The basketball was like a hammer swung by an invisible giant hand. It traced a huge arc before slamming down toward the hoop.
Bam!
This time, the ball crashed hard against the backboard, then instantly bounced into the net. The force made the entire hoop structure rock back and forth.
The rim shook up and down, buzzing loudly.
The net kept swishing as the rim trembled.
12–8. Game over!
Despair instantly engulfed the Japanese guy, Shiraha Otoko. He turned and looked at Wang Yi.
Wang Yi looked down at Shiraha Otoko. He slowly raised his right hand, held it like a blade, then sharply slashed it across his own throat.
Little Japanese guy, you're dead!
The crowd erupted, raising their arms and cheering. Some even copied Wang Yi's gesture.
The viewers in the livestream were getting hyped, too.
"Holy crap, that was so cool!"
"The NBA bans gestures like that, but streetball courts don't have those rules. Brother Yi's showing off deserves a perfect score!"
"He gave the Japanese guy an entire half-court and still crushed him with ease. Hahahahaha, that feels great!"
"What amazes me most is how confident Brother Yi was that he could make four threes in a row. If it were me, even if my three-pointer were that accurate, I wouldn't dare try that."
Yang Yi, Yao Ming, Director Zhang, and the other big names could only shake their heads in admiration.
Director Zhang said, "He gave up half the court and still easily beat Japan's top streetball player, Shiraha Otoko. What does strength look like? This is what strength looks like."
Yang Yi said, "I'm not praising Wang Yi just because we both have 'Yi' in our names. His ability is simply impossible not to praise. He drew a circle two steps beyond the three-point