"Th-That's… impossible?"
Bowen's jaw dropped slightly, shock written all over his face. He stared at Wang landing lightly in front of him and blurted,
"How did you block that? I switched hands mid-air at the last second! How could you possibly read that?!"
Faced with Bowen's desperate question, Wang scratched his cheek and said hesitantly,
"Sorry, I… cannot very well 'know' what you mean."
"…Can you speak Chinese?"
Bowen: "…"
On the other side, the rest of the american players were also stunned by Wang's sudden chase-down block.
Nash froze on the spot, still replaying Wang's take-off in his mind. Just then, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned, only to see Kota smiling kindly at him — too kindly.
"Sorry, my memory's a bit fuzzy," Kota said lightly. "What was it you were saying earlier?"
The faint mockery hidden behind Kota's smile made Nash's face instantly turn red. He snapped,
"Don't get cocky! Look at the scoreboard — you're still behind! And that guy just got lucky, right?!"
He didn't wait for Kota's answer. Face flushed with irritation, Nash stormed back to his half of the court to prepare for the chinese team's counterattack.
But Wang's explosion wasn't luck at all. Kota's shared version of his Zone mode had successfully connected with him — even though, for some reason, Wang's eyes didn't flash with lightning the way Kota's did.
Even so, Wang's performance was visibly different. After receiving Kota's "motivational speech" buff, he stopped holding himself back and finally unleashed his full ability.
Open three-point shots, slips after pick-and-rolls, and violent dunks cutting to the rim off rotations.
Compared to his earlier disaster of a performance, the offensive threat he now posed to the american team had skyrocketed.
And that wasn't even the biggest part: before joining the national team, Wang was already known for his defense. Under the guidance of Ebi and Sun, Wang was now the second-best perimeter defender on the China squad — behind only Kota.
He wasn't a monster like Kota, of course. But against Bowen, Wang was delivering a very solid defensive answer.
One steal, one block. On paper, the numbers weren't impressive, but Bowen's scoring efficiency had plummeted from 60% in the first half to 35% now — a cliff-like drop for a shooting guard.
In the next few possessions, the score gap tightened.
53–47. USA still led by 6. Five minutes remained in the second half.
After Bowen once again forced a layup over Wang and missed, Kevin, sitting on the bench, had no choice but to call their second timeout.
Just like in the first half, the crowd erupted in cheers seeing USA forced into a timeout — and this time, most of that applause was for Wang.
That's how the world is: no one cares how tired you are or how hard it is for you. They only care about the results.
The ones who complained about you a minute ago will cheer loudly the moment you explode.
Returning to the bench, Sun patted Wang on the shoulder. Wang froze in disbelief, only to see the coach's expression soften with approval.
Wang's performance had clearly exceeded expectations. After seeing his defensive success against Bowen, Sun halted the almost-finished warm-up of Zhou Yi — and instead seriously reconsidered Xiao Wang's role.
"Well done. Keep it up. After the timeout, Wang stays at shooting guard."
Sun clapped his hands, subbed out the two big men, and began laying out the final offensive plans.
Zhou Yi stood by silently, towel in hand, wiping the sweat from his warm-up. He glanced at the circle of players discussing strategy.
At this rate, he wouldn't get back on the court before the end…
Meanwhile, USA Bench
"Bowen! What the hell are you doing out there? Getting shut down by that kid? Have you been relaxing too much in the national team?! Want me to send you out on a 'special training trip,' huh?!"
Nash glared down at him, hands on his knees.
Bowen didn't dare talk back to the team's resident tyrant. He could only stay silent.
But in his heart, he was confused. How could Wang's level change so drastically within minutes?
Nash noticed his expression and snorted. "Don't underestimate them just because the China ranks low internationally. As long as Kota is on that team, they're not going to be weak — not until he retires."
"Next, I don't want to see you get shut down again because of your own arrogance. Got it?"
Even though Nash phrased it as a question, his tone allowed no disagreement. Bowen nodded quickly and was about to respond when Kevin — who had been watching the chaos with a grin — waved him off.
"Nash, Nash… don't be so harsh on your teammates! We're a team! A team! A family! We ar—"
"Shut up, old man!"
Nash shrieked, cutting off Kevin's speech. He grabbed Kevin by the collar, pressing forehead to forehead.
"Now — NOW — think of something! If we lose this scrimmage, I'm tossing all of you off the plane. As fish food!"
Feeling the tug on his neck, Kevin calmly pushed Nash's hand away.
"I'm just an old man halfway to the grave. What could I possibly— okay, okay, stop glaring, I get it. Tactics it is."
He gestured for Nash to sit, cleared his throat, and looked toward the Flower Nation bench.
"The kid who shut down Bowen… his sudden power-up wasn't random. It's because Kota went up to him and said something."
Everyone paused.
Siber scratched his head. "Said what?"
"How would I know?"
Kevin spread his hands confidently. "Maybe encouragement, maybe threats, or maybe it's some local ritual. Point is — his improvement didn't come from nowhere."
Nash frowned. "Old man, what are you getting at?"
Kevin pursed his lips. "Have you ever heard of players who make everyone around them better?"
"If I'm right, Kota is that type. Through words or something else, he can raise the performance of his teammates."
Nash's eyes widened. "That sounds like complete nonsense—"
"Don't deny it so fast."
Kevin smoothed his sleeves. "Do you remember my rival, Pete?"
Nash stiffened. "…Pete Rove? The Chicago University coach famous for boosting his players' morale?"
Kevin smiled without speaking.
With a living example in front of him, Nash finally believed.
He glanced at Kota sitting on the bench and muttered, "So what do we do? If he buffs all four teammates, the game's over."
"No, no, no…"
Kevin wagged his finger.
"Even my old rival couldn't 'activate' just anyone. These supernatural-level things always come with limits."
"Fortunately, I've dealt with this type before. Annoying — but solvable."
Kevin subbed out Bowen for their backup center, Ronnie Oates.
Now, aside from Nash, their entire lineup consisted of forwards.
"It's fine, kids. No sudden boost can surpass ten years of disciplined training."
"A weakness… is still a weakness."
Timeout Over
USA ball.
Only six points separated the teams. With five minutes left, that gap meant nothing.
Kota rested his hands on his knees, conserving energy while staring at the scoreboard.
"Six points… just one three-pointer and suspense is back."
He licked his lips and watched USA's formation. Nothing unusual — same patterns as before.
Nash dribbled up in front of Kota again. Kota instinctively prepared for Nash to drag him to the corner for another "friendly chat," but Nash suddenly stopped in place — no pick-and-roll, nothing.
Kota blinked. "What's this? You stepping up personally in the final minutes?"
While talking, Kota's eyes scanned the floor.
The new big man, who Bowen had been subbed out for, wasn't spacing on the perimeter — he had gone straight to the paint.
Kota frowned slightly.
"Isn't that guy supposed to be a shooting guard? Then what are they—"
Before he could finish the thought, Nash raised his right hand and made a gesture he had never used before.
At the same time, Kota heard rapid footsteps behind him.
"Someone cutting into the paint? Don't tell me—"
Just as the realization hit him, Nash's eyes flashed dangerously. His right arm whipped forward, delivering a perfect surgical bounce pass straight toward Kota's feet.
The ball hit the floor, rebounded once, and shot directly into the hands of Silver under the rim.
Kota didn't even turn around. He stared ahead, expression blank.
He already knew the result.
A thunderous BANG!
The rim exploded with sound throughout the arena.