Chapter 17: Crushing the Psychological Defense Line
The basketball passed through the net.
That "swish" sound seemed to be infinitely amplified at this moment, clearly reaching the ears of everyone in the arena.
The entire Staples Center fell into a strange, deathly silence.
One second.
Two seconds.
Then, like a volcano that had accumulated to its peak, it erupted violently!
"Boom—!"
The terrifying wave of sound was no longer cheers, no longer shouts, but a collective roar mixed with shock, worship, and a sense of unreality!
"God! Oh my God!"
Announcer A ripped off his headset, stood up from his seat, and ran his hands through his hair, looking half-crazed.
"What am I seeing! What on earth am I seeing!"
"This isn't basketball! This isn't a basketball game!"
"This is a miracle! A one-man miracle!"
On the court, the Warriors Team players were all frozen in place.
The expressions on their faces were frozen in a uniform dullness.
"Beep—!"
The piercing sound of the buzzer rang out.
Mark Jackson had used his last timeout.
His face was pale, his lips trembling, as if he had just survived a shipwreck.
The Warriors Team players walked mechanically toward the bench like the walking dead.
Stephen Curry walked last.
He didn't look at anyone, walked straight to his seat, and sat down heavily.
Then, he grabbed a towel from nearby and abruptly threw it over his head.
No one could see his expression.
All they could see were his shoulders, resting on his knees, trembling uncontrollably.
His confidence, his pride, and his self-esteem as the greatest shooter of this era were completely shattered and ground into dust in the face of Lin Feng's moon-viewing three-pointer.
Mark Jackson stood before the players, tactical board in hand, but couldn't say a single word.
Tactics?
What tactics were there left to speak of?
He looked at his players.
Iguodala stared blankly at the floor.
Klay Thompson held a bottle of Gatorade but forgot to unscrew the cap.
On David Lee's face, there was only bewilderment.
The spirits of these battle-hardened professional players had been completely destroyed.
Lin Feng's performance had exceeded their entire understanding of the sport of basketball.
That wasn't skill, wasn't tactics; it was a higher-dimensional power, something close to divine.
How can mortals fight against a god?
On the other side, the Lakers' bench was a completely different scene.
It was an ocean of jubilation.
Just as Lin Feng walked off the court, Steve Nash greeted him with a smile and handed him a bottle of water.
"Kid, you're really a madman tonight."
Nash's voice was full of appreciation and admiration.
Pau Gasol walked over and slapped Lin Feng heavily on the back with his fan-like hand.
"Lin, from now on, you are my god."
The Spaniard said with a serious face.
Even Nick Young, usually the most arrogant and eccentric, leaned in and proactively extended his fist.
"Great job, man."
Lin Feng bumped fists with him.
He knew that from this moment on, he had truly earned the respect of everyone on this team.
At the very back of the bench, the man who had been silent finally moved.
Kobe Bryant.
He watched the chaos on the court, the ecstasy of his teammates, and the despair of the opponents.
Finally, his gaze fell on the young man surrounded by the crowd.
He turned his head and spoke to the lead assistant coach, Phil Handy, in a calm but incredibly certain tone.
"This kid's heart is top-tier."
Phil Handy was stunned for a moment.
Having followed Kobe for so many years, he knew how proud this man was and what this evaluation meant.
Kobe had seen plenty of top-tier talent and top-tier skill.
But a top-tier "heart"—the kind of strong inner core that could shoulder all the pressure at the most critical moment and make the craziest, most confident choices—was the true mark that separated stars from superstars.
This was the highest praise Kobe could give.
The short timeout ended quickly.
The game resumed.
But everyone knew that the suspense of the game had completely vanished.
The remaining time was nothing more than garbage time.
Stephen Curry did not return to the court.
He just sat there at the end of the bench, head covered by a towel, like a statue isolated from the world.
Yet even so, his gaze still locked onto the figure of number 9 on the court through the gaps in the towel.
Mark Jackson put in all the substitutes, giving up resistance.
D'Antoni also symbolically let Lin Feng stay on the court for a bit longer.
Facing the Warriors Team's substitutes' lackluster defense, Lin Feng felt somewhat disinterested.
He received a pass from Nash at the top of the arc and tossed it up casually.
"Swish!"
The three-pointer went in.
In the next possession, he received the ball while running on the wing and threw it up by feel without even looking at the basket.
"Swish!"
It went in again.
His personal three-pointers for this game reached 12.
A new record, one worthy of being recorded in history.
"Substitution!"
D'Antoni finally waved his hand and subbed Lin Feng out.
He wanted this young man who had created a miracle to enjoy his moment of glory.
When the PA announcer called out Lin Feng's name...
Tens of thousands of spectators at the Staples Centerstood up as one.
"MVP—!"
"MVP—!"
"MVP—!"
The synchronized chants, like a tsunami, swept through the entire arena.
This was a treatment that only the league's top superstars could enjoy.
Tonight, Lin Feng had achieved it.
He smiled and waved to the fans in the stands.
Then, he walked off the court, high-fiving and hugging every teammate who rushed up.
From Nash to Gasol, to Nick Young, and then to Sacre at the end of the bench.
Finally, he walked up to that man.
Kobe Bryant.
The clamor of the entire arena seemed to vanish at this moment.
Lin Feng stood before Kobe, looking into those eyes that were still as sharp as an eagle's.
Kobe looked at him too.
There was no smile on his face, no excessive expression.
He just watched, scrutinizing.
A few seconds later, he slowly nodded to Lin Feng.
A simple gesture.
Yet it was more powerful than any words.
The final buzzer of the game sounded.
118 to 95.
The Lakers celebrated a hearty victory at home.
On the electronic screen, Lin Feng's stats were displayed separately.
Playing 28 minutes in total, he racked up 36 points, 2 rebounds, and 3 assists.
And those 36 points all came from beyond the three-point line.
12 three-pointers.
A night significant enough to shake the entire league.
Lin Feng finished celebrating with his teammates and was about to turn back to the locker room.
A voice came from behind, calling out to him.
"Lin Feng."
The voice was a bit raspy, carrying a hint of exhaustion.
Lin Feng turned around.
He saw Stephen Curry standing at the entrance of the player tunnel, quietly looking at him.
Chapter 18: Mutual Respect
Lin Feng looked back.
At the entrance of the player tunnel, the dim lighting outlined a familiar figure.
Stephen Curry.
He had already taken off his soaked jersey and was wearing only a tight training tank top, with sweat-drenched hair clinging to his forehead.
On that baby face, the arrogance from the start of the game and the frenzy during the match had both faded.
All that remained was a mix of exhaustion, frustration, and a certain indescribable complexity of emotion.
He watched Lin Feng quietly, the fire in his eyes extinguished, revealing a gaze as clear as the bottom of a lake.
The surrounding reporters were like sharks sensing blood, crowding around frantically, their flashes lighting up the dim tunnel as bright as day.
Curry ignored the surrounding noise; he simply stepped forward, pushed through the crowd, and walked straight up to Lin Feng.
