Volume One: I Came, I Saw, I Conquered!

Volume One: I Came, I Saw, I Conquered! Chapter 46: The Wealthy Musk Seethed with Resentment. Curry was about to take the bait, but Zhang Yu had ruined everything. A coordinator from the Basketball Operations Department jogged over to Zhang Yu, panting as he handed him a stack of newspapers. He boarded the plane with the team, found his seat, put his things away, and unfolded a newspaper to read. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. Zhang Yu's words rang out with conviction, but Curry said nothing. Silence fell over the corridor. NCAA teams weren't like NBA clubs; they didn't have private planes. Even though Zhang Yu was the youngest head coach in the NCAA, he was Chinese, and compared with Curry, who was making a name for himself across the country, he simply drew less attention. "Since no one has any more questions, that's the end of today's interview. Thank you." He ignored Zhang Yu and continued questioning Curry. "Thanks, Boss. I know what to do now." Just as the two were nearing the locker room, Curry suddenly spoke. His voice was firm. NCAA teams weren't like NBA clubs; they didn't have private planes. NCAA teams weren't like NBA clubs; they didn't have private planes. Stevens kept facing forward and stole a glance toward Zhang Yu, only to realize he couldn't read a word Zhang Yu had written. As Zhang Yu muttered to himself, Stevens expertly put on his headphones and started a movie. NCAA teams weren't like NBA clubs; they didn't have private planes. Boss, that's not what you said a moment ago! St. Louis was only about 400 kilometers from Indiana, and the plane soon landed at Indianapolis International Airport. "Stephen, you're Butler's star player. You missed the final shot, and the team lost. Who do you think is responsible for the loss? Julian Becko?" "But I'm the head coach. Remember, no one except me gets to tell my players what to do!" Stevens was sitting right beside him, smiling as he said: Curry thought for a moment, then replied: On the way back to the locker room, Curry caught up with Zhang Yu. "Every time after a game, you can't wait to read the papers. That's fine when we win, but when we lose, doesn't it just make you mad?" The next morning, the Bulldogs arrived at the airport. Their flight from St. Louis to Indiana was due to take off in half an hour. Curry was caught in a vicious trap. If he blamed Julian Becko, the reporter could write that Curry was shifting the blame onto a teammate and that Butler was torn apart by infighting. He ignored Zhang Yu and continued questioning Curry: "Thanks, Boss. I know what to do now." Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "Just you wait!" "Dark Horse Journey Ends as Butler Falls to Florida; Coach Z Loses His Temper, Makes Outrageous Remarks, and Walks Out Mid-Interview... Right, Musk from Sports Illustrated? You were the one who got under my skin after we lost to Purdue, and then you did it again yesterday. Let me see you again, and I'll tear you to pieces..." He muttered under his breath, scribbling furiously in his notebook. If Curry took the blame, the reporter could write that Curry admitted he was too afraid to shoot in the final moments—a total coward. Zhang Yu took the newspapers, but before he could look through them, he heard the boarding announcement over the airport speakers. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. "He's so arrogant. They lost, yet he's acting like they won. A powerhouse, my foot!" "I didn't execute the play you drew up properly, and that's why our final possession failed..." No matter what Curry said, Musk could twist it into the story he wanted. "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "Exactly. The worst part is that he kept us from asking Curry questions. How can anyone care more about him than Curry?" The reporter had voiced what everyone else was thinking. Wasn't glory supposed to come with responsibility? Curry was caught in a vicious trap. If he blamed Julian Becko, the reporter could write that Curry was shifting the blame onto a teammate and that Butler was torn apart by infighting. Zhang Yu looked around, stood up, and walked out of the press room without even glancing at the stunned reporters. "Every time after a game, you can't wait to read the papers. That's fine when we win, but when we lose, doesn't it just make you mad?" Musk seethed with resentment. Curry was about to take the bait, but Zhang Yu had ruined everything. Why were reporters called the "uncrowned kings"? Zhang Yu took the newspapers, but before he could look through them, he heard the boarding announcement over the airport speakers. No matter what Curry said, Musk could twist it into the story he wanted. "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. "Stephen, you're Butler's star player. You missed the final shot, and the team lost. Who do you think is responsible for the loss? Julian Becko?" "You don't get it. I'm figuring out who my friends and enemies are. You don't want to mistake one for the other when it matters... Let me borrow a pen." Without looking up, Zhang Yu took a notebook from his bag, opened it, and held out his hand to Stevens. Irresponsible reporters had control of the narrative, distorting the facts at will and leaving people unable to defend themselves. "Let's see... Hey, USA Today! Not bad. The coverage is pretty fair and objective. We should work together more often..." "I didn't execute the play you drew up properly, and that's why our final possession failed..." He ignored Zhang Yu and continued questioning Curry: Musk was even angrier. He'd almost gotten Curry to say what he wanted, but Zhang Yu had interrupted him. Curry hesitated, about to speak, but Zhang Yu cut in again: Another reporter stood up: A coordinator from the Basketball Operations Department jogged over to Zhang Yu, panting as he handed him a stack of newspapers. