The First Volume: I Came, I Saw, I Conquered!

The First Volume: I Came, I Saw, I Conquered! Chapter Seven: Are You Even Being Polite? "Is this Butler University? It looks pretty nice, but the campus is so small. It seems about ten times smaller than VT, doesn't it?" Sonya looked over the quiet, picturesque campus, which covered only 290 acres, with a critical eye. "Haha..." Julian Becko chuckled, but when everyone looked at him, he hurriedly shut his mouth. The Bulldogs had only recently changed head coaches, and the news hadn't gotten out yet. Dell had found out the coach's name by asking the person who greeted him on the way over. The three of them entered the school. A coordinator from Butler University's Basketball Operations Department was waiting at the entrance. He came over to greet them, then led the Curry family across the quiet campus to Hinkle Fieldhouse, which stood on the east side of the school. Curry naturally had no objections. He changed into his workout clothes by the court, ready for the physical tests. The three of them entered the school. A coordinator from Butler University's Basketball Operations Department was waiting at the entrance. He came over to greet them, then led the Curry family across the quiet campus to Hinkle Fieldhouse, which stood on the east side of the school. "But I've never believed that physical traits are the only kind of talent. To me, shooting touch, hand-eye coordination, reaction speed, basketball IQ... those are all talents! And you're the most talented shooter I've ever seen." Zhang Yu's voice was low and resolute, but then his tone shifted. "Unfortunately, my assistant coach doesn't see it that way. He stubbornly believes you'll struggle to make it in the NCAA." "Butler University has only a little over 4,400 students, so of course it can't compare with VT. But it's willing to give Stephen a chance," Dell said. In 2006, basketball was still a traditional game. Everyone valued physical attributes, the interior, and physical play. "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. "Stephen, relax. Just call me Ronan. I'm only 23, not much older than you," Zhang Yu said. "But I've never believed that physical traits are the only kind of talent. To me, shooting touch, hand-eye coordination, reaction speed, basketball IQ... those are all talents! And you're the most talented shooter I've ever seen." Zhang Yu's voice was low and resolute, but then his tone shifted. "Unfortunately, my assistant coach doesn't see it that way. He stubbornly believes you'll struggle to make it in the NCAA." "Hello, Mr. Curry. It's a pleasure to have you here for a tryout, but I should clarify that I'm Brad Stevens, an assistant coach with the Bulldogs. This is our head coach, Ronan." Zhang Yu turned and continued: When they entered the gym, the players were practicing, with several coaches on the sidelines offering instruction. Matthew Graves nudged Zhang Yu with his elbow and quietly reminded him: Curry stood at the back, nervously watching the school in front of him. His fingers clenched, loosened, then clenched again. His knuckles had turned white from gripping so hard. But Dell couldn't think of any reason Stevens would be playing a trick on him. He composed himself and said awkwardly, "What? Shooting touch counts as talent? What a load of crap..." Matthew Graves finally remembered that Zhang Yu was the head coach and changed his wording. "You can practice your shot, but you can't practice height and long arms!" "I wouldn't joke about my job as head coach," Zhang Yu said quietly. "Stephen Curry really is a genius—an unconventional one." Their family had just taken a taxi from Indianapolis International Airport. The ride had taken 25 minutes. "So we're going to test your shooting in a little while. Give it your best, and show my stubborn assistant coach what a real shooter looks like!" "There'll definitely be another chance. There has to be!" "Congratulations, Matthew," Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. Hearing Curry's youthful voice finally pulled Zhang Yu out of that strange reverie. After learning that Butler University had invited Curry for a tryout, they had immediately booked tickets for the first flight the next day—which was today—and come to Indiana. Hearing Curry's youthful voice finally pulled Zhang Yu out of that strange reverie. Zhang Yu turned and continued, "Coach Ronan, hello. I'm Stephen Curry, from Charlotte Christian School. I play shooting guard and specialize in shooting and moving without the ball..." Curry took a deep breath and spoke with determination: Curry wasn't angry. Zhang Yu's words had caught his attention. No one had ever told him that shooting touch was a talent, too! He held out his hand to Zhang Yu, but Zhang Yu didn't respond. He just kept looking at Curry, his eyes filled with a strange mix of excitement and reminiscence, seemingly oblivious to Dell. He was no longer an investment analyst. In front of Curry, he wasn't a fan but the head coach who could determine the course of