I Will Score Here

Vickson Conner had been troubled lately because his team's record was less than ideal.

A month into the new season, the Blue Team had played twelve games but only won five.

Though games in the development league weren't nearly as high-profile as the NBA, in competitive sports, results were everything. Even for a development league team, striving for better performance was a must.

If results were poor, the team owner might pull the plug at any moment. After all, only teams with better records and greater potential could attract NBA interest. Why, in an era where most NBA teams had a farm team in their pipeline, did the Oklahoma City Thunder still turn a blind eye to the Blue Team?

Wasn't it simply because they thought the Blue Team's level was too low to bother with?

If they couldn't attract an NBA team to buy them out, small development league teams struggled to survive. And once the team disbanded, everyone was done for.

Just as Vickson Conner was at his wit's end, he saw Link, who had been knocked unconscious the day before yesterday, step into the training facility. Conner immediately walked over—not out of concern for Link, but because he didn't want a death in his training gym.

"Link, you could have taken a few more days off," Conner said, his bald head gleaming as he approached Link and checked the back of his skull.

"It's fine, Coach. The doctor said I'm perfectly okay." Link waved his hand. From now on, he didn't want to waste a single opportunity to get exposure. And to get exposure on the court, he first had to impress the coach in practice.

Otherwise, how would Link ever get a chance to play in the NBA? If he didn't make the NBA, was he really going to become a gardener? And then, after transmigrating, continue living a life of poverty?

So going home to rest was something Link would never accept. Moreover, to fill up the progress bar faster, Link actually wished he could train at high intensity every single day.

"Your condition the day before yesterday was pretty scary—you fainted from the fall. How about this: skip the contact drills today and just work on your shooting and footwork." Conner was still uneasy, because Link's physicality had always been too weak.

Many times, Conner had worried that Link might break a bone from Brockman's collisions. Besides, Link had just been discharged from the hospital.

"It's fine, I can handle it. If I can't keep up, I'll tell you myself."

"That's right, boss. Link's in great shape—you're in for a surprise!" Upshaw chimed in from the side, having seen firsthand how good Link's condition was last night.

"Hahaha, don't worry, you won't last more than three minutes."

Hearing Link and the coach's conversation, Jon Brockman, who was warming up nearby, made a snide remark.

"Alright, Brockman, keep your moves clean in practice today! This is a basketball court, not a boxing ring!" Conner snapped back. Though strict, the coach wasn't someone who couldn't tell right from wrong.

He didn't care much about a player's fame or skin color—only whether the player could help the team win.

America was indeed a country with severe racism, but not everyone was like that.

"Anyway," Conner said after yelling at Brockman, patting Link on the shoulder, "be careful in practice today."

※※※

Daily training for a development league team wasn't long, nor was it as systematic or complex as the NBA's. After all, most people playing in the NBDL had to work side jobs, because basketball alone wasn't enough to support development league players.

Only those aiming for the NBA would find time to practice on their own.

Moreover, in the NBDL, coaches rarely set up complicated plays. In this league, players mostly focused on individual performance and rarely ran coordinated sets. Only by fully showcasing their own value could they get signed by an NBA team.

So players didn't have to bother memorizing and running complex plays—just knowing the basics was enough to get on the court.

During warm-ups, Link diligently ran layup drills, trying to adapt to his new body and Aged Hill's abilities.

In shooting practice, Link didn't attempt any three-pointers. No one found this strange, since the old Link couldn't shoot threes anyway. But Upshaw was a bit puzzled—Link had practiced a solid three-pointer, so why wasn't he showing it off?

"Why aren't you shooting threes, buddy?" Curious, Upshaw sidled up to Link and asked.

Link smiled mysteriously, a mischievous grin that spelled trouble. "Not yet, Zeke."

Finally, after the long warm-up and individual drills, Conner blew the whistle hanging around his neck and signaled everyone to gather around him.

The players perked up—contact drills were about to begin!

Brockman grinned widely. The only joy left in his day, after being frustrated in the NBA, was tormenting Link on the practice court.

Getting bullied everywhere in the NBA, then coming down to the NBDL to bully others—it gave Brockman a strong sense of accomplishment.