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "Thanks, Boss. I know what to do now." The two were nearly at the locker room when Curry suddenly spoke, his voice firm. "Don't thank me just yet. When we get back, I want you to practice a hundred extra threes every day!" "..." Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "Huh? But I've already been practicing every day!" On the way back to the locker room, Curry caught up with Zhang Yu. "So you mean you'll take responsibility for the loss?" Zhang Yu asked. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. Zhang Yu slowed his pace and smiled. "Boss, that's not what you said a moment ago!" Zhang Yu slowed his pace and smiled. Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. "Boss, why..." Wasn't glory supposed to come with responsibility? Another chapter watermark omitted. "I'm going to report the truth about that rude Chinese coach when I get back!" the male reporter who had asked the question said bitterly. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." If Curry took the blame, the reporter could write that Curry admitted he was too afraid to shoot in the final moments—a total coward. He boarded the plane with the team, found his seat, put his things away, and unfolded a newspaper to read. Stevens was sitting right beside him, smiling as he said: Another reporter stood up: The next morning, the Bulldogs arrived at the airport. Their flight from St. Louis to Indiana was due to take off in half an hour. "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. Musk seethed with resentment. Curry was about to take the bait, but Zhang Yu had ruined everything. Why were reporters called the "uncrowned kings"? Zhang Yu took the newspapers, but before he could look through them, he heard the boarding announcement over the airport speakers. No matter what Curry said, Musk could twist it into the story he wanted. "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. Another reporter stood up: A coordinator from the Basketball Operations Department jogged over to Zhang Yu, panting as he handed him a stack of newspapers. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "Don't thank me just yet. When we get back, I want you to practice a hundred extra threes every day!" "Exactly." Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "So you mean you'll take responsibility for the loss?" Zhang Yu asked. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. Another reporter stood up: A coordinator from the Basketball Operations Department jogged over to Zhang Yu, panting as he handed him a stack of newspapers. "You don't get it. I'm figuring out who my friends and enemies are. You don't want to mistake one for the other when it matters... Let me borrow a pen." Without looking up, Zhang Yu took a notebook from his bag, opened it, and held out his hand to Stevens. "Let's see... Hey, USA Today! Not bad. The coverage is pretty fair and objective. We should work together more often..." "I didn't execute the play you drew up properly, and that's why our final possession failed..." "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." He ignored Zhang Yu and continued questioning Curry: Musk seethed with resentment. Curry was about to take the bait, but Zhang Yu had ruined everything. "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. If Curry took the blame, the reporter could write that Curry admitted he was too afraid to shoot in the final moments—a total coward. He boarded the plane with the team, found his seat, put his things away, and unfolded a newspaper to read. Stevens was sitting right beside him, smiling as he said: Curry hesitated, about to speak, but Zhang Yu cut in again: Another reporter stood up: A coordinator from the Basketball Operations Department jogged over to Zhang Yu, panting as he handed him a stack of newspapers. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "Don't thank me just yet. When we get back, I want you to practice a hundred extra threes every day!" "Exactly." Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." Zhang Yu slowed his pace and smiled. Boss, that's not what you said a moment ago! Zhang Yu slowed his pace and smiled. Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. "Boss, why..." Wasn't glory supposed to come with responsibility? Another chapter watermark omitted. "I'm going to report the truth about that rude Chinese coach when I get back!" the male reporter who had asked the question said bitterly. If Curry took the blame, the reporter could write that Curry admitted he was too afraid to shoot in the final moments—a total coward. He boarded the plane with the team, found his seat, put his things away, and unfolded a newspaper to read. Stevens was sitting right beside him, smiling as he said: "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. Another reporter stood up: The next morning, the Bulldogs arrived at the airport. Their flight from St. Louis to Indiana was due to take off in half an hour. Musk seethed with resentment. Curry was about to take the bait, but Zhang Yu had ruined everything. "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. "Exactly." "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." The next morning, the Bulldogs arrived at the airport. Their flight from St. Louis to Indiana was due to take off in half an hour. "I'm going to report the truth about that rude Chinese coach when I get back!" the male reporter who had asked the question said bitterly. Another reporter stood up: A coordinator from the Basketball Operations Department jogged over to Zhang Yu, panting as he handed him a stack of newspapers. If Curry took the blame, the reporter could write that Curry admitted he was too afraid to shoot in the final moments—a total coward. "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. Stevens was sitting right beside him, smiling as he said: "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. The next morning, the Bulldogs arrived at the airport. Their flight from St. Louis to Indiana was due to take off in half an hour. "So you mean you'll take responsibility for the loss?" Zhang Yu asked. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. Curry hesitated, about to speak, but Zhang Yu cut in again: Musk kept pressing. "As far as I know, reaching the Sweet Sixteen was already Butler's best-ever result. Isn't a championship too big an ask for you? That's something only a powerhouse can win." Musk challenged them. "I'm confident in the team," Curry replied briefly. The locker room echoed with Curry's wails as Zhang Yu walked ahead, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. Zhang Yu slowed his pace and smiled. "Boss, that's not what you said a moment ago!" Zhang Yu slowed his pace and smiled. Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. "Boss, why..." Wasn't glory supposed to come with responsibility? Another chapter watermark omitted. "I'm going to report the truth about that rude Chinese coach when I get back!" the male reporter who had asked the question said bitterly. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." If Curry took the blame, the reporter could write that Curry admitted he was too afraid to shoot in the final moments—a total coward. He boarded the plane with the team, found his seat, put his things away, and unfolded a newspaper to read. Stevens was sitting right beside him, smiling as he said: Another reporter stood up: The next morning, the Bulldogs arrived at the airport. Their flight from St. Louis to Indiana was due to take off in half an hour. "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. Musk seethed with resentment. Curry was about to take the bait, but Zhang Yu had ruined everything. "So you mean you'll take responsibility for the loss?" Zhang Yu asked. "Don't thank me just yet. When we get back, I want you to practice a hundred extra threes every day!" The locker room echoed with Curry's wails as Zhang Yu walked ahead, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "But I'm the head coach. Remember, no one except me gets to tell my players what to do!" "I didn't execute the play you drew up properly, and that's why our final possession failed..." "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "Huh? But I've already been practicing every day!" On the way back to the locker room, Curry caught up with Zhang Yu. "Don't thank me just yet. When we get back, I want you to practice a hundred extra threes every day!" Zhang Yu slowed his pace and smiled. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "I'm confident in the team," Curry replied briefly. They were only about 400 kilometers from St. Louis to Indiana, and the plane soon landed at Indianapolis International Airport. Reporters looked at each other. Even John Wooden wouldn't dare say that! "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. If Curry took the blame, the reporter could write that Curry admitted he was too afraid to shoot in the final moments—a total coward. "Don't thank me just yet. When we get back, I want you to practice a hundred extra threes every day!" "Stephen, I'm Jack from USA Today. You've had an incredible season. Will you enter the draft after March Madness?" The locker room echoed with Curry's wails as Zhang Yu walked ahead, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "I'm confident in the team," Curry replied briefly. They were only about 400 kilometers from St. Louis to Indiana, and the plane soon landed at Indianapolis International Airport. Reporters looked at each other. Even John Wooden wouldn't dare say that! Zhang Yu slowed his pace and smiled. "I'm confident in the team," Curry replied briefly. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." Stevens handed him a ballpoint pen. Zhang Yu took it, opened the newspaper, and began taking notes. Irresponsible reporters had control of the narrative, distorting the facts at will and leaving people unable to defend themselves. "You don't get it. I'm figuring out who my friends and enemies are. You don't want to mistake one for the other when it matters... Let me borrow a pen." Without looking up, Zhang Yu took a notebook from his bag, opened it, and held out his hand to Stevens. "Let's see... Hey, USA Today! Not bad. The coverage is pretty fair and objective. We should work together more often..." "I didn't execute the play you drew up properly, and that's why our final possession failed..." "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." He ignored Zhang Yu and continued questioning Curry: Musk seethed with resentment. Curry was about to take the bait, but Zhang Yu had ruined everything. "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. If Curry took the blame, the reporter could write that Curry admitted he was too afraid to shoot in the final moments—a total coward. He boarded the plane with the team, found his seat, put his things away, and unfolded a newspaper to read. Stevens was sitting right beside him, smiling as he said: Curry hesitated, about to speak, but Zhang Yu cut in: Another reporter stood up: A coordinator from the Basketball Operations Department jogged over to Zhang Yu, panting as he handed him a stack of newspapers. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "Don't thank me just yet. When we get back, I want you to practice a hundred extra threes every day!" "Exactly." Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." Zhang Yu slowed his pace and smiled. Boss, that's not what you said a moment ago! Zhang Yu slowed his pace and smiled. Curry looked at Zhang Yu in surprise. "Boss, why..." Wasn't glory supposed to come with responsibility? Another chapter watermark omitted. "I'm going to report the truth about that rude Chinese coach when I get back!" the male reporter who had asked the question said bitterly. If Curry took the blame, the reporter could write that Curry admitted he was too afraid to shoot in the final moments—a total coward. He boarded the plane with the team, found his seat, put his things away, and unfolded a newspaper to read. Stevens was sitting right beside him, smiling as he said: "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. Another reporter stood up: The next morning, the Bulldogs arrived at the airport. Their flight from St. Louis to Indiana was due to take off in half an hour. Musk seethed with resentment. Curry was about to take the bait, but Zhang Yu had ruined everything. "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. "Exactly." "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." The next morning, the Bulldogs arrived at the airport. Their flight from St. Louis to Indiana was due to take off in half an hour. "I'm going to report the truth about that rude Chinese coach when I get back!" the male reporter who had asked the question said bitterly. Another reporter stood up: A coordinator from the Basketball Operations Department jogged over to Zhang Yu, panting as he handed him a stack of newspapers. If Curry took the blame, the reporter could write that Curry admitted he was too afraid to shoot in the final moments—a total coward. "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. Stevens handed him a ballpoint pen. Zhang Yu took it, opened the newspaper, and began taking notes. "Don't thank me just yet. When we get back, I want you to practice a hundred extra threes every day!" The locker room echoed with Curry's wails as Zhang Yu walked ahead, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "But I'm the head coach. Remember, no one except me gets to tell my players what to do!" "I didn't execute the play you drew up properly, and that's why our final possession failed..." "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "Huh? But I've already been practicing every day!" "This is your punishment for missing that final shot! And you have to practice after regular training, when you're already tired. It'll help you keep your shot steady under pressure when you're exhausted." Stevens handed him a ballpoint pen. Zhang Yu took it, opened the newspaper, and began taking notes. "I'm confident in the team," Curry replied briefly. St. Louis was only about 400 kilometers from Indiana, and the plane soon landed at Indianapolis International Airport. "Stephen, you're Butler's star player. You missed the final shot, and the team lost. Who do you think is responsible for the loss? Julian Becko?" Curry thought for a moment, then replied: "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." The next morning, the Bulldogs arrived at the airport. Their flight from St. Louis to Indiana was due to take off in half an hour. "I'm going to report the truth about that rude Chinese coach when I get back!" the male reporter