He stood still, looking at Lin Feng for a long time before finally exhaling a long breath.
"Tonight, you..."
His voice was somewhat raspy; he paused, seemingly searching for the right word.
In the end, he gave up.
"I got blown out."
He admitted his defeat with an extremely candid tone.
After saying this, he extended his right hand.
It was a signal of reconciliation and a sign of recognition from one powerhouse to another.
Lin Feng was a bit surprised but quickly felt at ease.
This was Stephen Curry.
A pure player who could destroy you in the most unreasonable way on the court, yet frankly admit his defeat off the court.
Lin Feng reached out and shook his hand.
"You were great too."
"I just had a better touch tonight," Lin Feng replied modestly.
"No."
Curry shook his head, his grip firm.
"That wasn't just 'touch.' I know it."
The two top shooters who would lead the future league's three-point era completed their first true passing of the torch and collision at this moment, under the gaze of a thousand flashes.
This scene was frantically recorded by reporters and was destined to become a classic moment that fans would talk about for years to come.
After letting go, the dejection in Curry's eyes vanished, replaced by a rekindled fire of competitive spirit.
"I can't wait to play against you again in the regular season."
He stared at Lin Feng, saying each word deliberately.
"Next time, I won't lose again."
This was the declaration of an ace.
Lin Feng smiled.
"I'll be waiting."
...The post-game press conference completely turned into Lin Feng's personal showcase.
The press room was packed with media reporters from all over the US and even the world, their raised arms looking like a dense forest.
Lin Feng sat on the stage side-by-side with head coachD'Antoni, the array of microphones in front of him highlighting his immense popularity at this moment.
"Lin! How do you evaluate your performance tonight? Twelve three-pointers, including that incredible half-court logo shot—you're the first player ever to do that!" an ESPN reporter snatched the first opportunity to ask a question.
Lin Feng picked up the microphone, his expression calm.
"My performance is thanks to my teammates. Steve and Pau created great opportunities for me; they drew the defense, and all I did was put the ball in the basket."
His answer was flawless, crediting the team.
The reporters below recorded quickly, many with expressions of admiration on their faces.
"Lin, your duel with Stephen Curry tonight has been called a 'battle of the gods' by many. How do you evaluate your opponent?" another reporter stood up.
This was a sharp question; any slip-up could be interpreted by the media as "arrogance" or "provocation."
Lin Feng's answer, however, surprised everyone once again.
"Stephen is the best shooter in this league, there's no doubt about that."
His tone was very sincere.
"It was an honor to compete on the same court as him. Honestly, I was watching him throughout the game as well, and I learned a lot from him."
These words caused a small stir in the room.
So mature.
The emotional intelligence in this answer didn't seem like that of a twenty-year-old who had just played a legendary game.
Instead of belittling his opponent because of the victory, he gave the other party the highest praise.
head coach D'Antoni nodded with satisfaction from the side, his eyes full of admiration as he looked at Lin Feng.
"Lin, your performance tonight was historic. Many people are saying you defeated the Warriors Team single-handedly. What do you think?"
"No, basketball is a five-man sport."
Lin Feng shook his head.
"It was the Los Angeles Lakers who defeated the Warriors Team, not me alone. We are a team, and the victory belongs to everyone."
The press conference lasted for half an hour.
The reporters' questions ranged from on-court performance to personal feelings and future prospects; Lin Feng's answers remained humble, appropriate, and yet full of confidence.
He wasn't blinded by his overnight fame.
His performance earned him something more than just a victory—goodwill.
The media discovered that this young man from the East not only possessed extraordinary skills but also a mature mindset and high emotional intelligence beyond his years.
By the end of the press conference, almost all the media outlets had already decided on their front-page headlines for tomorrow.
Meanwhile.
In the visiting team's press room on the other side.
Stephen Curry was also being interviewed.
He had finished washing up and changed into a clean tracksuit, but the fatigue between his brows was still impossible to hide.
"Stephen, can you talk about Lin Feng's performance tonight?"
A reporter threw the same question at him.
Curry silent for a moment before picking up the microphone.
"His performance tonight was historic."
His voice was very calm, devoid of much emotion.
"I'm convinced by his skill. I saw with my own eyes what 'All-field range' really means."
He frankly admitted his defeat without making any excuses.
"We'll meet again in the regular season, and I'll be better prepared. Next time, I look forward to a real contest."
The mutual praise between the two protagonists gave this duel, which should have been full of hostility, a hint of heroic mutual respect.
That night.
The title "oriental sharpshooter," along with the video of Lin Feng's logo shot across the half-court, spread frantically through major sports media like ESPN and TNT, echoing throughout the United States.
On social media, his name was pushed to the number one trending spot.
Countless fans, celebrities, and even people who don't watch basketball were discussing this boy from the East who had created a miracle.
However, as the center of the storm, Lin Feng had already returned to the Lakers' somewhat old locker room.
The teammates' celebrations had come to an end, and most people had gone home after showering.
Lin Feng sat in front of his locker, preparing to change out of his clothes, when a strong sense of fatigue, mixed with the emptiness after the adrenaline faded, surged up together.
He leaned back against the chair and let out a long breath.
Just then, he felt a gaze.
A highly penetrating gaze fell upon him.
Lin Feng looked up.
He saw that at the other end of the locker room, that man was sitting on a bench, watching him quietly.
Kobe Bryant.
He hadn't come over to congratulate or hug him like the other teammates; from the end of the game until now, he hadn't said a word.
At this moment, he was still wearing that expensive custom suit, his body leaning slightly forward.
His gaze wasn't filled with admiration like Nash's, nor with joy like Gasol's.
It was a pure, emotionless scrutiny.
Chapter 19: Kobe's Test
In the locker room, Kobe's gaze was like two tangible searchlights, piercing through the noisy air and locking firmly onto Lin Feng.
There was no congratulation in that gaze, no joy, only a pure, emotionless scrutiny.
Lin Feng's heartbeat, which had begun to level off after the adrenaline faded, began to accelerate uncontrollably once more.
He knew that conquering the fans at the Staples Center, the media, and even his teammates was only the beginning.
The man before him, this black totem of Los Angeles, was the highest peak he had to climb.
The celebratory atmosphere in the locker room continued.
Nick Young, shirtless with a towel draped around his neck, had somehow found a bottle of chilled champagne and was wobbling toward Lin Feng.
"Lin! You amazing guy! For your twelve three-pointers! We have to celebrate properly!"
He held the champagne high, aiming the bottle at Lin Feng, prepared to give him a bone-chilling champagne bath.
The surrounding teammates were all jeering and laughing, waiting for the show to begin.
Just as Nick Young was about to pull the cork.
"Enough."
A quiet voice sounded.
The voice was calm, yet it was like a giant stone thrown into a lake, instantly suppressing all the noise.
The entire locker room fell silent.
Everyone's gaze subconsciously turned toward the source of the sound.
Kobe Bryant.
He was still sitting on the bench, his posture unchanged, only looking up to glance at Nick Young.
"It's just a Preseason Game."