Curry's basketball career. Matthew Graves agreed. He wanted to see just how good this baby-faced kid's shot was, and why Ronan was so stubbornly clinging to his ridiculous opinion. "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. This young man looked barely twenty, and he was the Bulldogs' head coach?! He held out his hand to Zhang Yu, but Zhang Yu didn't respond. He just kept looking at Curry, his eyes filled with a strange mix of excitement and reminiscence, seemingly oblivious to Dell. As for shooting... what good was that under intense physical pressure? Curry took a deep breath and spoke with determination: "I guess I really don't have enough talent..." Curry murmured. He was no longer an investment analyst. In front of Curry, he wasn't a fan but the head coach who could determine the course of Curry's basketball career. "I guess I really don't have enough talent..." Curry murmured. He held out his hand to Zhang Yu, but Zhang Yu didn't respond. He just kept looking at Curry, his eyes filled with a strange mix of excitement and reminiscence, seemingly oblivious to Dell. Dell felt a little puzzled. He gave the young Asian man a friendly smile, then walked toward the white man and held out his hand. They had just taken a taxi from Indianapolis International Airport. The ride had taken 25 minutes. "Sorry, Coach Ronan. Your age is really surprising. I've never seen a head coach as young as you." "Dad, I'll make the most of this chance." "Haha, sure. This is my wife, Sonya, and this is my son, Stephen... Stephen, come over here." He needed to face Curry as a head coach. "Congratulations, Matthew," Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. Although Butler University was an obscure school across the country, it had reached the NCAA Tournament four years earlier. It wasn't without a chance to compete. It was far stronger than truly obscure schools like Davidson College and Virginia Commonwealth University, and it was the best option Curry had right now. "Haha, sure. This is my wife, Sonya, and this is my son, Stephen... Stephen, come over here." "So we're going to test your shooting in a little while. Give it your best, and show my stubborn assistant coach what a real shooter looks like!" Dell didn't know how to comfort his son. He was gentle by nature and never good with words, so all he could do was repeat: Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. He said, "Sorry, Coach Ronan. Your age is really surprising. I've never seen a head coach as young as you." They had just taken a taxi from Indianapolis International Airport. The ride had taken 25 minutes. "Ronan!" "But I've never believed that physical traits are the only kind of talent. To me, shooting touch, hand-eye coordination, reaction speed, basketball IQ... those are all talents! And you're the most talented shooter I've ever seen." Zhang Yu's voice was low and resolute, but then his tone shifted. "Unfortunately, my assistant coach doesn't see it that way. He stubbornly believes you'll struggle to make it in the NCAA." Curry murmured, "I guess I really don't have enough talent..." Three of them entered the school. A coordinator from Butler University's Basketball Operations Department was waiting at the entrance. He came over to greet them, then led the Curry family across the quiet campus to Hinkle Fieldhouse, which stood on the east side of the school. "So we're going to test your shooting in a little while. Give it your best, and show my stubborn assistant coach what a real shooter looks like!" "I wouldn't joke about my job as head coach," Zhang Yu said quietly. "Stephen Curry really is a genius—an unconventional one." "Hello, Mr. Curry. It's a pleasure to have you here for a tryout, but I should clarify that I'm Brad Stevens, an assistant coach with the Bulldogs. This is our head coach, Ronan." Zhang Yu turned and continued: When Dell heard Curry's youthful voice, Zhang Yu finally snapped out of that strange reverie. Dell felt a little puzzled. He gave the young Asian man a friendly smile, then walked toward the white man and held out his hand. Matthew Graves: Are you even being polite? Dell felt a little puzzled. He gave the young Asian man a friendly smile, then walked toward the white man and held out his hand. "Coach Ronan, hello. I'm Stephen Curry's father, Dell Curry." Curry wasn't angry. Zhang Yu's words had caught his attention. No one had ever told him that shooting touch was a talent, too! "Butler University has only a little over 4,400 students, so of course it can't compare with VT. But it's willing to give Stephen a chance," Dell said. Matthew Graves agreed. He wanted to see just how good this baby-faced kid's shot was, and why Ronan was so stubbornly clinging to his ridiculous opinion. "Dad, I'll make the most of this chance." "But he isn't suited to basketball. He has no physical talent at all!" Matthew's voice rose. The Bulldogs had only recently changed head coaches, and the news hadn't gotten out yet. Dell had found out the coach's name by asking the person who greeted him on the way over. They had just taken a taxi from Indianapolis International Airport. The ride had taken 25 minutes. Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. He said, "Sorry, Coach Ronan. Your age is really surprising. I've never seen a head coach as young as you." "Ronan!" Three of them entered the school. A coordinator from Butler University's Basketball Operations Department was waiting at the entrance. He came over to greet them, then led the Curry family across the quiet campus to Hinkle Fieldhouse, which stood on the east side of the school. In Zhang Yu's previous life, people had initially thought Curry lacked talent, too. But after Curry ushered in the small-ball era, no one else like him emerged as a superstar shooter. People gradually realized that his hand-eye coordination and shooting touch were top-tier talents, even by the standards of history. Three of them entered the school. A coordinator from Butler University's Basketball Operations Department was waiting at the entrance. He came over to greet them, then led the Curry family across the quiet campus to Hinkle Fieldhouse, which stood on the east side of the school. "Hello, Mr. Curry. It's a pleasure to have you here for a tryout, but I should clarify that I'm Brad Stevens, an assistant coach with the Bulldogs. This is our head coach, Ronan." "I've got it, Coach Ronan." "Is this Butler University? It looks pretty nice, but the campus is so small. It seems about ten times smaller than VT, doesn't it?" Sonya looked over the quiet, picturesque campus, which covered only 290 acres, with a critical eye. "Haha..." Julian Becko chuckled, but when everyone looked at him, he hurriedly shut his mouth. Curry was the only one who wasn't angry. Zhang Yu's words had caught his attention. No one had ever told him that shooting touch was a talent, too! "Ronan, is this the 'real genius' you were talking about?" Matthew frowned as he looked over the physical-test report in his hands. "Coach Ronan, hello. I'm Stephen Curry, from Charlotte Christian School. I play shooting guard and specialize in shooting and moving without the ball..." Matthew Graves nudged Zhang Yu with his elbow and quietly reminded him: Zhang Yu turned and continued, "Ronan!" Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. He said, "I guess I really don't have enough talent..." Curry murmured. Curry wasn't angry. Zhang Yu's words had caught his attention. No one had ever told him that shooting touch was a talent, too! He needed to face Curry as a head coach. Matthew Graves nudged Zhang Yu with his elbow and quietly reminded him: Zhang Yu turned and continued: Curry wasn't angry. Zhang Yu's words had caught his attention. No one had ever told him that shooting touch was a talent, too! "Congratulations, Matthew," Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. "Ronan!" "But he isn't suited to basketball. He has no physical talent at all!" Matthew's voice rose. Davidson College had only 1,700 students, and the last time it had made the NCAA Tournament was way back in 1969. Dell had been only five years old then. He was no longer an investment analyst. In front of Curry, he wasn't a fan but the head coach who could determine the course of Curry's basketball career. "Butler University has only a little over 4,400 students, so of course it can't compare with VT. But it's willing to give Stephen a chance," Dell said. "I wouldn't joke about my job as head coach," Zhang Yu said quietly. "Stephen Curry really is a genius—an unconventional one." He was no longer an investment analyst. In front of Curry, he wasn't a fan but the head coach who could determine the course of Curry's basketball career. Matthew Graves agreed. He wanted to see just how good this baby-faced kid's shot was, and why Ronan was so stubbornly clinging to his ridiculous opinion. "Ronan, is this the 'real genius' you were talking about?" Matthew frowned as he looked over the physical-test report in his hands. Zhang Yu jolted as if waking from a dream, then took Dell's hand and laughed. "Haha..." Julian Becko chuckled, but when everyone looked at him, he hurriedly shut his mouth. They had clearly noticed Curry's group, and everyone's attention shifted to them. The Asian man was the first to walk over. Curry nodded dejectedly. "Hello, Mr. Curry. It's a pleasure to have you here for a tryout, but I should clarify that I'm Brad Stevens, an assistant coach with the Bulldogs. This is our head coach, Ronan." "Ronan, is this the 'real genius' you were talking about?" Matthew frowned as he looked over the physical-test report in his hands. "Oh? Oh... no problem, Dell, but you have to give me an autographed jersey. I'm a fan of yours." He was no longer an investment analyst. In front of Curry, he wasn't a fan but the head coach who could determine the course of Curry's basketball career. Zhang Yu jolted as if waking from a dream, then took Dell's hand and laughed. "Haha..." Matthew Graves agreed. He wanted to see just how good this baby-faced kid's shot was, and why Ronan was so stubbornly clinging to his ridiculous opinion. Hearing Curry's youthful voice finally pulled Zhang Yu out of that strange reverie. "Hmm?" Matthew looked confused. "Haha..." Julian Becko chuckled, but when everyone looked at him, he hurriedly shut his mouth. At the moment, just hearing that word made Curry's mind automatically conjure up "failure" and "rejection." Dell paused, then laughed and said, "Congratulations, Matthew." Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. When they entered the gym, the players were practicing, with several coaches on the sidelines offering instruction. Every year, the Bulldogs recruited new players, so the staff knew the physical-testing process well. Curry had also tried out for countless universities and wasn't a rookie. The physical tests were soon complete. Curry wasn't angry. Zhang Yu's words had caught his attention. No one had ever told him that shooting touch was a talent, too! Curry naturally had no objections. He changed into his workout clothes by the court, ready for the physical tests. "Haha, sure. This is my wife, Sonya, and this is my son, Stephen... Stephen, come over here." "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. "Haha..." Julian Becko chuckled, but when everyone looked at him, he hurriedly shut his mouth. Curry came over. He was already nervous, and Zhang Yu's fixed gaze made him even more so. His hands twisted together uncertainly as he said, "I guess I really don't have enough talent..." Matthew Graves: Are you even being polite? Hearing Curry's youthful voice finally pulled Zhang Yu out of that strange reverie. The Bulldogs had only recently changed head coaches, and the news hadn't gotten out yet. Dell had found out the coach's name by asking the person who greeted him on the way over. "Hello, Mr. Curry. It's a pleasure to have you here for a tryout, but I should clarify that I'm Brad Stevens, an assistant coach with the Bulldogs. This is our head coach, Ronan." Zhang Yu and Matthew then came over to Curry and his family. Looking Curry in the eye, Zhang Yu slowly said: His voice was sharp with nerves, trembling slightly. "Is this Butler University? It looks pretty nice, but the campus is so small. It seems about ten times smaller than VT, doesn't it?" Sonya looked over the quiet, picturesque campus, which covered only 290 acres, with a critical eye. Three of them entered the school. A coordinator from Butler University's Basketball Operations Department was waiting at the entrance. He came over to greet them, then led the Curry family across the quiet campus to Hinkle Fieldhouse, which stood on the east side of the school. Curry took a deep breath and spoke with determination: Hearing Curry's youthful voice finally pulled Zhang Yu out of that strange reverie. "Dad, I'll make the most of this chance." He glanced at Matthew Graves. Matthew didn't seem embarrassed. His expression was serious as he said, "Sorry, Coach Ronan. Your age is really surprising. I've never seen a head coach as young as you." Matthew Graves agreed. He wanted to see just how good this baby-faced kid's shot was, and why Ronan was so stubbornly clinging to his ridiculous opinion. Davidson College had only 1,700 students, and the last time it had made the NCAA Tournament was way back in 1969. Dell had been only five years old then. "Stephen, relax. Just call me Ronan. I'm only 23, not much older than you," Zhang Yu said. "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. He needed to face Curry as a head coach. "I wouldn't joke about my job as head coach," Zhang Yu said quietly. "Stephen Curry really is a genius—an unconventional one." Matthew Graves: Are you even being polite? Curry came over. He was already nervous, and Zhang Yu's fixed gaze made him even more so. His hands twisted together uncertainly as he said: Was he out of touch, or was Butler University just that crazy? Dell didn't know how to comfort his son. He was gentle by nature and never good with words, so all he could do was repeat: Davidson College had only 1,700 students, and the last time it had made the NCAA Tournament was way back in 1969. Dell had been only five years old then. "Stephen, relax. Just call me Ronan. I'm only 23, not much older than you," Zhang Yu said. "Your judgment has risen to Coach K's level. He sees things the same way you do. He even thinks Stephen Curry can't handle the physicality of the NCAA, and not a single coach at a top school has any faith in him," Zhang Yu said. Matthew Graves nudged Zhang Yu with his elbow and quietly reminded him: Zhang Yu jolted as if waking from a dream, then took Dell's hand and laughed. "Sorry. As part of my job, I have to be honest about what I think." "But he isn't suited to basketball. He has no physical talent at all!" Matthew's voice rose. Zhang Yu and Matthew then came over to Curry and his family. Looking Curry in the eye, Zhang Yu slowly said: Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. He said, "Physical talent is only one part of talent. Shooting touch, hand-eye