Beyond the NBA

Today's training scrimmage was nearly a humiliation for Brockman. As a player sent down from an NBA team, he was supposed to dominate the Development League court. But today, he got utterly wrecked by some no-name second-round pick.

That's right—wrecked. Brockman's performance on the training floor today was abysmal. On both ends of the court, he had no answer for Link.

On defense, Link's threes and jump shots threw Brockman completely off. The old Link had no range, so guarding him meant just sagging off and preventing drives.

But today, give Link even a sliver of space, and he'd drain a long-range shot!

Five three-point attempts, four made—that was Link's stat line today. Everyone on the Blue team was stunned by Link's threes, except for Upshaw, who kept grinning like a sly fox.

After all, he'd already been shocked last night.

That kind of shooting percentage wasn't even that exaggerated. On the training court, with minimal defense, Grant Hill really could shoot that accurately.

Link remembered that Grant Hill's three-point percentage in the 10-11 season was close to 40%. Sure, the small-ball era hadn't started yet, and nobody took many threes. But averaging nearly four attempts a game and putting up those numbers was still pretty solid.

That's exactly why Link felt confident enough to chuck threes over that Brockman guy's head without hesitation.

On defense, Link made Brockman look just as pathetic. He turned the ball over four times today—three times with Link stripping him on steals, once dribbling out of bounds under Link's pressure. In post-up offense, the technically crude Brockman posed no real threat to Link either.

After the full 20-minute scrimmage, Brockman had scored only 2 points on 1-of-9 shooting...

"Big White Bear" had proven one thing to Conner today: he had absolutely no ability or potential to transition to small forward. With ball-handling and on-ball offense like that, he'd be lucky not to get stripped a dozen times a game in the NBA.

What infuriated Brockman even more was that Link never stopped trash-talking him the entire game. From the first three-pointer to the last steal, Link's yapping never let up.

Under Link's relentless assault, Brockman grew more and more frantic. And the more frantic he got, the worse he played.

When the 20-minute scrimmage ended, Link's team won by 13 points. As practice wrapped up, the only thing Brockman earned was the resentful stares of his teammates.

He'd hogged all those shot attempts and only made one. Unless you're Kobe, nobody gets away with that kind of efficiency without catching side-eye from the team.

"Beep, beep, beep!"

Finally, Conner's whistle rescued Brockman from the abyss of terror. Link set the ball down gently on the wooden floor, looking like he still had more to give.

"You should be grateful this was just a 20-minute scrimmage, Jon. Otherwise, you might never want to play basketball again," Link said mockingly, looking at Brockman after the game.

Today, he'd finally held his head high. And performing well in a training scrimmage was sure to catch the coach's attention! Playing time—all Link wanted was playing time.

Watching that cocky Asian strut around, Brockman seethed with rage. He gritted his teeth, turned, and walked back to the locker room alone. The rest of the Blue team practically cheered in unison!

Finally, someone had put that arrogant so-called "NBA player" in his place!

Seeing Brockman head off to the locker room without a word, Vickson Conner didn't bother calling him back. Guys like that, sent down from the NBA, got called back up now and then anyway. Conner couldn't care less whether Brockman got along with everyone else.

"Good work today, everyone. Especially you, Link—you really impressed us all today."

Conner heaped praise on Link without holding back. The others around Link nodded in agreement. Those closest to him even reached out for high-fives.

The memories from this body's previous owner told Link he hadn't exactly been popular here. But today, he was the center of attention.

That's competitive sports for you. In competitive sports, winning is everything. When Yao Ming first entered the NBA, wasn't he looked down on by O'Neal? But why did O'Neal later respect Yao? Because Yao's skill earned it.

As long as you win, a lot of things fall into place—including earning others' respect.

"But don't get complacent. Tomorrow's game, I want everyone giving it their all! Alright, practice is over for today. Dismissed!"

Conner clapped his hands and turned away. The court was left with players heading to the locker room in small groups.

"Hahaha, you were insane! Did you see Brockman's face!? He looked like some dumb giant getting bullied and running home to his mommy! Hahahahaha!"

As the team dispersed, Upshaw was the first to run up to Link, laughing uncontrollably.

"Seriously, you almost make me want to get hit in the back of the head too. You're playing better than ever, man." The cheerful black guard couldn't help rubbing the back of his own head. If he took a hit like that and suddenly got good, maybe the NBA would be within reach.

Yeah, and he'd probably also end up dead.

Before making it to the NBA or dying, Upshaw first had to worry about survival. It was only the middle of the month, but he was already running low on cash. After all, he had a whole family counting on him.

"Link, want to hit the car wash this afternoon?"

"Car wash?" Link was surprised. "You need to wash your car?"

"Wash what car? You forgot? My cousin Roger said if we work the night shift at the car wash, we can make 50 bucks a day! Work about 20 days a month, that's a thousand bucks in income!"

"Work... a side job?" Link stared at Upshaw in disbelief. Aren't you a professional player?

But he quickly hid his shock. Because "his" memories told him that Development League players working other jobs while playing was common.

The point guard on Link's team today was a middle school teacher by day. He only showed up when games were about to happen. Brockman's frontcourt partner was supposedly a barber...

And Link and Upshaw were even worse—basically two "unemployed drifters." Put nicely, they were professional players. Put bluntly, they were jobless dreamers.

But a man's gotta eat, right? You can't just run on passion. So Link had gone with Upshaw to the car wash for side gigs a few times before.

Working until one or two in the morning, then waking up early for practice. That was a day in the life of a Development League player. Sports cars, media, and throwing money around had nothing to do with them.

Link looked at Upshaw and felt a pang of sadness. Guys like them—what were they even holding on for? If they went to Europe or the CBA, most could land a decent salary.

But these stubborn fools clung to this last gateway to the NBA and refused to let go. Link shook his head—one foot in the door, one foot out. These people had shattered his understanding of what it meant to be a "professional player."

Yeah, this world didn't just have authors—it had ghostwriters. Not just pop stars—it had bar singers. Not just people bathed in the spotlight—there were those outside it too.

Not just the NBA—there was a dark corner called the NBA Development League...

"Go ahead, Zeke. I want to practice more tonight."

Thinking this, Link shook his head. He had a chance to escape this fate now, and he wasn't about to waste it.

By training early to fill that progress bar and improve his strength, he could enter the NBA sooner. If possible, he would hire Upshaw as his personal trainer. Even that would pay more than playing in the NBDL.

In short, no matter what, training, competing, and gaining attention was the only way Link could change his fate.

"Practice?" Upshaw was startled at first, then shook his head with a smile. "I get it now, kid. No wonder you've improved so much. Alright, if you've got nowhere to eat tonight... my place is always open."

Upshaw patted Link on the shoulder and walked out of the court. He would have stayed to practice too if he could. But no help for it—Link only had to worry about feeding himself. Upshaw was the breadwinner of his family.

"Thanks, Zeke."

"Tch, see you around!"

Watching Upshaw leave the training facility, Link bit his lip.

He couldn't save every Development League player, but at least he could save himself and Upshaw.

So Link began practicing his spot-up shooting. He knew that with his current physical condition, the only thing that could impress an NBA team was his shooting!

The NBA has always welcomed sharpshooters from beyond the arc.

The basketball bounced again and again on the hardwood floor, and the little white bar in front of Link slowly filled up...

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