No emotion could be heard in Kobe's voice, but that invisible pressure caused the temperature in the locker room to drop a few degrees.
The joy of victory and the festive atmosphere were rapidly cooled in an instant.
Nick Young's hand, holding the champagne, froze in mid-air, the smile on his face hardening.
He looked at Kobe, then at Lin Feng, and dejectedly put the bottle down.
"Kobe's right, guys, let's cool it."
Nash stepped in to smooth things over, but his eyes swept thoughtfully between Kobe and Lin Feng.
Gasol silently picked up a towel to dry his hair as if nothing had happened, but his ears were perked.
Everyone felt the powerful aura radiating from Kobe.
It was the aura of a winner, and also the aura of an obsessive.
A historic individual performance seemed trivial in his eyes.
Kobe finally stood up.
He adjusted his expensive suit with meticulous movements.
Then, he stepped forward, ignoring everyone else, and walked straight toward Lin Feng.
In the locker room, everyone held their breath.
Kobe stopped in front of Lin Feng, looking down at him.
"Kid, come here."
His tone left no room for doubt.
Lin Feng did not hesitate; he stood up and followed behind Kobe.
One after the other, they walked through the quiet locker room toward the room at the far end labeled 'Video Analysis Room'.
"Hey, Steve, what's going on?"
Nick Young leaned toward Nash and asked in a low voice.
Nash shook his head, his expression serious.
"I don't know, but I think Lin's real test is only beginning now."
The players in the locker room looked at each other, everyone's heart filled with doubt and speculation... The door to the Video Analysis Room closed with a 'click,' sealing off everything outside.
The room was very dark, with only the Tactical Display Screen emitting a faint blue light.
Kobe didn't turn on the lights; he walked to the console and skillfully pulled up the footage of the game that had just ended.
Throughout the entire process, he didn't say a word.
Silence was the best tool for applying pressure.
Standing behind him, Lin Feng could clearly hear the sound of his own heartbeat.
The screen lit up.
The game footage began to play.
Kobe fast-forwarded to the first quarter, to a possession shortly after Lin Feng had entered the game.
"Look here."
Kobe's finger pointed at the screen.
On the screen, Lin Feng received a pass from Nashbeyond the three-point line. Facing the closeout from Warriors Team interior David Lee, he didn't hesitate, using a step-back to create space before shooting immediately.
The basketball traced a high arc.
"Swish!"
Nothing but net.
This was the first three-pointer he made tonight.
"You made 12 three-pointers, which is great."
Kobe's voice remained calm.
"But look here."
He pressed the pause button, freezing the frame at the moment Lin Feng released the shot.
Kobe's finger slowly moved from Lin Feng on the screen to the paint.
"The Warriors Team interior came out to defend you, and a hole appeared in their defensive rotation."
His finger pointed at the figure wearing the Los Angeles Lakers No. 16 jersey.
Pau Gasol.
After Lin Feng drew the defense, the spaniard had moved into a completely open position under the basket through a clever back-cut.
Within three meters of him, there was no one.
He was holding his hand high, an expectant look on his face.
"Gasol was completely open under the basket."
Kobe's voice was like a scalpel, precisely dissecting the image.
"Did you see it?"
On the screen, after Lin Feng chose to force the three-pointer, the camera cut to Gasol under the basket.
the spaniard threw up his hands helplessly and then silently turned back to defend.
That image had flashed by during the live broadcast and hadn't attracted much attention.
But now, frozen on the screen, it appeared incredibly glaring.
Kobe didn't wait for Lin Feng to answer.
He pressed play, and the footage continued.
"And here."
He froze another frame.
In the fourth quarter, Nick Young received a pass after a cut. He could have easily gone for a layup, but he chose to pass the ball to Lin Feng on the perimeter.
Under the double-team of Thompson and Iguodala, Lin Feng used an extreme fadeaway to score off the glass.
That shot had brought the house down.
"A great goal," Kobe commented.
"But was it the right choice?"
His finger pointed to the other side of the screen.
At the moment Nick Young passed, the Warriors Team's defense had been completely disrupted to help defend Lin Feng.
Standing at the forty-five-degree angle beyond the three-point line on the other side, Steve Nash was also in a massive open spot.
If Nick Young had passed to Nash, or if Lin Feng had immediately swung it to Nash after receiving the ball, it would have been an easier and more reliable scoring opportunity.
Kobe didn't stop.
He played five or six similar clips in a row.
Every time, it was Lin Feng finishing the play with a stunning, high-difficulty individual shot.
And every time, there was a teammate beside him in a better position with a more logical opportunity.
Those overlooked passing options were magnified one after another under Kobe's operation, presented right before Lin Feng's eyes.
Chapter 19: The black mamba's Private Lesson
In the video analysis room, the faint blue light from the screen stretched Kobe and Lin Feng's shadows very long.
Those ignored passing options, those opportunities to score more easily—under Kobe's repeated playback, they were like thorns pricking Lin Feng's eyes.
Finally, Kobe reached out and pressed the off button.
With a "snap," the screen plunged into darkness.
The entire room followed, sinking into a pitch-black silence.
Kobe turned around; in the darkness, his silhouette was like a silent statue.
He didn't speak, but that invisible pressure was infinitely magnified in the dark, enveloping Lin Feng.
Lin Feng could hear his own slightly rapid breathing.
He had made twelve three-pointers tonight, breaking the record, conquering the audience, and even impressing his opponent, Curry.
But in front of the man before him, all his achievements seemed pale and weak.
"In the NBA, if you are only a cannon, the opponent has a hundred ways to make you go silent."
Kobe finally spoke, his voice exceptionally clear and cold in the darkness.
Lin Feng stood straight, like a recruit waiting for a lecture.
Kobe didn't turn on the light; he seemed to enjoy the feeling of dissecting problems in the dark.
"Your touch was hot tonight, hot enough to melt steel."
"But touch is the most unreliable thing in the world; it comes, and it goes just as easily."
"High-intensity physical contact, endless double-teams, draining your stamina, cutting off your receiving lanes."
Kobe's voice was steady, every word like a bullet accurately fired at Lin Feng's perception.
"What you encountered tonight was just the simplest form of defense."
"Mark Jackson just had Thompson and Iguodala take turns following you, with the occasional double-team."
"Believe it or not, if this were Game 7 of the playoffs, they would use two or even three people to smother you the moment you crossed half-court."
"They would use every dirty trick—pushing, squeezing, bumping—to make every catch feel like a war."
"They would cut off all passing lanes between you, Nash, and Gasol."
"Making it so you won't even be able to touch the ball for the entire forty-eight minutes of the game."
Kobe's description caused a layer of cold sweat to break out on Lin Feng's back.
He could imagine that scene.
It was a meat grinder on the basketball court, a competition of pure willpower.
Whereas tonight, he had just stood on the perimeter, easily catching and shooting.
"When your three-pointers aren't falling, what else can you bring to the team?"
Kobe's voice suddenly rose, like a sharp knife stabbing into the heart of the matter.
"Is it victory?"
Those last three words, asked softly and slowly, produced an echo in the silent room.