coordination, reaction speed... those are talents, too." Zhang Yu retorted. Three of them entered the school. A coordinator from Butler University's Basketball Operations Department was waiting at the entrance. He came over to greet them, then led the Curry family across the quiet campus to Hinkle Fieldhouse, which stood on the east side of the school. "Ronan!" "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. Some distance away, the Curry family could make out the coaches arguing. Through the broken snippets of conversation, Curry clearly caught the word "talent." Davidson College had only 1,700 students, and the last time it had made the NCAA Tournament was way back in 1969. Dell had been only five years old then. Matthew Graves: Are you even being polite? Dell noticed a white man demonstrating a technique. The players listened to him attentively. On the sideline, a young Asian man stood with his arms crossed, silently watching practice. "All right, Coach Ronan." "All right, Coach Ronan." "Stephen, you know how much you're at a disadvantage physically, right?" Curry stood at the back, nervously watching the school in front of him. His fingers clenched, loosened, then clenched again. His knuckles had turned white from gripping so hard. He held out his hand to Zhang Yu, but Zhang Yu didn't respond. He just kept looking at Curry, his eyes filled with a strange mix of excitement and reminiscence, seemingly oblivious to Dell. "Stephen, you know how much you're at a disadvantage physically, right?" "Actually, my surname is Zhang. Ronan is my given name." "Sorry. As part of my job, I have to be honest about what I think." Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. Curry took a deep breath and spoke with determination: His voice was sharp with nerves, trembling slightly. "What? Shooting touch counts as talent? What a load of crap..." Matthew Graves finally remembered that Zhang Yu was the head coach and changed his wording. "You can practice your shot, but you can't practice height and long arms!" Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. "Congratulations, Matthew," Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. Every year, the Bulldogs recruited new players, so the staff knew the physical-testing process well. Curry had also tried out for countless universities and wasn't a rookie. The physical tests were soon complete. Curry wasn't angry. Zhang Yu's words had caught his attention. No one had ever told him that shooting touch was a talent, too! Curry naturally had no objections. He changed into his workout clothes by the court, ready for the physical tests. "Haha, sure. This is my wife, Sonya, and this is my son, Stephen... Stephen, come over here." "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. "Congratulations, Matthew," Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. Although he was only an assistant coach, he had been responsible for recruiting the Bulldogs for years, and he had his own firm convictions. Dell noticed a white man demonstrating a technique. The players listened to him attentively. On the sideline, a young Asian man stood with his arms crossed, silently watching practice. "Sorry, Coach Ronan. Your age is really surprising. I've never seen a head coach as young as you." His voice was sharp with nerves, trembling slightly. "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. "Stephen, relax. Just call me Ronan. I'm only 23, not much older than you," Zhang Yu said. "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. He needed to face Curry as a head coach. "I wouldn't joke about my job as head coach," Zhang Yu said quietly. "Stephen Curry really is a genius—an unconventional one." Matthew Graves: Are you even being polite? Curry came over. He was already nervous, and Zhang Yu's fixed gaze made him even more so. His hands twisted together uncertainly as he said: Was he out of touch, or was Butler University just that crazy? Dell didn't know how to comfort his son. He was gentle by nature and never good with words, so all he could do was repeat: Davidson College had only 1,700 students, and the last time it had made the NCAA Tournament was way back in 1969. Dell had been only five years old then. "Stephen, relax. Just call me Ronan. I'm only 23, not much older than you," Zhang Yu said. "Your judgment has risen to Coach K's level. He sees things the same way you do. He even thinks Stephen Curry can't handle the physicality of the NCAA, and not a single coach at a top school has any faith in him," Zhang Yu said. Matthew Graves nudged Zhang Yu with his elbow and quietly reminded him: Zhang Yu jolted as if waking from a dream, then took Dell's hand and laughed. "But he isn't suited to basketball. He has no physical talent at all!" Matthew's voice rose. Zhang Yu and Matthew then came over to Curry and his family. Looking Curry in the eye, Zhang Yu slowly said: Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. "I guess I really don't have enough talent..." Curry murmured. Some distance away, the Curry family