who had asked the question said bitterly. Stevens handed him a ballpoint pen. Zhang Yu took it, opened the newspaper, and began taking notes. "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." The next morning, the Bulldogs arrived at the airport. Their flight from St. Louis to Indiana was due to take off in half an hour. "I'm going to report the truth about that rude Chinese coach when I get back!" the male reporter who had asked the question said bitterly. Another reporter stood up: A coordinator from the Basketball Operations Department jogged over to Zhang Yu, panting as he handed him a stack of newspapers. "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. Curry hesitated, about to speak, but Zhang Yu cut him off: "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. "You don't get it. I'm figuring out who my friends and enemies are. You don't want to mistake one for the other when it matters... Let me borrow a pen." Without looking up, Zhang Yu took a notebook from his bag, opened it, and held out his hand to Stevens. "I'm confident in the team," Curry replied briefly. The locker room echoed with Curry's wails as Zhang Yu walked ahead, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "But I'm the head coach. Remember, no one except me gets to tell my players what to do!" "I didn't execute the play you drew up properly, and that's why our final possession failed..." "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "Huh? But I've already been practicing every day!" On the way back to the locker room, Curry caught up with Zhang Yu: "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. Curry naturally followed right behind him, leaving the reporters staring at each other in the press room. "I'm going to report the truth about that rude Chinese coach when I get back!" the male reporter who had asked the question said bitterly. "But I'm the head coach. Remember, no one except me gets to tell my players what to do!" "I didn't execute the play you drew up properly, and that's why our final possession failed..." "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "But I'm the head coach. Remember, no one except me gets to tell my players what to do!" "I didn't execute the play you drew up properly, and that's why our final possession failed..." "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." "..." Musk couldn't think of how to respond. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "Huh? But I've already been practicing every day!" "I'm confident in the team," Curry replied briefly. St. Louis was only about 400 kilometers from Indiana, and the plane soon landed at Indianapolis International Airport. "Stephen, you're Butler's star player. You missed the final shot, and the team lost. Who do you think is responsible for the loss? Julian Becko?" "Don't thank me just yet. When we get back, I want you to practice a hundred extra threes every day!" The locker room echoed with Curry's wails as Zhang Yu walked ahead, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "Huh? But I've already been practicing every day!" Stevens handed him a ballpoint pen. Zhang Yu took it, opened the newspaper, and began taking notes. "You don't get it. I'm figuring out who my friends and enemies are. You don't want to mistake one for the other when it matters... Let me borrow a pen." Without looking up, Zhang Yu took a notebook from his bag, opened it, and held out his hand to Stevens. "I'm confident in the team," Curry replied briefly. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." He boarded the plane with the team, found his seat, put his things away, and unfolded a newspaper to read. Stevens was sitting right beside him, smiling as he said: "Sports Illustrated, Musk, March 23, 2007. Tried to trap Stephen and smear my reputation..." Zhang Yu quietly repeated what he had written in Chinese, which Stevens couldn't understand, then picked up the next newspaper. "I'm confident in the team," Curry replied briefly. "But I'm the head coach. Remember, no one except me gets to tell my players what to do!" "Stephen, you're Butler's star player. You missed the final shot, and the team lost. Who do you think is responsible for the loss? Julian Becko?" "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "I'm going to report the truth about that rude Chinese coach when I get back!" the male reporter who had asked the question said bitterly. "With me around, Butler is a powerhouse," Zhang Yu said coolly. "I'm confident in the team," Curry replied briefly. "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "Don't thank me just yet. When we get back, I want you to practice a hundred extra threes every day!" "I have a lot to improve, and I want to bring a championship to Butler. I won't enter the draft this year." "Didn't you hear me? The loss is entirely on me. Stephen and Julian Becko executed my play perfectly, but the play was wrong from the start. The pick-and-roll I called brought the double-team onto Stephen, and he only passed the ball at the end because I told him to. So I take full responsibility for the loss." 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