Is it victory?
Is it victory?
Lin Feng fell silent.
He opened his mouth but couldn't say a single word.
Kobe's words hit the deepest hidden worry in his heart.
Yes, he had [Shintaro Midorimas Full-Court Three-Pointer], which made him a terrifying scoring threat.
But it was also almost his only weapon.
Tonight, he had used this single weapon to create a miracle.
But what if this weapon failed?
What if the opponent really used the suffocating defense Kobe described, leaving him with no chance to even shoot?
What if he missed five or six three-pointers in a row and his touch went cold?
What else could he do?
Could he end a game with an unstoppable fadeaway jumper like Kobe?
Could he tear through a defense with surgical passes like Nash?
Could he punish opponents in the low post with footwork and technique like Gasol?
No.
He couldn't do any of it.
When the heavy cannon of the three-pointer was silenced, his contribution to the team would trend toward zero.
He would even become a liability on defense, a negative asset to the team.
Thinking of this, fine beads of sweat appeared on Lin Feng's forehead.
For the first time, he clearly realized that the [charm basketball system] gave him a shortcut to power, but not the entirety of victory.
His victory tonight was less a reflection of strength and more of a magnificent, insanely hot-handed accident.
In the darkness, Kobe seemed able to see through all the thoughts in Lin Feng's mind.
He could feel the feverish joy on the young man quickly fading, replaced by a sober, profound self-examination.
This was exactly what he wanted to see.
Kobe's tone softened slightly without him realizing it.
It was no longer an aggressive interrogation, but held a hint of instruction.
"Your talent is the most elite I've ever seen."
Kobe gave an extremely high evaluation.
"But talent needs to be polished to become a weapon."
"A hammer is powerful, but it can only be used to hit nails. When you encounter a screw, it's useless."
"You must become a Swiss Army knife, not a hammer."
A Swiss Army knife.
This metaphor made Lin Feng's eyes light up in the dark.
"You need to have drives, mid-range shots, post-ups, and passing."
Kobe's voice was like that of an experienced craftsman instructing an apprentice on how to polish a piece of uncut jade.
"When an opponent plays you tight to stop your shot, you need to be able to blow past him with your first step and drive into the paint to cause damage."
"When an opponent is wary of your drive and gives you space, you need to be able to punish him with a stable mid-range jumper."
"When you have a mismatch in the low post against a smaller guard, you need to be able to use post-up techniques to score over him easily."
"When you draw a double or even triple-team, you need to be able to find that open teammate immediately so they can finish the easiest play."
"You need to keep the opponent from guessing what you'll do next."
"That is a true threat."
Every word Kobe said opened a new door for Lin Feng.
Lin Feng's breathing became a bit rapid.
No longer out of nervousness, but excitement.
A thirst for a higher level of basketball wisdom and an urge to become stronger burned in his chest.
He looked up; although he couldn't see Kobe's face clearly in the dark, his eyes were full of a hunger for knowledge.
Like a dry sponge, he greedily absorbed every word Kobespoke.
Kobe felt the change in Lin Feng's aura.
He knew the kid had listened.
And he had listened completely.
In the unseen darkness, the corner of Kobe's mouth curled up ever so slightly.
He didn't want a scoring machine that only knew how to follow orders and fire away from the perimeter.
He wanted a warrior who could understand the game, play with his brain, and fight alongside him to carry this team together.
Lin Feng, you have this potential.
Silence fell over the room again.
But this time, the atmosphere was no longer oppressive.
It was the tranquility before the passing of knowledge.
After a long while, Kobe turned and walked toward the door.
His hand rested on the light switch.
"Click."
Blinding light instantly filled the room, and Lin Fenginstinctively squinted his eyes.
When he opened his eyes again, Kobe was already at the door with his back to him.
"See you at the practice facility at 6 AM tomorrow."
Kobe dropped those words and walked out without looking back.
The door closed gently, leaving Lin Feng alone in the room.
Lin Feng stood there, dazed for a few seconds.
He knew this wasn't a punishment, but an invitation.
An invitation for private tutoring from the black mamba.
This was the signal that Kobe truly recognized him and was ready to start giving him private lessons.
Chapter 20: Encouragement from the Goddess
The door was gently closed.
In the entire film room, only Lin Feng remained, surrounded by the harsh glare of the lights.
He stood there, still processing the information-heavy "private lesson" he had just received.
Every word from Kobe was like a precision scalpel, cutting through his flashy stats from tonight to reveal the massive underlying issues.
A Swiss Army Knife.
The term echoed repeatedly in his mind.
Tonight, he was a powerful heavy artillery piece, but artillery can misfire, and enemies will do everything they can to dismantle it.
A Swiss Army Knife, however, meant versatility—it meant having a solution for any situation.
Driving to the rim, mid-range jumpers, post-ups, passing... skills he had touched upon in training but hadn't yet honed into weapons now became crystal clear and incredibly important in his mind.
Kobe had opened a door for him, a door leading to the hall of true "superstars."
The path behind that door was covered in thorns, requiring sweat and perseverance to pave.
6:00 AM tomorrow, the practice facility.
A surge of heat welled up in Lin Feng's chest.
It wasn't the feverish excitement of victory, but a primal desire to become stronger, ignited by a higher goal.
He glanced at the clock on the wall and turned to walk out of the film room.
Immense pressure and endless expectations gripped his heart like two giant hands from either side.
The hallway was empty, with only the echo of his own footsteps.
By the time he returned to the locker room, the noise had long since dissipated.
Most of his teammates had already left, leaving only a few close ones still leisurely packing their things.
Seeing Lin Feng emerge, Nick Young winked at him and lowered his voice.
"Hey, Lin, that guy didn't do anything to you, did he?"
He was referring to Kobe.
Lin Feng shook his head, a smile appearing on his face that others would find hard to understand.
"He gave me a lesson."
"A lesson worth its weight in gold."
Nick Young shrugged, clearly not quite understanding.
Lin Feng didn't explain further and walked toward his locker.
The sense of floating brought on by his twelve three-pointers had been completely shattered by Kobe. What remained was an unprecedented sense of groundedness and clarity.
He sat in front of his locker and picked up his phone.
As soon as the screen lit up, a flood of messages poured in like a tide.
The phone buzzed incessantly, and the notification bar at the top of the screen was instantly filled.
There were over a dozen missed calls and hundreds of unread messages.
The first one to pop up was a text from his Agent, Jeff Austin—seven or eight messages in a row, all filled with exclamation points.
"My God! Lin! You are a god! Did you see those stats? 12 threes! You've made history!"
"My phone is ringing off the hook! Nike, Adidas, Gatorade... everyone is going crazy!"
"Listen, kid, we're rich! Get ready for an unprecedented endorsement contract!"
Lin Feng just glanced at them and swiped past.
This was all within his expectations.
Next were messages from friends back home; the content was mostly the same—shock and congratulations, filled with a sense of disbelief.
Lin Feng smiled and continued scrolling down.
There were also many texts from unknown numbers, mostly unsolicited commercial collaboration offers ranging from car brands to luxury watches—all sorts of things.
