"If you hadn't said you were going to take down Japan on their home court three years from now, I wouldn't care how you trained."
"But since you said that, you don't get to decide anymore."
At this point, Wang Yi raised his voice by an octave:
"When we play Japan, we have to win!"
Wang Shiyu realized how serious his father was, and his heart sank.
Wang Yi continued, "Since we have to win, I'm going to train you to the strictest standards."
"You have less than three years. From now on, the only purpose of all your training is to win!"
"Practicing flashy moves just to look cool is completely pointless!"
"I've told you many times that streetball players' moves look flashy and cool, but a lot of those flashy moves don't actually get past anyone. They're just setup moves before the actual play."
"When they really get past someone, they usually just use simple crossovers, spins, or changes of pace."
"Since our goal is to win, if a simple crossover, spin, or change of pace can get you past your opponent, why waste so much energy on moves that look flashy but aren't practical?"
"Remember, your goal is to win! You can't afford to lose even one game!"
Wang Shiyu nodded as he listened. Beside him, Wang Shiying understood what their father meant, too. She said to Wang Shiyu:
"Listen, little brat, Dad's never lost when playing Japan. If you lose, I'll beat you to a pulp when you get back. Got it?"
Wang Shiyu clenched his little fists. "I absolutely won't lose!"
After Wang Yi finished lecturing the kids, the family had lunch.
After lunch, Wang Yi spent half an hour at the computer studying footage and information about the opponent in their next game.
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