Another Phone Call

The moment the game ended, the cheers from the fans in the arena reached their peak. All the Blue Team players swarmed forward, surrounding Link in a tight circle.

108 to 90, the Blue Team had crushed the invading Rio Grande Valley Vipers by 18 points on their home court. Just as Jon Brockman had said before the game, they had made the people from Houston lose all face.

Of course, the result of this game wasn't important, nor was it the focus of everyone's attention.

All eyes were fixed on Link, the guy wearing a jersey that wasn't his own—number 0—who was the one and only true protagonist of the day.

Yet, just as everyone was overflowing with excitement and joy, Link, surrounded at the center of the crowd, burst into tears.

"As a warrior, he truly deserves to shed tears for a night like this. 52 points in a single game, the new individual scoring record in the G League. Facing the Rockets' affiliate team, Link must have made Morey regret his decision deeply. Morey gave up a ticking time bomb, but other NBA teams certainly won't let him slip by easily. Maybe one day, that bomb will go off right on the Rockets!"

The commentators thought Link was crying over his 52-point night, but that wasn't it. Link couldn't care less about his scoring record. He was crying because from now on, he could only remember Upshaw through memories.

When Upshaw passed away, Link didn't cry. When he read the letter Upshaw had written to him, Link didn't cry. Back then, his heart was filled only with anger. He was furious at Carl Jones, furious at Morey, furious at the injustice of fate, furious at Upshaw's departure.

So he gritted his teeth and pushed forward, charging ahead just as Upshaw had told him to. He would wear Upshaw's jersey and fight, he would write Upshaw's name on his shoes. They would face the enemy together and play a game that would shake the heavens and move the earth.

Then, after Link had charged ahead and accomplished all of that, he finally broke down.

As the Chinese saying goes, a man doesn't easily shed tears; it's just that he hasn't reached the depths of sorrow. Link had offered Upshaw a perfect farewell performance, and in that moment, he officially said goodbye to his friend.

Upshaw, who had to play basketball and work at the car wash just to make a living. Upshaw, who often let Link mooch meals off him. Upshaw, who showed up every day on time, driving his car to the apartment building below Link's.

From now on, he was forever saying goodbye to Link.

"Dammit, wipe your tears quick. The reporters are coming. I don't want our star player showing up in the newspaper tomorrow looking like a blubbering mess!" Brockman quickly handed Link some tissues. Link held back his tears and wiped his face dry.

But when he looked up to face the cameras, his reddened eyes still gave him away.

"Link, congratulations. I'm sure you already know, 52 points is the new individual single-game scoring record in the G League! What do you have to say about achieving this?"

The reporters thrust their microphones toward Link's mouth. The old Link would have gotten nervous just from one reporter interviewing him. But after a trip to the NBA and back, Link was used to this kind of scene.

"I have to thank my teammates and coaches for their trust. They gave me a lot of scoring opportunities. Likewise, I have to thank Zeke for the strength he gave me. Finally, I have to thank my agent, Carl Jones, and Rockets head coach Darrell Morey."

When he said that, the reporters thought Link was trying to extend an olive branch to the Rockets to ease his way back into the NBA. But what he said next made their jaws drop.

"Thank them for their hypocrisy and deception. They helped me grow a lot. Of course, this isn't over yet. Sooner or later, they'll pay for what they've done."

With that, Link, wearing Upshaw's number 0 jersey, turned and walked away. The reporters stood frozen, stunned that an undrafted player had such backbone—cursing out not just some unknown agent, but the Rockets' general manager along with him.

The Rockets were China's home team? There was no such thing as a home team, only endless interests. Link had seen the truth, and from now on, he would keep going just like today.

Charging ahead.

※※※

Two hours after the game ended, the locker room was empty.

After the game, everyone had celebrated wildly for a while. Since it was a G League game, there was no post-game press conference. So after the celebration, everyone went their separate ways, ready to end this legendary day.

Link hadn't left. After showering, he carefully hung up Upshaw's number 0 jersey and sat in front of Upshaw's locker, staring at it for a long time.

At that moment, Link's desire to secure a foothold in the NBA grew even stronger. But now, he wasn't doing it just for the money—he was also doing it to help Upshaw fulfill his dream.

In Upshaw's letter, besides "charge ahead," one other line had stuck with Link.

"You're my hope and my spiritual pillar for making it to the NBA. If you fall, my dream shatters too."

Now, Link was carrying not just himself, not just the need to make a living, but also his best friend.

He glanced at his watch. It was getting late. Link stood up, ready to head home. He had barely taken two steps out of the locker room when his phone rang.

At first, Link thought it was Carl Jones or Morey. That greedy bastard Jones would definitely beg him to re-sign, and Morey would surely try to milk his commercial value dry. But no matter what those two said, he wouldn't trust them again.

However, when Link pulled out his phone, the caller ID showed an unfamiliar number. Link frowned but still pressed the answer button.

"Hello, this is Link."

"Hello, Link. Your performance tonight was absolutely fantastic. 52 points, exactly 26 in each half, and you even deliberately missed your last free throw. Your thoughtfulness must have made Zeke feel very comforted, I'm sure."

Link furrowed his brow. The person on the phone had accurately guessed his intention to score exactly 52 points tonight.

"Who is this?" Link asked curiously.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Jeff Austin, an agent from the Altus Basketball Agency. I heard you've already terminated your contract with Carl Jones, so I thought you might need my help. A player who scores 52 points in the G League deserves an NBA contract. And I can make that process a lot easier."

Hearing that the other person was an agent, Link almost hung up the call right there. After all, what happened with Carl Jones had made Link very wary of agents.

But the name Jeff Austin made him hesitate. He felt like the name was very familiar, but he just couldn't place it at the moment.

"I know, that guy Carl Jones completely messed up your NBA career. But... with all due respect, he's just an amateur. What you need is professional help from a professional, and I happen to be a professional. You don't have to answer me right now. Go home and rest, take a few days if you need to. But if you need me, anytime—yes, anytime—call this number. Even if it's four in the morning, I'll pick up. Alright, I won't bother you anymore. Congratulations, and I wish Zeke peace in heaven."

With that, the call ended. Link stared at his phone for a long moment, thinking. Finally, his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

Jeff Austin. If the other person really was the Jeff Austin he knew... then that man wasn't lying. He really was a professional.