After Kobe's talk, these messages seemed somewhat dull.
Lin Feng's face remained expressionless as his fingers swiped quickly across the screen, bypassing the noisy congratulations and invitations one by one.
He was like a traveler passing through a noisy marketplace, deaf to the surrounding cries of vendors, focused only on finding the goal in his heart.
Suddenly, his finger stopped.
It was a number from South Korea.
A familiar number he had long since memorized.
It was Yinna.
His heart skipped a beat.
He tapped on the message.
There was no long-winded text, just a simple photo.
The composition of the photo was somewhat casual, as if it had been taken on a whim.
In the picture, Yinna was wearing a pink, soft-looking, comfortable set of loungewear, sitting on a sofa with her legs curled up.
On the TV screen behind her, the frozen frame showed Lin Feng being interviewed by ESPN after the game.
On the TV, he looked high-spirited and spoke with confidence.
But in the photo, she didn't show her face.
The camera angled down, capturing only a corner of the TV and her own small, fair feet in pink bunny slippers.
Her feet in the cute slippers were slightly pressed together, her toes curled playfully.
The angle and the scene looked just like a young girl secretly taking a photo with her idol on the TV.
Cautious, yet with a hint of irrepressible excitement and admiration.
Below the photo was a line of text.
It was written in somewhat awkward Chinese, likely produced by translation software.
"You're amazing! So proud of you!"
Following the text was an emoticon of someone pumping their arms for encouragement.
(ง •̀_•́)ง
Lin Feng looked at the message and the cute photo.
The exhaustion of the entire night, the high tension during the game, the immense pressure from Kobe's critique... everything heavy seemed to be gently brushed away by a soft hand at this moment.
His tense shoulders relaxed involuntarily.
The corners of his mouth curled up uncontrollably.
In the heart of Los Angeles' noisy vanity fair, under the mountain-like pressure of Kobe, this clumsy yet sincere message from a distant land was like a spring of clear water, instantly nourishing his strained heart.
It was a sliver of the purest solace he had found in this chaotic world of fame and fortune.
He stared at the photo for a long time, as if he could see through the screen to the girl on the sofa, hugging her knees and seriously typing out that line of Chinese.
He picked up his phone and tapped on the screen.
He wanted to say so much—to tell her what he had just gone through, and about Kobe's teachings.
But in the end, all those words were condensed into a few simple ones.
"Thanks."
"Get some rest."
He hit send.
After the message was sent, he set his phone aside and prepared to take a shower.
Tomorrow, another tough battle awaited him.
Chapter 22: Dawn of Hell
It was 5:30 in the morning.
Los Angeles was still immersed in the pre-dawn silence.
The cell phone alarm let out a piercing sound.
Lin Feng snapped his eyes open and, without the slightest hesitation, sat straight up in bed.
His body was still sore from last night's game, but his mind was exceptionally clear.
He quickly put on his training gear and sneakers, grabbed his car keys, and walked out of the apartment.
The streets were empty, with only the streetlights casting a dim yellow glow.
He drove his used Ford toward the Los Angeles Lakerstraining facility.
The sky was still a deep ink blue, with only a faint glimmer of white on the distant horizon.
He thought he would be the first one to arrive.
When he used his access card to open the heavy doors of the training center, clear, rhythmic sounds of dribbling came from deep within the pitch-black arena.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The sound echoed through the empty arena, each beat feeling like a knock on his heart.
Lin Feng followed the sound, passing through the dark corridors until his field of vision suddenly opened up.
Only one spotlight in the corner of the court was on, providing dim lighting.
Under the light, a figure wearing a Los Angeles Lakerstraining uniform was practicing alone.
Kobe Bryant.
His gray training tank top was completely soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to his well-defined back muscles, turning a much darker shade.
He wasn't doing shooting drills; instead, he was doing the most tedious baseline suicides combined with full-court dribbling.
Sprinting from one end of the court to the other, then sprinting back.
The basketball made a dull but powerful impact sound between his palm and the floor.
Sweat dripped from his chin, creating small dark splashes on the wooden floor.
Seeing Lin Feng appear on the sidelines, Kobe didn't stop until he finished his final sprint, only then slowly decelerating.
He walked to the sideline, picked up a towel draped over a chair, and wiped the sweat from his face.
His chest was heaving violently and his breathing was heavy, but his gaze was terrifyingly calm.
Kobe didn't offer a single word of greeting; he just gestured with his chin toward the open space on the other side of the court.
"Warm up. Ten minutes."
His voice was raspy from exercise, yet his tone brooked no argument.
Lin Feng nodded, put down his backpack, and began stretching and jogging on the sidelines.
A massive sense of pressure emanated from Kobe.
This pressure was different from any pressure he had felt on the court during a game.
It was a powerful aura born from extreme self-discipline and obsession.
The legendary '4 AM in Los Angeles' was playing out vividly before his eyes right now.
And judging by how soaked with sweat Kobe was, he definitely hadn't just started at four.
The ten-minute warm-up felt as long as a century to Lin Feng.
Every cell in his body was feeling the invisible pressure brought by that man.
"Ready?"
Kobe's voice came from behind him.
Lin Feng stopped his movements and turned around. "Ready."
Kobe grabbed something from the equipment area and threw it at Lin Feng's feet.
It was a black weighted vest that looked like it had significant weight to it.
"Put it on."
Lin Feng didn't hesitate; he bent down to pick up the vest and slipped it on.
A heavy weight pressed down on his shoulders and chest, causing his breathing to hitch for a moment.
Kobe's private lesson had officially begun.
"First, dribbling."
Kobe didn't give him any time to adjust.
"Lower your center of gravity—so low that your knees can kiss the floor."
Kobe personally demonstrated; he stayed extremely low, dribbling almost against the ground, with the ball's bounce not exceeding his ankles.
"The ball must be a part of your body, not just a tool."
"Start. From baseline to baseline. Don't straighten your back."
Lin Feng followed his lead, wearing the heavy weighted vest, and began low-posture dribbling.
Before he had even gone five meters, an unbearable ache shot through his lower back.
The weighted vest made it exceptionally difficult to maintain balance.
"Too high! Your center of gravity is like a giraffe's!"
Kobe's roar echoed through the empty arena.
"Is your ass hanging in the sky? Get down!"
Lin Feng gritted his teeth, lowering his center of gravity further and further.
His thigh muscles began to burn, sending signals of protest.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The sound of the basketball hitting the floor became hurried and chaotic.
After just two lengths, he felt like his back was about to break.
"Stop."
Kobe called him to a halt.
"Now, crossovers."
Kobe demonstrated again; his movements were concise, swift, and full of explosive power.
"Your first step must make the defender think you're going to kill them. Be aggressive, understand?"
Lin Feng imitated his movements.
"Footwork is too slow! Do you have lead weights tied to your feet?"
"You're generating power wrong! Use your core, not your arms!"
"Again!"
Spins, sudden stops, changes of direction... every basic movement became a form of torture under Kobe's demands.
