I'm Going to Score from Here

Vickson Conner had been deeply troubled lately because his team wasn't doing too well.

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

Though G League games drew nowhere near as much attention as NBA games, results were everything in competitive sports. Even a G League team had to fight for better results.

If they didn't do well, the team's owner might give up on the whole thing at any moment. After all, only teams with better records and greater potential could attract the interest of NBA teams. Why else would the Oklahoma City Thunder ignore the Blue Team in an era when most NBA teams had an affiliated team in the lower leagues?

Because they thought the Blue Team was too weak to be worth their attention.

Without attracting an NBA team to buy them, a small G League team could barely survive. And if the team folded, everyone would be out of a job.

Just as Vickson Conner was at a loss, he saw Link, who'd been knocked out two days ago, step onto the training court. Conner immediately went over to him. It wasn't that he was worried about Link; he just didn't want anyone dying in his gym.

"Link, you could've taken a few more days to rest." Conner, his head shaved, came over and checked the back of Link's head.

"It's fine, Coach. The doctor said there's nothing wrong with me." Link waved a hand. From now on, he didn't want to waste a single chance to get noticed. And if he wanted to get noticed on the court, he first had to impress the coach in practice.

Otherwise, how was Link supposed to make it to the NBA? If he didn't make it to the NBA, was he really going to become a gardener? And keep living a life of poverty after crossing over into this world?

So there was no way Link would accept being sent home to rest. Besides, if he wanted to fill up the progress bar as quickly as possible, he was eager to train hard every day.

"You really did look scary two days ago. You just collapsed and passed out. How about this: sit out the contact drills today and work on your shooting and footwork instead." Conner still wasn't convinced. Link had always been far too weak in physical matchups.

More than once, Conner had worried Brockman would break one of Link's bones. Besides, Link had only just gotten out of the hospital.

"I'm fine. I can handle it. If I can't keep going, I'll tell you."

"Yeah, Coach. Link's in great shape. You're going to be shocked!" Upshaw chimed in. He'd seen just how good Link was last night.

"Hahahaha! Don't worry. You won't last three minutes."

Jon Brockman, warming up nearby, had overheard Link and the coach and couldn't resist mocking him.

"Enough, Brockman. Keep it under control in practice today! This is a basketball court, not a boxing ring!" Conner snapped back. He was a strict coach, but he wasn't unfair.

He didn't care much about a player's fame or skin color. All he cared about was whether the player could help the team win.

The United States certainly had a serious problem with racism, but that didn't mean everyone was like that.

"Anyway," Conner said, slapping Link on the shoulder after shouting at Brockman, "be careful during practice today."

G League teams' daily practices weren't very long, nor were they as structured or complicated as NBA practices. After all, most players in the NBDL also had part-time jobs, since playing basketball alone wasn't enough to support them.

Only players aiming for the NBA made time to train on their own.

And in the NBDL, coaches generally didn't draw up complicated plays. Players in the league tended to focus on individual performances and rarely ran many set plays. Only by showing what they could do would they get signed by an NBA team.

So players didn't have to spend time learning and running plays. Knowing a few basic ones was enough to get on the court.

During warm-ups, Link diligently ran through layup drills, working hard to adjust to his new body and Aged Hill's abilities.

During shooting practice, Link didn't try any three-pointers. The others didn't find it strange; Link hadn't been able to shoot threes before. But Upshaw was puzzled. Link had worked on his three-point shot, so why wasn't he showing it off?

"Why aren't you shooting threes, man?" Upshaw asked, coming over curiously.

Link gave him a sly, mischievous grin. "It's not time yet, Zeke."

At last, after a long warm-up and individual drills, Conner blew the whistle hanging around his neck and gestured for everyone to gather around.

The players immediately perked up. The scrimmage was about to begin!

Brockman was grinning from ear to ear. His only real pleasure these days, after struggling to make an impact in the NBA, was beating up on Link in practice.

He'd been pushed around everywhere in the NBA. Now that he was in the NBDL, pushing others around gave him a sense of accomplishment.

Link didn't look intimidated today. He met Brockman's eyes and smiled. The old Link hadn't been very confident and had never dared look Brockman in the eye. After all, Brockman had a naturally fearsome appearance.

But today, Link not only dared to meet his gaze, he even smiled at him with such a mocking look.

"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 scrimmages today, I don't want to see anyone getting too physical. Just get a feel for the game. We have a game tomorrow. Groups are the same as usual. Get out there and show me what you can do." Conner gave them a few simple instructions and clapped his hands.

The players split up and found their groups. During practice, Conner mixed the starters and bench players together. After all, in the G League, the line between the starters and the bench was always shifting.

You might be a starter today, but if an NBA team sent a player down tomorrow, you'd have to obediently head to the bench, no matter how well you'd played before. Or perhaps you were a starter today, but tomorrow the player at your position performed better. Then, once again, you'd have to obediently head to the bench.

So in the NBDL, there was no clear distinction between starters and bench players. Anyone could start, and anyone could come off the bench; it all depended on performance. Sometimes, the competition in the G 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 rival Brockman was on the other team, also playing small forward.

In college, Brockman had been a typical muscular power forward with a wild style of play. But at 2.01 meters, he was too short to play power forward in the NBA. As a small forward, though, he was too slow and couldn't shoot.

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

His awkward fit between the small and power forward positions was exactly why Brockman hadn't been able to adapt to the NBA. After being sent down this time, his goal was undoubtedly to transition to small forward. That was why, this season with the Blue Team, he usually matched up against Link.

Since it was a practice game, there was no opening tip. Link's team started with a baseline inbound.

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

Upshaw was averaging 9.8 points per game for the Blue Team this season—not a lot. But he was shooting 38.6 percent from three, making him the Blue Team's most reliable three-point shooter.

Meanwhile, Link was looking for a chance to shoot a three. He hadn't taken any during warm-ups because he'd been saving them for now.

"Big guy, I'm going to score from over there," Link said, pointing beyond the three-point line as he fought for position against Brockman.

"Hahahahaha! Who do you think you are? Larry Bird? Go ahead. I can't even be bothered to guard you." Brockman nearly laughed himself to tears. Link's three-point percentage? Give him a break.

Seeing how relaxed Brockman was, Link seized the chance to give him a discreet shove, then quickly ran out beyond the three-point line.

Sure enough, Brockman didn't follow him. He was already looking forward to laughing at Link.

Upshaw understood what was happening and passed the ball. He was the only one on the court who knew what was about to happen!

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

Link ran to the spot he'd pointed to, caught the ball, faced the basket, jumped, and shot.

It was one smooth motion, and Conner's eyes lit up.

It was a simple shot, but it showed Link had polished fundamentals. He didn't look like an undrafted rookie; he looked more like a grizzled veteran who'd spent decades in the pros.

And more importantly, the kid had actually shot a three? He'd never been able to shoot them before.

"Link, you little—"

Conner was about to swear, but the sound of the ball swishing through the net cut him off.

"—Nice shot! Keep shooting like that!" He'd almost blurted out "What the hell?" but quickly changed course.

The ball went straight through the net. Three points!

After the shot, Link pointed to the spot beneath his feet, then looked at Big White Bear Brockman, whose face was frozen in disbelief.

"I told you I was going to score from here."

After talking trash, Link backed away and exchanged a light fist bump with Upshaw, who'd assisted him.

He suddenly realized that crushing an opponent on the court felt incredible.

Happy Dragon Boat Festival, everyone! The editors are all off for the holiday, so the signing process might get delayed again. Oh well.

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