After losing the last game, the team's daily routine hardly changed. Auden pushed himself even harder during training, trying to keep spirits alive. Johnny, who was usually the funny and lively spark of the team, had become silent and withdrawn. Yang Yan kept to his habits stubbornly: each day he came up with a new excuse to avoid training at the required intensity. Once he hit the half-hour mark, he would immediately collapse to the floor, looking as if he were on the verge of death or surrender.
Head coach Gallagher seemed to have forgotten that Yang Yan was a human being, not a machine. It was as if he had given up on him.
Soon, the second game arrived. Gallagher once again gathered the team to announce the starting lineup. Johnny's expression was devoid of hope or joy, yet unsurprisingly, Gallagher placed him in the starting five again. But surprisingly, Yang Yan's name was not even on the bench list. It seemed Gallagher had completely written him off.
This was an away game, and since he wasn't on the roster, Yang Yan stayed behind at the school. While the others traveled by bus to the opposing arena, Yang disciplined himself to do a rigorous thirty-minute warm-up in the empty gym. Afterward, he lay on the bench, deep in thought about how to convince Coach Gallagher to let him play again.
The next day, the players returned from the away game. By their faces, Yang knew Ohio had lost again. Johnny's bitter expression clearly showed that the reason for the loss was almost the same as the last game.
During a break in training, Johnny approached Yang.
—These days have just been awful —he said sadly.
Yang patted Johnny's shoulder.
—Relax, man. Good days will come.
Johnny smiled bitterly.
—Do you really think we have a bright future?
Though the starters didn't say it, all the players were giving their all, but for various reasons, their efforts ended in failure. The pressure was crushing Johnny.
—Man, just apologize to the coach! —Johnny pleaded—. I believe if you admit your mistake, Gallagher will put you back as a starter. Even if it's just to help me.
At first, Yang wanted to refuse outright. Apologizing was impossible. He knew well that if he compromised with Gallagher, he would have to train hard every day, something his body — and the system — would not allow. He had already experienced the horror of the punishment mechanism for overtraining.
But seeing the pleading look in Johnny's eyes, he relented.
—Okay. I'll talk to the coach.
He walked toward Gallagher, who greeted him with a faint smile. Gallagher had noticed the conversation between the two for a while and was calm, waiting for Yang to come and compromise.
Gallagher hadn't been idle either. He had repeatedly watched the footage of Yang's gameplay, marveling at the exaggerated but brilliant passing — a masterpiece of talent. It only strengthened his resolve to get Yang back on track. He couldn't bear to watch a genius waste his gifts.
In this silent confrontation, Gallagher was determined to make Yang realize his mistakes — to be ruthless.
—Coach —Yang said, approaching—, I want to play in the next game.
Gallagher turned to look at him with a vague expression.
—Yes, no problem —he said, a faint smile flickering.
But he wasn't done.
—That is, as long as you promise to correct your attitude and actively participate in training every day! If you do, I won't just let you play the next game —I'll give you playing time in every future game.
Yang frowned. Just as he expected, Gallagher was firm.
—Training is impossible for me —he said slowly—. But I guarantee that when I play, I will satisfy you.
Gallagher's smile disappeared, replaced by a cold gaze.
—That's not negotiable! Go back. I will not agree to your request!
Yang shook his head helplessly and turned to leave.
Behind him, Gallagher said:
—I've seen too many geniuses like you. A piece of advice: if you keep wasting your gifts, one day God will take them back.
Yang didn't turn. Just left one sentence behind.
—Sorry, coach. I don't believe in God.
Yang returned to Johnny, who looked expectant.
—Sorry to disappoint you, man —he sighed—. The coach didn't agree.
Johnny's eyes lost their light, his face devoid of expression.
Thus passed another two and a half weeks.
January 2007 came — a new year was beginning.
But it wasn't a good day for Ohio State.
In the past month and a half, Ohio State had only won one game. Every opposing team seemed to have figured out how to stop them. Whenever Ohio State played, opponents went all out to attack Johnny's defensive weakness.
The losing streak had sunk the team's morale to the bottom.
The arena was filled with silence and mechanical training.
Yang Yan remained as usual, except he no longer needed to come up with excuses. Everyone knew he trained only half an hour daily.
Coach Gallagher no longer pressured him.
After training, everyone left except Auden and Conley. The two stayed behind, speaking in low voices with serious faces, clearly plotting something.