He required every detail to be perfect, allowing for not even the slightest deviation.
Lin Feng felt less like a professional player and more like a rookie touching a basketball for the first time.
His pride and joy—his shooting—had no place here.
Kobe wouldn't let him touch a shot at all.
"Now, practice post-ups."
Kobe stood near the free-throw line with his back to the basket.
"Give me the ball."
Lin Feng passed the ball to him.
"Now, guard me."
Lin Feng stepped forward and got into a defensive stance.
Kobe didn't waste any motion; he just used his back to feel Lin Feng's position, then dipped his left shoulder slightly.
Lin Feng subconsciously shifted his weight to the left.
In that exact moment, Kobe slammed his right shoulder and back into him!
A massive force surged forward!
Lin Feng felt as if he had been hit in the chest by a bull.
He lost all control over his body, lost his balance, staggered back two steps, and landed hard on his butt on the floor.
The cold, hard wooden floor sent a jolt of sharp pain through his tailbone.
Kobe didn't even look at him; instead, he used the momentum to spin and easily lay the ball into the hoop.
He picked up the ball, walked over to Lin Feng who was sprawled on the floor, and looked down at him.
Kobe didn't reach out to help him up; there was no sympathy in his eyes, only cold indifference.
"In the NBA, you'll get hit much harder."
His voice was as cold as the floor.
"Get up. Again."
The entire morning passed.
Lin Feng spent it in this endless cycle of repetition, correction, and collision.
He was being "abused" by Kobe in every possible way.
Dribbling until his fingers were numb, running suicides until his legs felt like lead, and being battered in post-up drills until he was dizzy.
He couldn't remember how many times he had fallen, nor how many times his training uniform had been soaked with sweat and then dried by the air.
All he knew was that when Kobe finally called a halt, every muscle in his body was screaming in pain, and exhaustion permeated his very bones.
He looked like he had been fished out of a pool, slumped on the floor without even the strength to lift a finger.
Only then did he realize how illusory his performance of hitting twelve three-pointers last night really was.
He also finally understood the massive, insurmountable chasm that still existed between him and a true top-tier superstar like Kobe.
Chapter 23: The Embryo of a Mamba Disciple
Lin Feng propped himself up on the floor, trying to climb back up.
The spot on his chest where he had been hit was burning with pain, and the sharp ache in his tailbone made every movement feel like enduring torture.
But he didn't make a sound, didn't complain, and didn't hesitate for a second.
There was no grievance in his eyes, only a flame that had been ignited.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up with trembling arms and stood before Kobe once again.
"Continue."
Lin Feng's voice was hoarse but incredibly firm.
Kobe looked at him. The indifference in his eyes hadn't changed, but something seemed to flash deep within them.
"Defend me."
Kobe repeated the previous movement, backing into Lin Feng.
This time, Lin Feng lowered his center of gravity even further, his legs like roots planted into the floor.
Thud!
Kobe exerted force again.
Lin Feng felt like he had been hit by a bull again, his body sliding back a step uncontrollably, but this time he held his ground firmly and didn't fall.
The friction between his sneakers and the floor let out a piercing screech.
Kobe was a bit surprised. He exerted force again, using his shoulders and back to hit Lin Feng's chest over and over.
Lin Feng felt his internal organs churning, but he refused to retreat.
Only one thought remained in his mind: hold on!
He didn't know how he was managing to endure it.
The soreness of his body had long since gone numb, replaced by a strange sensation.
After every impact, a warm current would surge from deep within his muscles, quickly repairing fatigue and damage, allowing his physical stamina to recover at an illogical speed.
This was the passively enhanced physical fitness brought by the system.
It allowed him to withstand the hellish training intensity imposed by the man in front of him.
Kobe stopped the bumping.
He turned around and, for the first time, took a serious look at Lin Feng's stance.
"Your lower body is still like a noodle."
Although his words were still a harsh critique, he didn't make Lin Feng continue as a human punching bag.
"Watch."
Kobe stood at the free-throw line and began to feed him the ball personally.
He passed the ball to Lin Feng, then became the defender himself, enveloping Lin Feng with highly oppressive, tight defense.
"Your weapon is your shot."
Kobe's voice sounded in Lin Feng's ear like a demon's whisper.
"So every movement you make must serve your shot."
As he spoke, he constantly applied physical contact to Lin Feng, interfering with his dribbling and posture.
"The drive and the post-up are both meant to make your shot easier."
"They are the lies you tell the defender just so you can get that shot off."
Under Kobe's tight defense, even turning around became difficult for Lin Feng.
"Use your footwork, use your shoulders, use your eyes to deceive him!"
Kobe's defensive pressure was immense.
Lin Feng tried to dribble, but Kobe's arm firmly blocked his position.
He tried to turn, but felt like he had run into a wall.
"Is your body dead? Move it!"
Kobe roared.
Lin Feng gritted his teeth, recalling the feeling of being hit by Kobe earlier, and began trying to find space using shoulder fakes.
He dropped his shoulder to the left.
Kobe's center of gravity shifted slightly.
Now!
Lin Feng pivoted sharply to the right!
This time, he successfully completed half the turn!
Though the movement was still stiff and his control of the ball was a bit shaky, for the first time, he created a sliver of space under Kobe's defense.
For the first time, a trace of imperceptible appreciation truly flickered in Kobe's eyes.
This kid's learning ability was frighteningly fast.
"And after the turn?"
Kobe's voice rang out again as he quickly adjusted his position to block Lin Feng once more.
"Your goal is the shot! You don't turn just for the sake of turning!"
Lin Feng's mind raced.
The shot... right, the shot.
He tried again. This time, as he turned right, he didn't choose to continue the drive but instead transitioned into a fadeaway.
He raised the ball, stretching his body as much as possible in the air, mimicking the countless fadeaway jumpers of Kobe in his memory.
The movement was very stiff, and the power transfer was completely wrong.
The basketball flew from his fingertips, tracing a crooked arc.
Clang!
The ball hit the side of the backboard, missing by a mile.
However, Lin Feng's eyes were startlingly bright.
The moment he released the ball, he felt a brand new door slowly opening to him.
So this was what it felt like to create shooting space with your body.
So this was Kobe's weapon.
"Again!"
Lin Feng picked up the ball, his eyes full of hunger.
Kobe didn't speak; he just reset his defensive stance.
Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
A hundred times.
Lin Feng tirelessly repeated the same movement.
Turn, fade, jump shot.
From initial stiffness and awkwardness to gradual fluidity.
From hitting the side of the backboard to hitting the rim, and then occasionally getting lucky enough for one or two to roll in.
He was completely immersed in this exploration of new technique, forgetting the passage of time and the fatigue of his body.
Until a cold bottle of liquid was pressed against his cheek.
Only then did Lin Feng snap out of his state.
He turned his head and saw Kobe standing beside him, handing him an unlabeled sports drink.
The practice facility's main lights had been fully turned on at some point, brightly illuminating the entire arena.
Lin Feng looked down at himself. His practice gear was already soaked through, as if he had just been pulled out of water; a hard wring would produce a large puddle.