could make out the coaches arguing. Through the broken snippets of conversation, Curry clearly caught the word "talent." Davidson College had only 1,700 students, and the last time it had made the NCAA Tournament was way back in 1969. Dell had been only five years old then. Matthew Graves: Are you even being polite? Dell noticed a white man demonstrating a technique. The players listened to him attentively. On the sideline, a young Asian man stood with his arms crossed, silently watching practice. "All right, Coach Ronan." "All right, Coach Ronan." "Stephen, you know how much you're at a disadvantage physically, right?" Dell noticed a white man demonstrating a technique. The players listened to him attentively. On the sideline, a young Asian man stood with his arms crossed, silently watching practice. "Actually, my surname is Zhang. Ronan is my given name." "Sorry. As part of my job, I have to be honest about what I think." Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. Curry took a deep breath and spoke with determination: His voice was sharp with nerves, trembling slightly. "What? Shooting touch counts as talent? What a load of crap..." Matthew Graves finally remembered that Zhang Yu was the head coach and changed his wording. "You can practice your shot, but you can't practice height and long arms!" Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. "Congratulations, Matthew." Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. He was no longer an investment analyst. In front of Curry, he wasn't a fan but the head coach who could determine the course of Curry's basketball career. "Ronan!" Zhang Yu jolted as if waking from a dream, then took Dell's hand and laughed. "Haha..." Matthew looked confused. They had just taken a taxi from Indianapolis International Airport. The ride had taken 25 minutes. The Curry family had just booked tickets for the first flight the next day—which was today—and come to Indiana after learning Butler University had invited Curry for a tryout. As for shooting... what good was that under intense physical pressure? In 2006, basketball was still a traditional game. Everyone valued physical attributes, the interior, and physical play. His voice was sharp with nerves, trembling slightly. "Coach Ronan, hello. I'm Stephen Curry's father, Dell Curry." Curry nodded dejectedly. "Congratulations, Matthew," Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. Although he was only an assistant coach, he had been responsible for recruiting the Bulldogs for years, and he had his own firm convictions. Dell noticed a white man demonstrating a technique. The players listened to him attentively. On the sideline, a young Asian man stood with his arms crossed, silently watching practice. "Sorry, Coach Ronan. Your age is really surprising. I've never seen a head coach as young as you." His voice was sharp with nerves, trembling slightly. "But I've never believed that physical traits are the only kind of talent. To me, shooting touch, hand-eye coordination, reaction speed, basketball IQ... those are all talents! And you're the most talented shooter I've ever seen." Zhang Yu's voice was low and resolute, but then his tone shifted. "Unfortunately, my assistant coach doesn't see it that way. He stubbornly believes you'll struggle to make it in the NCAA." Although Butler University was an obscure school across the country, it had reached the NCAA Tournament four years earlier. It wasn't without a chance to compete. It was far stronger than truly obscure schools like Davidson College and Virginia Commonwealth University, and it was the best option Curry had right now. In Zhang Yu's previous life, people had initially thought Curry lacked talent, too. But after Curry ushered in the small-ball era, no one else like him emerged as a superstar shooter. People gradually realized that his hand-eye coordination and shooting touch were top-tier talents, even by the standards of history. Zhang Yu jolted as if waking from a dream, then took Dell's hand and laughed. Matthew Graves agreed. He wanted to see just how good this baby-faced kid's shot was, and why Ronan was so stubbornly clinging to his ridiculous opinion. Hearing Curry's youthful voice finally pulled Zhang Yu out of that strange reverie. "Stephen, relax. Just call me Ronan. I'm only 23, not much older than you," Zhang Yu said. "Ronan!" "But he isn't suited to basketball. He has no physical talent at all!" Matthew's voice rose. Davidson College had only 1,700 students, and the last time it had made the NCAA Tournament was way back in 1969. Dell had been only five years old then. He was no longer an investment analyst. In front of Curry, he wasn't a fan but the head coach who could determine the course of Curry's basketball career. "Butler University has only a little over 4,400 students, so of course it can't compare with VT. But it's willing to give Stephen a chance," Dell said. Matthew Graves agreed. He wanted to see just how good this baby-faced kid's shot was, and why Ronan was so stubbornly clinging to