"High-Value" Contract

For Stephenson, this day was anything but pleasant.

In the NBA, he had realized he wasn't as invincible as he thought. After all, the NBA is the highest level of basketball in the world, and everyone playing there is among the most successful athletes on the planet.

But Stephenson never imagined he would lose so thoroughly even in the G League.

As the game ended, Lance Stephenson looked up at the big screen. 12 to 26—he had been completely outscored by Link!

Throughout the entire game, Link's scoring had seemed utterly unremarkable. Aside from one driving dunk, his methods were plain, mostly relying on jump shots.

Yet, using this simple approach, he had somehow racked up a game-high 26 points. The most terrifying part was that Stephenson, in an NBDL game, had only managed 12 points.

Link's defense on Stephenson today had been airtight. Sure, his athleticism and physical tools looked average, but he simply never lost his position.

Frustrated, Stephenson often forced shots without shaking off his defender, and with that approach, his scoring efficiency was bound to be terrible.

So when the game ended, he walked toward his opponent, toward that Chinese-American number 5 that Paul George never stopped talking about.

"You got me this time, but next time we meet, I won't let you off easy. Don't think this is over, damn it!"

Stephenson's defiant expression made Link shake his head. This guy was just a kid at heart.

"I doubt there'll be a next time, Lance. You're probably heading back to the Pacers soon, right?"

"Yeah, and when we meet again, neither of us will be playing in the G League. On the NBA court, I'll return everything I suffered today."

After grumbling, Stephenson turned and walked away. Link smiled helplessly. The NBA... it still felt like an unreachable dream.

As Stephenson left, Link prepared to head back to the locker room. But just as he was about to step into the tunnel, he was met by a few "uninvited guests."

"Link, I'm a reporter from the Indiana State Post. Could we have an interview?"

A female reporter thrust a microphone toward Link's mouth, making him swallow hard.

The reporter smiled with satisfaction, confident in her cleavage. But in truth, Link wasn't swallowing because of that sight. He was nervous because this was the first interview of his entire life!

"An interview? Sure, of course." Link nodded dazedly, only then noticing how "pleasant" the female reporter looked.

"Today, you led the Blue Team to their second straight win. After recording a triple-double last game, you've now put up a double-double with 26 points and 11 rebounds. How long do you think you can keep up this level of play?"

The question was simple, not tricky. This was the G League, after all—there wasn't much hype to milk, so reporters rarely asked tough questions.

"I hope I can keep it going, so I'll keep working hard." Link answered with maturity. Though he'd never been a star, he knew how to give polite responses.

"So, with your recent performances, do you think you'll get an NBA 10-day contract offer? I've heard you've caught the attention of several NBA teams. Word is, the Houston Rockets are actively recruiting you. What are your thoughts on that?"

"Well, I'm really glad an NBA team is interested in me, especially the Houston Rockets..." Link spoke halfway into the camera, then suddenly felt something was off. Sweat began to drip in large beads—not from exhaustion, but from shock!

"Miss, sorry, did you just say... the Houston Rockets are actively recruiting me?" Link asked the reporter back, his mind struggling to keep up.

As soon as Link returned to the locker room, he pulled his phone out of his locker. Sure enough, there were dozens of missed calls. And they were all from one person—Carl Jones.

Link hurried to call back, but before he could hit the dial button, Carl Jones called again.

"Hey, what took you so long? The game ended ages ago, didn't it!?"

The moment Link answered, he heard Carl Jones's anxious voice.

"I just did an interview. What's up, Carl? Do you have news for me!" Link's heart pounded. He swore the last time he was this nervous was checking his college entrance exam results.

After all, those were the only two things that could change Link's fate so far.

"How did you know I had good news? You've been signed, Link! You're going to the NBA! I got a call from Rockets GM Morey earlier—he wants to offer you a 10-day contract! This is your chance, Link, your chance!"

"Buzz!"

Hearing his agent's words, Link's mind went blank. It felt just like the first day he had crossed over.

He looked around. His teammates were still there, and he was still wearing the Blue Team's away jersey. He wasn't dreaming, and he hadn't crossed over again. This time, it was real—he was going to the NBA!

"When do we sign?" After a long pause, Link finally spoke, his emotions steadied.

"Tomorrow! As soon as you're back from Fort Wayne, I'll set up a meeting with the Rockets! They've already told me the contract amount. Per NBA rules, the maximum you can get this year is $52,000. That's an incredible deal, Link!"

Hearing the number $52,000, Link felt another wave of dizziness.

Sure, in the NBA, even a minimum-salary player could sign for a few hundred thousand. $52,000 seemed almost insignificant.

But in the G League, contracts only had three tiers.

Tier A paid $25,000 a year, Tier B paid $19,000. For someone like Link, fresh out of college, the only option was a Tier C contract—just $13,000 a year.

If it weren't for being single, not supporting his parents yet, and often mooching meals at Upshaw's place, Link wouldn't have been able to survive playing basketball.

But now, just by playing ten days for the Rockets, he would earn $52,000! In roughly three games, he'd make what used to take him four or five years!

That was why so many G League players jumped at 10-day contracts. Even if they didn't end up staying, they'd earn at least two years' worth of salary!

"Enjoy the win, Link. It's not just the $52,000. Once you join the Houston Rockets, your commercial value will skyrocket too. Because of Yao Ming, the Rockets are probably the most welcoming team in the NBA for Chinese-American players. You'll be popular there. Gotta go—I've already got several endorsement calls coming in. We're about to get rich, Link, hahahaha!"

Even after Carl Jones hung up, Link stood frozen in place.

The NBA, the Houston Rockets, $50,000 in ten days... It all felt like a dream, suddenly all his.

His whole body trembled uncontrollably. The life of a bottom-tier player was finally coming to an end.

"Houston Rockets? Foolish! He won't get any chance with the Rockets. Morey just needs the Chinese market."

After learning that the Rockets were close to signing Link, a middle-aged man with graying hair shook his head at his phone screen.

"Even if he doesn't get a chance with the Rockets, that's none of your business. That Chinese guy is just a flash-in-the-pan lucky charm. Every year, the G League produces a few players like that who shine briefly. Instead of worrying about him, you should pay more attention to that Greek I mentioned to you."

In front of the middle-aged man, a slightly younger man said dismissively.

"You mean Giannis Antetokounmpo? That guy still hanging around in a Spanish second-division club's youth team? He's worth noting, but he's still too far from the NBA. That Chinese guy, though... what a shame. He should've found a more professional agent, not some newcomer like Carl Jones that I've never even heard of."

"Alright, Jeff. It's not easy for an agent to sign promising players. Maybe someday your Chinese prodigy will fire his agent and choose you instead. What? Think it's impossible? Exactly. So stop worrying about that Chinese guy. We've got plenty of other targets, Jeff."

Hearing his assistant's words, Jeff Austin smiled bitterly and closed the news about Link.

But deep down, he still felt regret. If only he could be that Chinese guy's agent, his career would probably go much smoother.

A Chinese player with both skill and commercial value, falling into Carl Jones's hands—what a waste of talent.