De'Anthony saw that Wang Yi had finished changing and asked him, "How do you want to play tonight?"
Wang Yi's play style was so unpredictable that De'Anthony had to ask him this before every game.
Although he often didn't get a clear answer, getting one was one thing; asking as the head coach was another.
Wang Yi shook his head. "I don't know either. But don't worry—I won't let you lose."
De'Anthony had expected that answer, and so had everyone else. No one was surprised.
De'Anthony addressed the team. "All right. With Wang back, a 14-point deficit is no problem. It's our turn to fight back in the second half!"
"Roar!"
The Kings players raised their fists and shouted together.
Everyone except Doug.
Doug was leaning lazily against a locker, looking at the group like they were a bunch of wannabe tough guys. He muttered, "Tch."
De'Anthony checked his watch. It was about time.
He waved, and the players filed out of the locker room.
Doug waited until everyone else had left before strolling out after them.
No matter the circumstances, that guy always seemed out of place with the rest of the team.
The Kings players went to the sidelines to get ready for the game.
Wang Yi stepped onto the court, did a few simple stretches, then began jogging before moving on to shooting.
Finally, he started dunking.
His warm-up gradually shifted from slow to fast, and from gentle to forceful.
Across from the basket where Wang Yi was shooting, Morant was practicing his own shots.
Feathers sprouted from his head; instant noodles draped down his neck.
A scraggly mustache on his lip, always looking for someone to dunk on.
Ten years had passed since he first entered the league, but the guy had barely changed.
Seeing Wang