"Tomorrow, same time."
Kobe dropped those words and turned toward the locker room.
Lin Feng opened the special sports drink and took a huge gulp.
A cool energy flowed down his throat and through his body, quickly replenishing his exhausted stamina.
He watched Kobe's departing back and clenched his fist.
Just then, at the other end of the practice facility, a middle-aged man in team staff clothing stepped out from behind the equipment room.
It was the team's Video Analyst, Patterson.
He had only arrived early out of habit, but he hadn't expected to see a scene like this.
He had been hiding in the back, watching the last half-hour of their morning practice.
He had seen how Lin Feng went from a clumsy imitator to mastering the prototype of that move in such a short time.
Patterson's face was full of shock.
This rate of improvement... was simply inconceivable.
He watched Lin Feng pick up the basketball and walk to the free-throw line once more.
Lin Feng took a deep breath and performed the move again.
Turn, fade, jump shot.
The whole movement was still a bit raw, but it already carried the shadow of the Mamba.
Swish!
The ball went through the net cleanly.
Patterson instinctively raised his phone and hit record, capturing that perfect shot in its entirety.
He looked at the video on his phone. In the frame, that young figure seemed to slowly overlap with the memory of another Number 24.
Patterson's fingers trembled slightly.
He hesitated for a long time before finally opening his email.
He sent the dozen-second video via encrypted email to the Lakers' General Manager, Mitch Kupchak.
For the subject of the email, he wrote only one sentence:
"A surprise you must see."
Chapter 24: The General Manager's Ecstasy
Lakers Headquarters, General Manager's Office.
Mitch Kupchak was leaning back in his leather chair, holding a cup of steaming coffee.
He was in a very good mood.
Last night's victory, especially Lin Feng's earth-shattering twelve three-pointers, had sent all of Los Angeles into a frenzy.
The team's phone lines were ringing off the hook, and ticket sales had skyrocketed overnight.
As the team's operator, there was no morning more wonderful than this.
He opened his computer, preparing to deal with the mountain of emails.
Most were scouting reports, business cooperation proposals, and media interview requests.
He screened through them skillfully until, suddenly, the sender of one email made him stop his scrolling mouse.
Patterson.
The team's most senior and most taciturn video analyst.
An old-school employee who never wasted words and never sent anything irrelevant.
Kupchak remembered him, a man so rigorous he was almost rigid.
The email's subject line was simple.
"A surprise you must see."
Kupchak's curiosity was piqued.
He opened the email; there was only one attachment, a video file lasting about a dozen seconds.
He pressed play.
The video footage was a bit shaky, clearly filmed on a cell phone, and the lighting was dim; the background was the empty training facility in the early morning.
A young figure wearing a Lakers training uniform stood with his back to the camera near the free-throw line.
Kupchak recognized him; it was Lin Feng.
In the video, Lin Feng took a deep breath and then began his move.
A turnaround.
The initial speed of this movement wasn't fast, but the sense of rhythm was peculiar.
Following that was the fadeaway.
His body stretched out in the air, forming a beautiful arc.
Finally, the jump shot release.
The entire movement was fluid and seamless.
The coffee cup in Kupchak's hand stopped mid-air.
His eyes were fixed motionlessly on the screen.
That posture, that rhythm, that angle of the fadeaway... it was all too familiar.
He had seen this movement thousands of times from this office and from his courtside seat.
That was Kobe Bryant's signature!
In the video, the basketball traced a perfect parabola.
"Swish!"
The sound of the ball hitting nothing but net was exceptionally clear in the quiet office.
The video ended there.
Kupchak suddenly stood up from his chair, which slid back from his movement and hit the bookshelf with a dull thud.
He ignored it completely.
He reached out with a slightly trembling hand and clicked "Replay."
Once.
Twice.
Five times.
He replayed that dozen-second video over and over, the expression on his face rapidly shifting from initial surprise to disbelief, and finally, into an irrepressible ecstasy.
The movement was still raw.
There were still flaws in the way he applied power.
But that spirit, that unique rhythm belonging to a superstar scorer—it was the spitting image of a young Kobe!
Kupchak's chest heaved violently.
He finally understood exactly what kind of monster he had picked up.
A shooter with historic-level full-court three-point range.
Now, this shooter was receiving personal instruction from the league's top isolation player and was beginning to absorb his techniques at an unbelievable speed!
This wasn't a simple 1+1.
What would happen if a turret that could fire from anywhere was equipped with a bayonet for close-quarters combat?
An unstoppable offensive weapon!
A franchise cornerstone!
These words suddenly flashed into Kupchak's mind.
He had originally thought Lin Feng was a pleasant surprise, a super puzzle piece that could help the team through a difficult time.
Now he realized he might have been dead wrong.
Lin Feng wasn't a puzzle piece.
He might be the blueprint for the Lakers' next ten years!
Kupchak could no longer sit still; he paced back and forth in his office like an anxious lion.
No, he had to be given space!
He had to be given unlimited green light and room for error!
He grabbed the phone on his desk and dialed head coachD'Antoni's number directly.
The call was answered almost instantly.
"Mitch, good morning. I imagine you were also too happy about last night's victory to sleep?" D'Antoni's relaxed voice came through the receiver.
Kupchak was in no mood for jokes.
"Mike, listen, I don't care what method you use!"
His voice was urgent and powerful, carrying an unquestionable tone of command.
"Starting today, Lin must be given sufficient tactical status and room for error in the regular season!"
D'Antoni on the other end of the line was stunned.
"Mitch? What are you talking about? Of course I'll give him a major role, his performance last night..."
"No, you don't understand what I mean!" Kupchakinterrupted him. "I'm not talking about a major role; I'm talking about core status! Develop him like you're developing a franchise cornerstone!"
D'Antoni was even more bewildered.
He admitted Lin Feng was great, but to establish him as a franchise cornerstone after just one game? That was crazy.
"Mitch, calm down, this doesn't fit..."
"Go check your email right now!" Kupchak gave him no chance to argue and forwarded the video directly.
"Look at this, Mike! After you watch it, you'll understand that what we've got might be more than just a shooter!"
After saying that, he hung up the phone and leaned against his desk, panting heavily.
On the other side, D'Antoni hung up the phone in confusion and opened the email Kupchak had just sent.
When the dozen-second video finished playing...
D'Antoni held his phone and fell into a long silence.
As a top offensive tactical master, he could see what lay behind this movement even more clearly than Kupchak.
It wasn't simple imitation.
It was a profound understanding of the body, rhythm, and shooting space.
A shooter suddenly possessing top-tier on-ball offensive potential.
This meant that all of his playbooks might have to be redrawn because of this... Meanwhile.
In the physical therapy room of the Lakers' training facility.
Lin Feng was lying in a bathtub filled with herbs, undergoing a medicinal bath for recovery.
The warm medicinal water soaked his aching body, with currents of warmth seeping deep into his muscles, repairing the damage from this morning's hellish training.
With his eyes closed, Kobe's movements and every detail of his own turnaround fadeaways replayed over and over in his mind.
