Professional Manager

Brockman matched up against Link again, and it was the thing he hated most in training.

Although Brockman gave the impression of a violent interior player, he was actually two centimeters shorter than Link. With neither height nor agility in his favor, Brockman found it extremely difficult to guard Link.

Though the two had buried the hatchet, that didn't mean Brockman would go easy in practice. This could be seen as either a flaw or a strength—he treated every game, even a scrimmage, as if it were the most important one.

Link controlled the ball on the perimeter, forcing Brockman to spread his arms and defend high up, a position he wasn't comfortable with.

"Damn, what the hell are you grinning at?"

Seeing the faint smile on Link's face, Brockman couldn't help but curse.

"I smile at you, and you curse me. Fine, then I won't hold back."

Link shot back without backing down, then drove the ball straight at Brockman.

Though they were still bickering, there was no personal grudge behind their words anymore.

Just as Link was about to collide with Brockman, the Chinese-American forward suddenly pivoted, using Brockman as an axis and spinning past him.

Brockman felt a flash of darkness, and Link had slipped by him.

By the time he turned to chase, Link had already pulled up for a mid-range jumper from one step inside the free-throw line and nailed it. Easy and smooth, Link scored again. A steady mid-range pull-up—a classic "Link-style" bucket.

"Haha, I told you I wouldn't hold back, buddy." Link let out a confident cheer. Normally, driving off the dribble wasn't his strong suit, but he'd deliberately played that way just now.

Brockman, despite having a small forward's frame, was slower than many NBA-level power forwards. And since Link's upgrade yesterday, he'd felt noticeably lighter on his feet. So he'd just run an experiment.

It turned out that driving off the dribble was indeed much easier for him now. Brockman's defense looked like slow motion to Link, and executing those moves felt far less strenuous than before.

Faced with Link's taunt, Brockman wasn't angry—he just scratched his head.

The moment Link turned, he was already near the free-throw line. Brockman felt like Link had gotten faster today.

But normally, a professional player couldn't improve their physical attributes that quickly in such a short time.

"Must be an illusion," Brockman told himself, unaware that his instincts were dead-on.

And so, today's scrimmage ended. As usual, Link's team came out on top.

The day after tomorrow, the Blue Team would travel to face the Dallas Mavericks' affiliate, the Texas Legends. Since he needed to pack and had been training too hard lately, Link decided to rest. He didn't stay for extra practice and headed home early as soon as training wrapped up.

He thought it would be just another ordinary, lively day. But the moment he stepped out of the Blue Team's training facility, an old man with graying hair stopped him.

"Link, thank goodness. I was worried you'd stay for extra practice. Luckily, you didn't keep me waiting too long."

The old man greeted Link familiarly, as if they'd known each other for ages. In reality, this was their first meeting.

Even so, Link recognized him instantly. He was a bit surprised but managed to hide it.

"Come on, let's find a place to talk. You never contacted me, so I figured I'd take the initiative. It's good to be cautious, Link. But at least give me a chance to unlock that lock in your heart."

The old man smiled and pointed at Link's chest. "I've already booked a restaurant. Let's talk."

"Sure." Link nodded and followed the old man into the car.

The visitor was none other than Jeff Austin, the same super-agent who had called Link a few days ago. He'd flown all the way to Oklahoma, not for Durant, not for Westbrook, and not for James Harden.

But for a rising star in the G League.

※※※

Whether before or after his transmigration, Link had no concept of high-end restaurants. So when he walked into this place in casual clothes, surrounded by customers and waitstaff all in formal attire, he felt a bit awkward.

"It's fine, Link. Our seats are in a private booth on the second floor—very secluded. So don't worry about what you're wearing."

As if sensing Link's discomfort, Jeff Austin immediately eased his embarrassment.

From this small detail, Link could see the difference between a super-agent and a garbage agent like Carl Jones. Jeff Austin knew how to calm players down and even thought about their comfort in the little things.

Most importantly, a big-name agent earning millions a year had personally come to Oklahoma just for him—that alone showed his sincerity.

After they sat down and ordered, Jeff Austin looked at Link with a smile. He didn't jump straight into business but started with casual conversation.

"I heard you fired your old agent and paid him a $50,000 penalty? So those ten days with the Rockets were for nothing?"

Seeing Link's surprised expression, Jeff Austin chuckled. "Don't be shocked. I'm a professional basketball agent. To us, information is money. We don't let any tidbits slip by."

"Yeah," Link nodded. "But spending $50,000 to see someone's true colors—that's not a bad deal."

"Haha, fair enough. But I have to point out, that wasn't the smartest move. The right approach would've been to leave it alone until you signed with a new agent, then let them handle it. If it were me, I could've smoothed out the breach much more elegantly. Even if you had to pay the penalty, I could've fronted it, and that $50,000 from the Rockets wouldn't have gone to waste."

"You... why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand that an agent's job is to serve the player—to handle everything off the court. The agent should follow the player's lead, not drag them around. Trust me, even if we don't end up working together, this advice will serve you well."

Link sighed. No comparison, no harm. Just from those words, it was clear Jeff Austin and Carl Jones were on completely different levels. If he'd met Jeff Austin earlier, he might have avoided all that trouble.

"Mr. Jeff Austin, I know how famous you are in the NBA. I trust your ability and your connections. But what I don't get is why an agent like you would insist on me?" Link cut to the chase. He needed a solid reason to trust yet another agent who'd appeared out of nowhere.

"Want the truth? It's because of the massive market behind you, Link. You're a Chinese-American, but your yellow skin doesn't change. That alone gives you unique commercial value compared to other NBA players. I'm not a philanthropist, and I don't help G League players for no reason. But you're different. You and I—we can achieve a win-win."

As Austin spoke, the waiter brought their food. Once the waiter left, Austin continued.

"I won't lie to you with false sincerity. I'm telling you plainly: I want you because you have value I need. But I won't just drain you dry and ignore your future. If you're uneasy, I'll put it in the contract. Until you sign a guaranteed NBA deal, I won't take a cut of your contract earnings, and I won't drag you into commercial events. Until then, I'll cover all your living expenses."

Austin laid out his terms. At the draft, plenty of agents bribed rookies to secure deals. Since Link wasn't a rookie, Austin found another way to "bribe" him.

"In fact, I've already talked to a few NBA teams, and they're interested in you. I mean interested in signing a guaranteed contract. Taking you for a ten-day stint to make quick cash and then dumping you? Please, that's not my style. Just say the word, Link. You don't even have to go to Texas the day after tomorrow—I'll get you into the NBA right away."

"NBA?" Upon hearing those three letters, Link's eyes lit up. "Are you saying there are NBA teams interested in me?"

"Hahaha, who wouldn't be interested in someone who dropped 52 points in the G League and broke the individual scoring record? Relax, the NBA is your stage. For you, the G League can't even let you stretch your legs."

Jeff Austin laid out all his "bargaining chips" in one go: no commission fees until a guaranteed contract was signed, no commercial activities until he was stable in the NBA, covering all of Link's living expenses before he officially partnered with an NBA team...

Link had to admit, these chips were too generous.

He felt a stir of temptation.