his ridiculous opinion. "Ronan, is this the 'real genius' you were talking about?" Matthew frowned as he looked over the physical-test report in his hands. Zhang Yu jolted as if waking from a dream, then took Dell's hand and laughed. "Haha..." Julian Becko chuckled, but when everyone looked at him, he hurriedly shut his mouth. At that moment, just hearing the word made Curry's mind automatically conjure up "failure" and "rejection." Dell paused, then laughed and said: "Congratulations, Matthew," Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. When they entered the gym, the players were practicing, with several coaches on the sidelines offering instruction. Every year, the Bulldogs recruited new players, so the staff knew the physical-testing process well. Curry had also tried out for countless universities and wasn't a rookie. The physical tests were soon complete. Curry wasn't angry. Zhang Yu's words had caught his attention. No one had ever told him that shooting touch was a talent, too! Curry naturally had no objections. He changed into his workout clothes by the court, ready for the physical tests. "Haha, sure. This is my wife, Sonya, and this is my son, Stephen... Stephen, come over here." "Ronan, is this the 'real genius' you were talking about?" Matthew frowned as he looked over the physical-test report in his hands. Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. When they entered the gym, the players were practicing, with several coaches on the sidelines offering instruction. Every year, the Bulldogs recruited new players, so the staff knew the physical-testing process well. Curry had also tried out for countless universities and wasn't a rookie. The physical tests were soon complete. Curry wasn't angry. Zhang Yu's words had caught his attention. No one had ever told him that shooting touch was a talent, too! "Haha, sure. This is my wife, Sonya, and this is my son, Stephen... Stephen, come over here." "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. "Ronan!" "But he isn't suited to basketball. He has no physical talent at all!" Matthew's voice rose. Davidson College had only 1,700 students, and the last time it had made the NCAA Tournament was way back in 1969. Dell had been only five years old then. He was no longer an investment analyst. In front of Curry, he wasn't a fan but the head coach who could determine the course of Curry's basketball career. "Ronan, is this the 'real genius' you were talking about?" Matthew frowned as he looked over the physical-test report in his hands. "Sorry, Coach Ronan. Your age is really surprising. I've never seen a head coach as young as you." Curry nodded dejectedly. "Congratulations, Matthew," Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. Although he was only an assistant coach, he had been responsible for recruiting the Bulldogs for years, and he had his own firm convictions. "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. Matthew Graves: Are you even being polite? He needed to face Curry as a head coach. "Stephen, you know how much you're at a disadvantage physically, right?" Matthew Graves nudged Zhang Yu with his elbow and quietly reminded him: Zhang Yu jolted as if waking from a dream, then took Dell's hand and laughed. "Ronan, is this the 'real genius' you were talking about?" Matthew frowned as he looked over the physical-test report in his hands. He glanced at Matthew Graves, who didn't seem embarrassed. His expression was serious as he said: "You're 6 feet 1 inch tall (1.85 meters) and weigh 159 pounds (72 kilograms). Are you sure he plays basketball and not baseball? Have you seen how skinny he is? I'm afraid someone will slam into him on the court and send him flying. His wingspan is only 6 feet 2 inches, and it'll be hard for him to create enough room to shoot against tough competition... Shooters with builds this slight usually struggle in the NCAA. They're the kind of players most likely to be overrated. I suggest you think carefully before making a decision." Matthew didn't hold back. Dell looked toward the Asian man, a deeply absurd feeling rising in his heart. His voice was sharp with nerves, trembling slightly. "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. "Stephen, relax. Just call me Ronan. I'm only 23, not much older than you," Zhang Yu said. "Congratulations, Matthew," Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. Although he was only an assistant coach, he had been responsible for recruiting the Bulldogs for years, and he had his own firm convictions. Matthew Graves: Are you even being polite? Curry came over. He was already nervous, and Zhang Yu's fixed gaze made him even more so. His hands twisted together uncertainly as he said: Was he out of touch, or was Butler University just that crazy? Dell didn't know how to comfort his son. He was gentle by nature and never good with words, so all he could do was repeat: Davidson College had only 1,700 students, and the last time it had made the NCAA Tournament was way back in 1969. Dell had been only five