The spectators and Yoyogi Team's players watched the ball slide into the basket, despair slowly spreading through their hearts.
Wang Yi's mid-range shot was simply too accurate. Once he let the ball fly, there was nothing they could do to stop it. All they could do was pray to Amaterasu Omikami that he'd miss.
But whenever Wang Yi shot, even Amaterasu Omikami seemed to turn a deaf ear, as if she couldn't hear their prayers.
Compared with the streetballers on the other team, Wang Yi's offense had no unnecessary flourishes.
He always used the simplest, most practical, fastest, and most effective method, slicing through the opposing defense like a scalpel.
By now, Wang Yi's mid-range shots had made the other team wary.
The fat man spoke first. "He took nothing but threes in the last game. Now he's started this one by making two straight twos. We need to watch his two-point shots."
The other two answered in turn. "Got it."
"Exactly. He deliberately took only threes in the last game, and now he's deliberately taking only twos."
As they said this, they all felt a quiet surge of delight.
It was as if they'd figured out the trick.
So on the next possession, when Wang Yi brought the ball up, none of them guarded the three-point line. Instead, they set up just inside the free-throw line.
Sure enough, Wang Yi showed no intention of taking a three.
But when he dribbled to the three-point line, he suddenly whipped the ball at the backboard.
The three of them looked baffled.
He wasn't taking a three or a two?
Why was he suddenly throwing the ball at the backboard?
The next moment, they understood.
As Wang Yi sent the ball crashing into the backboard, he was already accelerating toward the free-throw