Today, Link didn't flinch. Instead, he stared Brockman in the eyes and smiled back. The old Link hadn't been very confident and had never dared to meet Brockman's gaze, especially since Brockman's face was naturally fierce.

But today, Link not only met his eyes but also smiled with such mockery.

"Damn idiot, let's see if you're still smiling later!" Brockman clenched his fists. He wouldn't mind making his "good teammate" fall again.

"For the first round of contact drills today, I don't want to see any rough play. Everyone get a feel for things—we have a game tomorrow. Same groups as usual. Get on the court and show me something that impresses." Conner said a few brief words and clapped his hands.

The players scattered to find their groups. Conner used a mixed grouping of starters and bench players in practice, because in the development league, starting and bench roles were constantly shifting.

Maybe you were a starter today, but if an NBA team sent down a player tomorrow, no matter how well you'd performed before, you'd have to obediently sit on the bench. Maybe you were a starter today, but if someone at your position played better tomorrow, then same thing—back to the bench.

So in the NBDL, there was no clear concept of starter or bench. Anyone could be a starter, and anyone could be a bench player—it all depended on performance. Sometimes, the competition in the development league was even more brutal than in the NBA.

Link and Upshaw were on the same team, playing shooting guard and small forward respectively. Link's old nemesis Brockman was on the other team, also playing small forward.

In college, the wild-playing Brockman had been a typical "muscle-bound power forward." But at 2.01 meters, playing power forward in the NBA made him too short. If he played small forward, he was too slow and had no shooting touch.

In four years of college, Brockman had only made one three-pointer. Most of the time, he just bulldozed his way into the paint. Shooting? What was that?

His tweener status—too big for small forward, too small for power forward—was exactly why Brockman struggled in the NBA. This time being sent down, Brockman's goal was to transition to small forward. So this season with the Blue Team, Brockman mostly matched up against Link.

Since it was a scrimmage, there was no jump ball at center court. Link's team simply inbounded from the baseline.

After the point guard brought the ball past half-court, he first looked for Upshaw.

Upshaw averaged 9.8 points per game this season for the Blue Team—not high. But his three-point percentage was 38.6%, making him the team's most reliable three-point shooter.

Meanwhile, Link was looking for a three-point shooting opportunity. The reason he hadn't shot any threes during warm-ups was to save it for now.

"Big dummy, I'm going to score from right there," Link said, pointing to a spot beyond the three-point line as he jostled with Brockman.

"Hahahahaha, who do you think you are? Larry Bird? Go ahead, I can't even be bothered to guard you." Brockman was almost in tears from laughing. Lin Ke's three-point shooting percentage? Yeah, right.

Seeing Brockman so lax, Lin Ke seized the opportunity, subtly shoved Brockman, and quickly ran to the three-point line.

Brockman really didn't chase after him; he was already ready to laugh at Lin Ke's blunder.

Upshaw saw the situation and passed the ball with perfect understanding. Only he in the entire court knew what was about to happen!

"Let's give them a shock, Lin Ke!" Upshaw muttered to himself as he sent the ball flying.

Lin Ke ran to the spot he'd just pointed at, caught the ball, faced the basket, jumped, shot, and released.

His movements were fluid and seamless, making Conner's eyes light up.

A simple shot, yet it showcased Lin Ke's polished fundamentals. He didn't look like an undrafted rookie; he looked more like a veteran who'd been grinding in the professional league for decades.

And most importantly, that kid was actually shooting a three? He'd never taken a three before.

"Lin Ke, you little—"

Conner was about to start cursing, but his voice was cut off by the sound of the net swishing.

"...Nice shot! Keep it up!" Conner almost blurted out "Holy shit," but immediately changed his tune.

The ball swished through the net cleanly. Three points!

After scoring, Lin Ke pointed at the spot beneath his feet, then stared at the stunned Big White Bear, Brockman.

"I told you, I'd score right here."

After dropping the trash talk, Lin Ke backed away and lightly high-fived Upshaw, who had assisted him.

He suddenly realized that crushing an opponent on the court felt really, really good.

Happy Dragon Boat Festival, everyone. The editors are all on holiday for the festival, so the contract signing might be delayed again. Nothing I can do about it.

Also, as usual, keep those recommendations coming! Recommendations, recommendations, recommendations!