Bryce gripped the ball so tightly his knuckles turned white.
He'd only just started finding his rhythm with the team. He'd been hoping to learn from Rivers in the playoffs, especially how to control the pace in the backcourt. Now he wouldn't even get to see him.
Aiton sat on the bench at the side of the court and sighed.
He was getting old and couldn't play for long. Now they'd lost another key player in the rotation, too. The road through the playoffs was bound to get even tougher.
Without realizing it, everyone's gaze turned toward Wang Yi on the sideline.
Wang Yi sat in his usual folding chair, a bottle of water resting unopened on his lap. He hadn't said a word.
His eyes were fixed on the middle of the court. There was no anger or panic in his expression. He simply sat there in silence.
He was forty, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were clear under the lights. Yet he still sat straight, his back as rigid as a pole.
The oppressive gloom in the training hall made it hard to breathe.
Some people sneaked glances at Wang Yi, their hearts pounding. With Little Rivers out at a time like this, the boss must be feeling crushed, too. Maybe they wouldn't even be able to continue practice.
But no one expected Wang Yi to sit there for a few minutes, then raise a hand and twist open the water bottle. He took a sip, set it on the floor beside him, braced his hands on his knees, and slowly stood.
He didn't move quickly. After practice, his legs were still a little heavy, but he made his way step by step to the middle of the team.
He turned to Zen Master