Silver scores two!
"Tch… that monster…"
Li Wenyu wiped the sweat from his chin in frustration. He had already caught Silver's rhythm on that dunk, but the difference in raw physical talent was simply too large—he still couldn't stop him.
The two interior players who had just been subbed in for China stood frozen, completely overwhelmed. They watched Silver's retreating back, exchanged a glance, and saw the same helplessness in each other's eyes.
"Sorry, Captain, we…"
One of them walked up behind Li Wenyu, reaching out to apologize, but Li Wenyu stopped him with a wave.
"No need to apologize. Just do what you're supposed to do. I didn't rotate fast enough on that last play—that one's on me too."
Li Wenyu flared his nostrils, silently swearing he'd stop the next one.
On the side, Kota had seen the whole exchange. But even he had no solution in a situation like this.
Their team's interior was being crushed in terms of pure strength. No matter how overpowering Kota was as a perimeter player, he couldn't break positional limitations and stop Sieber himself.
Lacking a true interior anchor—this was the fatal weakness of the current China.
On the bench, Sun clenched his fists. He had already expected a scene like this before the scrimmage even began. But witnessing it with his own eyes still filled him with a sense of helplessness.
"Move! Move! Why are you all standing there spacing out?!"
On the court, Kota's shout brought Sun back from his thoughts.
Kota signaled a play with one hand while casually dribbling up past half court, as if that last inside score had meant nothing at all.
Nash narrowed his eyes and pressed up on Kota the moment he crossed half court, mocking him:
"Still not giving up? No matter how hard you try, you can't save that pathetic interior of yours."
"I'll admit you and that other guy have decent defense, but all I need to do is pass safely to Silver and it's a guaranteed two points."
Kota lifted his eyelids slightly — and in the moment between Nash's words, he suddenly pulled up from beyond the arc. A clean jump-shot.
Swish. Three points.
Kota backpedaled, puckered his lips, and shook his head at Nash, letting his actions deliver the answer.
Before the final buzzer, anything could happen. And Kota wasn't the kind to collapse just because his team's interior was being overpowered.
If the current approach wasn't enough to win, then he'd simply change the approach.
"Hold the line!"
Kota growled, taking his place at the very front of the defensive formation. A flash of white lightning crossed his eyes — ZONE, boosted further by King of the Final Quarter — pushing his physical ability to its peak.
As USA prepared to initiate their offense, Kota changed his stance completely and lunged directly at Nash, who held the ball.
Relentless pressure, constant attempts at steals — Kota gave Nash zero chance to accelerate. His eyes locked onto the ball, ready to pounce at the slightest flaw.
But with Nash's ability, he wasn't going to cough up the ball that easily.
Even so, he was definitely feeling the pressure.
"Are you crazy, asshole?!"
Nash cursed and quickly jumped backward, passing the ball just before Kota crashed into him.
With Belial Eye enhancing him, Nash's passing ability was no weaker than Akashi's.
The ball reached Silver again. Unlike Nash, who was clearly rattled, Silver hummed a tune as he rose over China's two big men and — another one-hand tomahawk slam.
Silver hung on the rim, grinning wildly.
"Is this kind of game difficult for you to play?"
The backboard creaked under the force of the dunk. Everyone felt their hearts sink.
Somewhere in the stands, a voice muttered:
"If only our team's inside players were stronger…"
If only…
Our interior…
Were stronger…
Gao's eyes shot open. His hands, resting on his thighs, clenched tightly into his pant fabric.
Ebi sighed softly as he patted his student's shoulder.
"Xiao Gao… keep training. If you were out there, our interior wouldn't be a weakness."
Gao took a deep breath, as though carving the words into his bones.
"I know, Coach. I will."
...
...
Beeeep—
The long whistle sounded, signaling the end of the scrimmage.
65–57. USA wins.
Hearing the official result, Nash subconsciously let out a breath—and quickly shook his head.
"No, no, why do I feel relieved? Opponents at their level—of course we should be beating them!"
While Nash was busy convincing himself, Kevin rose from the bench and walked straight toward Kota.
Just like when he first entered the gym, Kevin grabbed Kota's hand with a warm smile.
"Kid, interested in playing under me?"
Kota froze for a moment, about to decline, but Kevin cut him off:
"Hold up. Do you even know who I am?"
He raised his brows mysteriously.
Kota thought for a second and answered:
"The greatest national coach in USA's history. World's best defensive player award winner. MVP of USA's 7th national team. Kevin Kelly. Am I right?"
Kevin: "???"
"Uh… yeah. Perfectly right."
Kevin stared at him for half a second. Was the kid a fan? But then again—what kind of fan stays this calm?
"Um, sir…"
Seeing Kevin still silent, Kota gently pulled back his hand.
"I'm really happy playing for China. I'm not planning to go anywhere else right now. I know you're an incredible coach—and I'd be honored to work with you one day."
He quickly added, "Just… not now."
Kota felt he'd rejected him pretty decisively. Sure enough, Kevin sighed and nodded.
"Alright. But if you ever want to, come to USA. I'll guarantee you a starting position."
"I'll even make Nash give you the point guard spot."
Nash: "???"
"Hey, old man, do you WANT to die?!"
"Stop yelling! Can't you be more like Kota? Look how polite he is!"
Arguing the whole way, Kevin and Nash strode toward center court. Kota followed them with a helpless smile before heading there as well.
Following scrimmage tradition, no matter how the game went, the post-match handshake was mandatory.
Kota held out his hand first. Nash scoffed, but extended his own hand too.
"I was half expecting you to spit in my palm like you did during the exhibition match."
Kota chuckled and teased him. Nash snorted again.
"I only shake hands with people I acknowledge as strong."
"When the World Tournament comes, don't you dare get knocked out before we meet."
Kota: "You better be careful—you'll be the ones getting eliminated."
Nash: "Heh. Shame someone like you has a mouth."
"See you at Worlds."
...
...
Flip, flip—
Pages rustled.
Sun sat alone in the gym, holding a notebook and flipping through it.
It was already evening. The scrimmage had ended some time ago. The audience was long gone, and Sun had dismissed the team ten minutes earlier. But he remained, reviewing the game.
Just then, the gym doors opened.
He glanced up, then returned to his notebook.
"What is it, Kota? The scrimmage is over—you're not heading back to Japan?"
Kota walked over slowly.
"My flight's tomorrow afternoon. No rush."
Sun was about to speak again when a notebook suddenly appeared in his field of vision.
"Hm?"
He adjusted his glasses and looked at Kota quietly.
"Coach, these are some issues I think the team needs to address."
Kota shrugged and set the notebook down, bowing slightly.
"I'm not trying to interfere with your work. Just my personal thoughts. Please take a look."
With that, Kota bowed again, said goodbye, and left the gym.
Watching his silhouette fade, Sun removed his glasses, rubbed the corner of his eyes, and opened Kota's notebook.
"Li Wenyu has great physical ability, but his scoring methods are too limited… recommend more back-to-the-basket training…"
"Zhou Yi has good basketball IQ, but tends to rely too much on clever tricks…"
"Wang's defense is crucial, but he lacks experience… needs more matches to sharpen it…"
"And… the team's interior is too weak; must reinforce the position… this kid, seriously…"
Sun chuckled, closed Kota's notebook, and placed it aside. He looked at his own notebook, picked up a pen, and added several new lines:
"Back-to-basket drills… schedule more scrimmages… mental discipline training… frontcourt reinforcement…"