson is the team's current leader, a dunk champion, with explosive athleticism and a fiery temper. This Chinese rookie, drafted late in the second round, has run into trouble right from the start; he's probably not going to have a good day.
But Lin Hao remained unhurried, glancing at Richardson before his gaze fell on the newly released limited-edition AJ17s on Richardson's feet. His eyes lit up, and he casually asked, "Your shoes are pretty nice. Are they brand new?"
Richardson was completely stumped by the question.
He had prepared a whole host of harsh words and a bunch of lines to intimidate the rookie, but the kid didn't take them to heart and instead set his sights on his shoes.
"Are you fucking crazy?" Richardson's face darkened. "I was talking to you about playing ball!"
"Let's play ball, what's the rush?" Lin Hao shrugged, looking innocent. "You just think I'm an internet celebrity and can't play ball, right? Well, what can we do? Let's have a go."
The locker room fell silent the moment those words were spoken.
Everyone was stunned, unable to believe their ears.
A rookie who was late in the second round, just entered the locker room and dared to challenge the team's leader, wanting to have a go?
Richardson paused for two seconds, then burst into a deafening laugh, doubled over with laughter, and pointed at Lin Hao and his teammates, saying, "Did you hear that? This kid wants to fight me one-on-one?"
His teammates joined in the laughter, looking at Lin Hao as if he were an idiot.
Jason Richardson, an All-Star caliber shooting guard who averaged 20+5 last season, a Slam Dunk Contest champion, and a true team cornerstone. To challenge a rookie internet celebrity who's never even played a professional game to a one-on-one match? Isn't that just bullying?
Richardson, having finished laughing, took a step forward, stared into Lin Hao's eyes, and said fiercely, "Fine, kid, you want a one-on-one fight? I'm happy to oblige. Let's add a wager: the loser has to pay for the whole team's meals for a month, whether it's pre-match meals or post-match dinners, it's all on him. Dare to take the challenge?"
He was certain that the kid wouldn't dare accept the challenge. Even if he did, he could utterly humiliate him beyond recognition.
Without a second thought, Lin Hao nodded immediately: "I'll take it. But I have to add one condition."
Richardson raised an eyebrow: "Go on."
Lin Hao pointed to the shoes on his feet, looking serious: "If you lose, these shoes are mine. They look pretty good to me, and I happen to need a pair of training shoes."
The locker room erupted in chaos!
"My God! This kid really dares to say that!"
"Is he crazy? Not only does he dare to fight Jason one-on-one, but he also dares to bet on his shoes?"
"This is going to be interesting! I bet Jason will win 11-0!"
Several players who were watching the spectacle had already started secretly placing bets. Some took out cash and slapped it on the counter, betting that Richardson would shut out Lin Hao. Another substitute gritted his teeth and bet $20 that Lin Hao would score a goal.
Richardson was furious, his face turning green. He felt utterly humiliated by this rookie. He gritted his teeth and said, word by word, "Fine! I agree! If you beat me, I'll give you these shoes right now! But if you lose, not only will you treat the whole team to dinner, but you'll also have to play the suona in the locker room for a month, you hear me?"
"No problem." Lin Hao grinned, revealing a set of white teeth. "It's a deal."
Ten minutes later, on the team's training ground half of the field.
The entire team gathered around the sidelines, arms crossed, watching the spectacle. Even the assistant coach rushed over, leaning against the scorer's table, looking at the two people in the center of the court with curiosity.
Richardson was warming up, dribbling the ball back and forth, occasionally throwing down a windmill dunk, drawing cheers from his teammates on the sidelines. His physical gifts were visibly explosive; his jumping speed was ridiculously fast, as if he were made of springs.
Lin Hao stood on the other side, not doing any fancy warm-up exercises, but simply moving his wrists and ankles, his eyes never leaving Richardson.
His experience as a youth coach over a decade in his previous life was ingrained in his very being. In his eyes, every movement, every dribble, every shift in weight of Richardson was as clear as if it were written on his face.
Watching Richardson's warm-up changes of direction, he silently thought to himself: Is that all? A drop in the right shoulder and he's guaranteed to change to the left, a thrust of the left hip and he's about to turn, just like the traffic lights at the entrance of our village—red light means stop, green light means go, it couldn't be more predictable. All the middle school students I've taught are better at hiding their habits than he is.
And then there's his pull-up jump shot. He always pauses for a moment before jumping, bending his knees more than others. That half-second is enough for him to block three shots.
After Richardson finished warming up, he casually tossed a towel to his teammate on the sidelines, took the ball, walked to the three-point line, beckoned to Lin Hao with a finger, and looked disdainful.
"Rookie, are you ready? I'll let you go first, so you won't say I'm bullying you."
Lin Hao shook his head, took two steps back towards the basket, assumed a defensive stance, and grinned: "No need, you go first. After all, you won't have a chance to attack later, so I'll let you have your fun first."
Upon hearing this, his teammates on the sidelines erupted in cheers!
mad! So crazy!
How dare a second-round draft pick say such a thing to the team's leader?
Richardson's face instantly turned as black as the bottom of a pot, his eyes practically spitting fire. He gritted his teeth, gripped the ball with both hands, bent over and lowered his center of gravity, the basketball bouncing loudly beside him.
"Kid, you asked for this!"
As soon as he finished speaking, he pushed off the ground and charged out like a cheetah, dribbling the ball towards Lin Hao and launching a direct attack!