The evening scrimmage at Marquette University's Training Center 2 had just ended.
Wade sat on a bench by the court, clutching his personal doctor's diagnosis, hesitating whether to knock on the head coach's office door.
Coach Tom Crean walked out of the locker room with his tactical board tucked under his arm, but suddenly stopped at the entrance to the players' tunnel.
He stared in surprise at a gray-haired Black man standing in the shadows of the passageway.
" Ronnie? Ronnie Lester?" Crean's voice was filled with disbelief and astonishment, then he strode over, his tone tinged with undisguised nostalgia, "It's so nostalgic. Back when you were playing at the University of Iowa, I was just an assistant coach."
The man called Ronnie took two steps forward, his right leg visibly stiff, causing him to limp. He forced a smile, "Long time no see, Tom."
Wade looked up blankly; he didn't recognize the person in front of him.
Crean noticed Wade's gaze, turned to look at his most prized disciple, and said with deep respect and regret, " Dwyane Wade, you're too young. You probably haven't seen him play. If he hadn't been injured back then, he would definitely have been one of the best guards of that era."
Crean spoke as if he were giving Wade a lesson, or perhaps reminiscing about that crazy era. "Back then, scouting reports described his specialty as 'unstoppable penetrating power.' Defenders simply couldn't double-team him because he could tear apart any defensive formation directly down the middle. Fans called him ' Afterimage ' because he was the fastest player to move from one baseline to the other, so fast that he was just a Afterimage. Even Magic Johnson admitted that he was the best point guard he had ever faced."
At this point, Crean's gaze fell on Lester's stiff right leg, and his voice lowered. "What... pick were you in the draft?"
"1980 draft, 10th overall pick in the first round." Lester calmly picked up the conversation, his tone devoid of any pride he once held as " The Afterimage." "A hero doesn't dwell on past glories; you're talking about things before my meniscus was completely ruined."
Crean's expression froze instantly.
"During my junior year, I had a problem with my meniscus." Lester looked at Crean, then turned to Wade sitting on the bench. "The school told me it was 'just a minor abrasion,' and gave me three injections to keep me going until the end of that tournament. Later, in the NBA, during a normal crossover, my knee snapped, and my meniscus was completely gone. I had several surgeries afterward, and played on one leg for a few years before I was completely unable to play anymore."
Lester rolled up his trousers, revealing a right leg that was noticeably thinner than his left and covered in gruesome surgical scars.
"I used to be able to break through the defense from the middle, but now this leg hurts so much on rainy days that I can't even go down the stairs."
Wade's throat tightened, and his palms were covered in cold sweat.
Crean looked at the injured leg, remained silent for a moment, and then couldn't help but ask, " Ronnie, what brings you to Milwaukee today?"
"After retiring, I spent a few years in the front office of the Los Angeles Lakers. Then the front office of Boston poached me, and now I'm a scout for the Celtics." Lester pulled down his trouser leg, looking directly into Wade's eyes. "That gentleman asked me to follow up on that kid's case and, incidentally, meet with you."
Wade's heart skipped a beat. He instantly realized who that "Mr." was... Lin Qi.
"He didn't ask me to say anything to you." Lester turned away, limping, leaving the two with a forlorn silhouette. "He just wanted me to show you this leg. No one but yourself will be responsible for the rest of your life."
Lester's figure disappeared at the end of the players' tunnel, leaving only the dull sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty stadium.
Half an hour later, at the Marquette University athletics office.
Coach Crean sat behind his desk, his brow furrowed as he looked at the medical report Wade had placed on it. The image of Ronnie Lester's scarred leg kept replaying in his mind.
" Dwyane Wade..." Crean rubbed his temples, his voice betraying his weariness and helplessness. "The team is currently at a crucial stage in its push for a higher national ranking. The school's medical team considers you a key asset for the March Madness campaign. If you don't play, the school needs results, and without results, there's no funding, and it'll be difficult for me to explain to the higher-ups. That's how this league works."
In that instant, Wade understood that the coach also had his own difficulties. In this massive machine, even Crean himself was just a cog that dared not stop.
"Coach, I want to play. I don't want to abandon the team." Wade took a deep breath and voiced the thought he had been pondering all night. "But my fiancée is pregnant, and I can't gamble my future on this one year. I can continue playing, but I demand an absolutely conservative medical plan. No injections, no fluid drainage, and an MRI every week. If there's any risk of structural deterioration in my knee, even on the eve of the championship finals, I must immediately take an indefinite break."
Crean looked at the young man in front of him, who had come from the slums of Chicago but whose eyes were unusually clear. In the NCAA system, coaches and players often had a relationship of exploitation and being exploited. But Crean's mind flashed back to Lester's limping back, that former " Afterimage " that now struggled to even go down the stairs.
He let out a long sigh.
"Go for an independent MRI every Tuesday morning off-campus. The cost will be paid from my personal account. Don't involve the school's medical team." Crean patted Wade on the shoulder, making a concession. "On the court, I will strictly control your playing time. If you sense anything is wrong, signal me immediately to get off the court."
Wade's eyes welled up with tears, and he nodded vigorously.
Seven o'clock in the evening, a " Late Night " café in the city.
Lin Qi, dressed in an exquisitely tailored cashmere coat and holding a hot coffee, looked at Wade sitting opposite him.
Wade pulled the heavy envelope full of $20,000 in cash from the pocket of his flared jacket, gently pushed it to the center of the table, and handed it back to Lin Qi.
"Mr. Lin Qi, I'm returning this money to you." Wade's voice was calm, his eyes less filled with yesterday's fear and more with determination. "If you're just lending me this money to tide me over, I'll repay you double once I sign a contract. But if it's to force me to drop out of school, I can't accept it. If I take this money, not only will I be violating NCAA rules, but I'll also have a mental block I can never overcome."
Lin Qi glanced at the envelope on the table, raising an eyebrow slightly. In this money-driven, fame-obsessed world, a poor student who could refuse $20,000 in cash was rarer than a panda.
"I just spoke with Coach Crean." Wade placed his hands on the table, candidly revealing his hand. "We reached a compromise. I will play the rest of the season, but medically, I will be absolutely conservative. I will have independent checkups every week, no pain-killing injections, and I will be suspended immediately if there is any red flag. Marquette University gave me the opportunity to attend, and the coach has also compromised. I don't want to leave like a deserter without a word."
Lin Qi didn't speak, he just listened quietly.
"But after meeting Mr. Lester today, I finally see the true nature of college basketball." Wade took a deep breath and looked directly into Lin Qi's eyes. "I will protect my knees. After this season, regardless of Marquette's results, I will not stay. In the summer of 2002, I will submit my draft application on time."
The café was so quiet you could hear the hum of the heating pipes.
Lin Qi suddenly smiled. He didn't touch the envelope on the table, but instead picked up his coffee cup and gestured to Wade.
" Dwyane Wade, you're more mature than I imagined. A person who knows gratitude and has principles is more worthy of Boston's waiting than a mere mercenary." Lin Qi abandoned his businessman's demeanor, his tone becoming unusually serious.
"I respect your choice. Since you've decided to finish this season, remember your agreement with the coach." Lin Qi leaned forward, staring into Wade's eyes. "One MRI every week, without fail. On the court, if you feel any abnormal swelling or locking in your knee, whether it's the regular season or the March Madness Finals, get off the court immediately. Don't let adrenaline cloud your judgment."
"I understand." Wade nodded vigorously.
"I wish you good luck in March Madness." Lin Qi stood up and put on his coat. "We'll see you again."