Today's scrimmage had been almost humiliating for Brockman. As a player sent down from an NBA team, he should have dominated the G League. But today, he had been blown out of the water by an obscure second-round pick.
That was right—blown out of the water. Brockman had been awful on the court today. On both ends, he had been completely helpless against Link.
On defense, Link's threes and jump shots had thrown Brockman off. Link hadn't been able to shoot from deep before, so all Brockman had needed to do was give him room to shoot and guard against the drive.
But today, give Link even the tiniest bit of space, and he could hit from deep!
Four of five from three—that was Link's stat line today. Everyone on the Blue Team had been stunned by his threes. The only exception was Upshaw, who'd been grinning the whole time.
After all, he'd already been surprised by Link last night.
That shooting percentage wasn't exaggerated at all. On the practice court, with the other team not defending him too seriously, Grant Hill really could shoot that accurately.
Link remembered that Grant Hill's three-point percentage in the 2010–11 season had been close to 40%. The small-ball era hadn't begun yet, and players didn't take many threes. Still, shooting nearly four threes a game and making them at that rate was pretty impressive.
That was exactly why Link had dared to launch threes without restraint over Brockman.
On defense, Link had made Brockman look just as miserable. He'd turned the ball over four times: Link had stripped him three times, and once he'd dribbled out of bounds under Link's pressure. Brockman's post game was too raw to pose much of a threat, either.
After the full 20-minute scrimmage, Brockman had managed just two points on 1-of-9 shooting...
Big White Bear had undoubtedly proved one thing to Conner today: he had absolutely no ability or potential to transition to small forward. With his ball-handling and ability to create his own shot, he'd get stripped a dozen times a game in the NBA.
What infuriated Brockman even more was that Link had talked trash at him throughout the entire game. From the first three-pointer to the final steal, Link hadn't stopped running his mouth.
Under Link's relentless torment, Brockman grew more and more agitated. And the more agitated he became, the worse he played.
When the 20-minute scrimmage ended, Link's team had won by 13 points. As practice wrapped up, the only thing Brockman had to show for it was the reproachful looks of his teammates.
He'd taken far too many shots, but made only one. Unless you were Kobe, anyone who shot that poorly was bound to get side-eye from their teammates.
"Tweet, tweet, tweet!"
In the end, Conner's whistle rescued Brockman from the depths of his misery. Link gently set the ball on the hardwood, looking as if he hadn't had enough.
"You should be glad that was only a 20-minute scrimmage, Jon. Otherwise, you might never want to play basketball again." After the scrimmage, Link looked at Brockman with a teasing smile.
Today, he'd finally gotten his moment in the sun. And after such a strong showing in the scrimmage, the coaches were sure to take notice! Playing time—that was all Link wanted.
Seeing the Asian guy swaggering around in front of him, Brockman was furious. Gritting his teeth, he turned and walked back to the locker room alone. The rest of the Blue Team were practically ready to applaud!
At last, someone had put that arrogant so-called "NBA player" in his place!
Seeing Brockman head to the locker room on his own, Vixen Conner didn't try to stop him. Players sent down from the NBA got called back up from time to time anyway. Conner couldn't care less whether Brockman got along with everyone else.
"You all did a good job at practice today. Especially you, Link—you really impressed everyone."
Conner lavished Link with praise, and the others around him nodded in agreement. A few of the players nearby even reached out to slap his hand.
The memories of the body's previous owner told Link he hadn't been particularly popular here. But today, he'd become the focus of the whole team.
That was competitive sports for you. In sports, winning was everything. Hadn't O'Neal looked down on Yao Ming when Yao first entered the NBA? So why had O'Neal respected him later? Because Yao's skill had won him over.
As long as you could win, a lot of things fell into place—including earning other people's respect.
"But don't get complacent. I expect every one of you to give it your all in tomorrow's game! All right, that's it for practice. You're dismissed!"
Conner clapped his hands and left. Only the players remained on the court, heading to the locker room in groups.
"Hahaha, you're incredible! Did you see Brockman's face!? He looked like some big idiot who'd been bullied and was about to run home to his mom! Hahahahaha!"
As soon as the team broke up, Upshaw was the first to run over to Link, laughing without restraint.
"Seriously, you make me want to get hit in the back of the head myself. You were better today than you've ever been." The cheerful Black guard couldn't help rubbing the back of his own head. If he got hit like that and suddenly got better too, maybe he'd have a shot at the NBA.
Then again, he might just die.
Before he could worry about making it to the NBA or losing his life, Upshaw first had to think about surviving. It was only the middle of the month, but he was already nearly out of money. His whole family was depending on him, after all.
"Link, want to go to the car wash this afternoon?"
"The car wash?" Link asked in surprise. "You need to wash your car?"
"Wash what car? Did you forget? My cousin Roger said we could pick up shifts at the car wash tonight and make fifty dollars a day! If we go almost twenty days a month, that's a thousand dollars!"
"P-pick up shifts?" Link stared at Upshaw in disbelief. Weren't you a professional player?
But Link quickly put his surprise aside. The memories of the body's previous owner told him it was common for G League players to hold down other jobs while playing basketball.
The point guard who'd been on Link's team today was a schoolteacher. He only showed up when a game was coming up. Brockman's frontcourt partner was supposedly a barber...
Link and Upshaw were even worse: they were, to put it bluntly, two "unemployed drifters." Call them professional players if you wanted to be kind. Put it less kindly, and they were jobless dreamers.
But people had to eat. You couldn't live on passion alone. So Link had gone with Upshaw to work at the car wash a few times, too.
They worked until one or two in the morning, then had to get up early for practice the next day. That was life for a G League player. Sports cars, media attention, and lavish spending had nothing to do with them.
Link looked at Upshaw and felt a pang of sadness. What were players like them even holding on for? If they went to Europe or the CBA, most could earn a decent salary.
But these stubborn fools clung to the gateway closest to the NBA and refused to let go. Link shook his head. They had one foot in the door and one foot out. These people had turned his understanding of the term "professional athlete" upside down.
That's right. This world had not only novelists, but also ghostwriters; not only pop stars, but also singers performing in bars. There were not only people bathed in the spotlight, but also those living beyond it.
There was not only the NBA, but also a dim corner called the NBA Development League...
"You go ahead, Zeke. I want to get some extra practice in tonight."
With that, Link shook his head. He had a chance to escape this fate, and he didn't want to waste it.
He'd fill that progress bar through training as soon as possible and improve his skills, so he could make it to the NBA sooner. If he could, he'd hire Upshaw as his trainer. Even then, Upshaw would earn more than he did playing in the NBDL.
No matter what, training, playing, and catching people's attention were Link's only way to change his fate!
"Practice?" Upshaw was surprised at first, then shook his head with a smile. "Now I get why you've improved so much. All right, if you don't have anywhere to eat tonight...my place is always open."
Upshaw patted Link on the shoulder and walked out of the gym. If he could, he would've stayed to practice too. But Link only had to feed himself. Upshaw was the family's breadwinner.
"Thanks, Zeke."
"Yeah, yeah. See you!"
Watching Upshaw leave the gym, Link bit his lip.
He couldn't save every player in the G League, but at least he could save himself and Upshaw.
So Link started practicing his catch-and-shoots. He knew that with his current physical abilities, shooting was the only thing that could impress NBA teams!
The NBA had always welcomed sharpshooters who could hit from beyond the arc.
The ball bounced off the hardwood again and again, while the little white bar in front of Link slowly filled...
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