years old then. "Stephen, relax. Just call me Ronan. I'm only 23, not much older than you," Zhang Yu said. "Your judgment has risen to Coach K's level. He sees things the same way you do. He even thinks Stephen Curry can't handle the physicality of the NCAA, and not a single coach at a top school has any faith in him," Zhang Yu said. Matthew Graves nudged Zhang Yu with his elbow and quietly reminded him: Zhang Yu jolted as if waking from a dream, then took Dell's hand and laughed. "Sorry. As part of my job, I have to be honest about what I think." "But he isn't suited to basketball. He has no physical talent at all!" Matthew's voice rose. Zhang Yu and Matthew then came over to Curry and his family. Looking Curry in the eye, Zhang Yu slowly said: Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. "Physical talent is only one part of talent. Shooting touch, hand-eye coordination, reaction speed... those are talents, too," Zhang Yu argued. Three of them entered the school. A coordinator from Butler University's Basketball Operations Department was waiting at the entrance. He came over to greet them, then led the Curry family across the quiet campus to Hinkle Fieldhouse, which stood on the east side of the school. "Ronan!" "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. Some distance away, the Curry family could make out the coaches arguing. Through the broken snippets of conversation, Curry clearly caught the word "talent." Davidson College had only 1,700 students, and the last time it had made the NCAA Tournament was way back in 1969. Dell had been only five years old then. Matthew Graves: Are you even being polite? Dell noticed a white man demonstrating a technique. The players listened to him attentively. On the sideline, a young Asian man stood with his arms crossed, silently watching practice. "All right, Coach Ronan." "All right, Coach Ronan." "Stephen, you know how much you're at a disadvantage physically, right?" Dell noticed a white man demonstrating a technique. The players listened to him attentively. On the sideline, a young Asian man stood with his arms crossed, silently watching practice. "Actually, my surname is Zhang. Ronan is my given name." "Sorry. As part of my job, I have to be honest about what I think." Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. Curry took a deep breath and spoke with determination: His voice was sharp with nerves, trembling slightly. "What? Shooting touch counts as talent? What a load of crap..." Matthew Graves finally remembered that Zhang Yu was the head coach and changed his wording. "You can practice your shot, but you can't practice height and long arms!" Curry took a deep breath and put his hands down. "Congratulations, Matthew." Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. He was no longer an investment analyst. In front of Curry, he wasn't a fan but the head coach who could determine the course of Curry's basketball career. "Ronan!" Zhang Yu jolted as if waking from a dream, then took Dell's hand and laughed. "Haha..." Matthew looked confused. "Because I'm the head coach, and I want him to play for me," Zhang Yu said seriously. Curry nodded dejectedly. "I wouldn't joke about my job as head coach," Zhang Yu said quietly. "Stephen Curry really is a genius—an unconventional one." He was no longer an investment analyst. In front of Curry, he wasn't a fan but the head coach who could determine the course of Curry's basketball career. Matthew Graves agreed. He wanted to see just how good this baby-faced kid's shot was, and why Ronan was so stubbornly clinging to his ridiculous opinion. "Ronan, is this the 'real genius' you were talking about?" Matthew frowned as he looked over the physical-test report in his hands. Zhang Yu jolted as if waking from a dream, then took Dell's hand and laughed. "Haha..." Julian Becko chuckled, but when everyone looked at him, he hurriedly shut his mouth. "Hmm?" Matthew looked confused. "Haha..." Julian Becko chuckled, but when everyone looked at him, he hurriedly shut his mouth. At the moment, just hearing the word made Curry's mind automatically conjure up "failure" and "rejection." Dell paused, then laughed and said, "Congratulations, Matthew," Zhang Yu said unhurriedly. When they entered the gym, the players were practicing, with several coaches on the sidelines offering instruction. Every year, the Bulldogs recruited new players, so the staff knew the physical-testing process well. Curry had also tried out for countless universities and wasn't a rookie. The physical tests were soon complete. Curry wasn't angry. Zhang Yu's words had caught his attention. No one had ever told him that shooting touch was a talent, too! Curry naturally had no objections. He changed into his workout clothes by the court, ready for the physical tests. "Haha, sure. This is my wife, Sonya, and this is my son, Stephen... Stephen, come over here." "Don't be nervous, Stephen. Butler isn't a basketball powerhouse, so its expectations won't be too demanding. You'll be fine," Dell said. « FIN »