He had no idea that his unintentional shot had already caused such a massive stir within the team's management.
Nor did he know that his life trajectory had undergone another significant change because of that dozen-second video.
Chapter 25: The War Drums of the Regular Season
Waking up at 5:30 in the morning.
Appearing at the training facility promptly at 6:00 to face Kobe's hellish torture.
Kobe's training content changed every day, but the one constant was the intensity that pushed a person to their absolute limit.
From footwork adjustments to the application of core strength.
From the mechanics of post-up play to how to deceive opponents with shoulders and eyes during drives.
Lin Feng was like a dry sponge, frantically absorbing everything Kobe taught him.
His body, under the passive enhancement of the [charm basketball system], displayed incredible resilience and adaptability.
Every morning he was pushed to the point of collapse by Kobe, but after a short rest and a medicinal bath, he was full of vitality again by the time of the afternoon team practice.
This visible progress did not go unnoticed by the veterans on the team.
During team practice.
In a scrimmage, Lin Feng found himself defended by Nick Young.
He didn't just run to find a three-point opportunity like he used to.
Instead, he actively took the ball, lowered his center of gravity outside the three-point line, and faced Nick Young.
"Hey, kid, you want to go one-on-one with me?"
Nick Young grinned, assuming his signature flamboyant defensive stance.
Lin Feng didn't say a word.
He suddenly dropped a shoulder to the right, feinting a drive.
Nick Young immediately slid a step to the right.
At that exact moment, Lin Feng switched the ball to his left hand and executed a fluid spin move!
The transition was incredibly fast!
Nick Young hadn't expected such a move at all; his balance was thrown off, and he could only watch as Lin Feng spun past him.
Although the follow-up after the spin wasn't perfect yet and was slightly disrupted by Sacre coming over to help on defense,
Lin Feng still managed to raise the ball, fade back, and release the shot.
Clang!
The basketball rattled off the rim.
Even though it didn't go in, Steve Nash and Pau Gasolexchanged a glance from the sidelines, both seeing the surprise in each other's eyes.
"This kid's learning curve is a bit scary," Nash whispered.
Gasol nodded, his gaze falling on Kobe, who was drinking water in the distance.
"Kobe has found a true student."
He knew all too well how difficult Kobe's techniques were to learn; they required elite body coordination and feel for the ball.
Yet Lin Feng, a young man previously labeled only as a "shooter," had captured the essence of that move in just a few days.
In the locker room after practice.
Nick Young walked over to Lin Feng's locker and patted him on the shoulder.
"Hey, Lin, where'd you learn that spin move? Kobe teach you?"
Lin Feng nodded.
Nick Young looked at Lin Feng with a complex expression that eventually turned into a sigh.
He turned and whispered to Sacre nearby.
"This kid is a monster; he's getting stronger every day."
In his tone, the initial jealousy and defiance were gone, replaced by pure respect.
A freak who could hit twelve three-pointers and is now starting to learn fadeaway jumpers—how are the rest of us supposed to play?
Sacre nodded in deep agreement.
The atmosphere of the team was quietly changing.
Kobe was no longer that aloof, solitary hero who was out of step with the rest of the team.
He poured all his energy into teaching Lin Feng, and that obsessive desire to win re-infected the whole team through Lin Feng as a medium.
And Lin Feng's integration and rapid growth gave everyone a new sense of hope.
Because of these two, the Lakers became unprecedentedly united.
Time flew by.
The date of the regular season opener drew closer and closer.
The atmosphere in the training facility grew more tense by the day.
This afternoon, head coach D'Antoni blew his whistle, gathering everyone to the center of the court.
"Guys, take a break."
D'Antoni's expression was serious.
"The schedule is out."
"Our opening game is in three days."
Everyone fell silent, their eyes focused on the coach.
D'Antoni looked around at his players and said emphatically,
"The opponent is our neighbor, the Los AngelesClippers!"
"The L.A. Derby!"
As soon as those words were spoken, the air in the locker room became heated.
The Clippers, cross-town rivals who shared the same home court, yet seemed like enemies who could never reconcile.
Nothing would be more perfect than starting the new season with a victory in the derby.
Excitement and fighting spirit appeared on the players' faces.
However, at this critical juncture, some discordant voices drifted in from the outside world.
The team's PR manager rushed into the training facility and handed a phone to D'Antoni.
The screen was playing sports news from ESPN.
Outside the Clippers' training facility, a reporter was interviewing their starting small forward, Matt Barnes.
Barnes was a well-known enforcer in the league, famous for his tough style, fierce defense, and an endless supply of trash talk.
The reporter asked him: "Matt, the season opener against the Lakers is in three days. What do you think of their rookie Lin Feng's performance in the preseason?"
Barnes gave the camera a disdainful smile.
"That Chinese kid? The preseason luck king?"
His voice was full of provocation.
"I'll let him know what physical contact in the NBA regular season feels like."
"Trust me, I won't let him score a single point!"
Chapter 26: The Villain's Manifesto
Barnes' provocative face looked exceptionally distorted on the small phone screen.
His contemptuous smile and the phrase "King of Luck" were like a lit match thrown into the powder keg of the Lakers' training facility.
The relaxed atmosphere in the air vanished instantly.
Nick Young was the first to curse.
"What did this bastard say?"
"Who does he think he is? The league's disciplinary committee?"
"Lin, don't listen to him. This guy is just trash who plays with his mouth!"
Angry expressions appeared on the players' faces.
Fighting side-by-side in the preseason, especially Lin Feng's miraculous performance, had already earned him the initial recognition of his teammates.
At this moment, Matt Barnes' public provocation was not just directed at Lin Feng personally, but was a slight against the entire Lakers.
D'Antoni took the phone from the PR manager and turned off the video, his expression grim.
Sports media's sense of smell is sharper than a shark's scent for blood.
The matchup of "Tough Guy Barnes vs. rookie Shooter Lin Feng"—this headline was full of gimmicks and conflict.
It was foreseeable that over the next three days, this would be the absolute headline of the Los Angeles sports section.
D'Antoni scanned the indignant players, finally letting his gaze fall on the center of the incident, Lin Feng.
To his surprise, there was no anger or nervousness on Lin Feng's face.
He was calm, as if nothing had happened.
"Lin," D'Antoni spoke, his voice serious.
"This is part of the NBA, especially for a rookie."
"He wants to provoke you, make you lose your rhythm, and make you vent your spite on the court instead of playing ball."
"Don't fall for it, understand? Don't let his trash talk affect your mindset."
Lin Feng nodded, indicating he understood.
D'Antoni looked into those eyes, which were as calm as a still well, and felt a bit more at ease.
This young man's mental fortitude seemed even stronger than he had imagined.
The tactical meeting ended abruptly, and the players dispersed in small groups, still discussing Barnes' remarks.
"Hey, Kobe."
Lin Feng was about to pack his things when Kobe's voice came from behind him.
Kobe walked over; he didn't look at Lin Feng, but instead stared at the hoop not far away.
"He wants to fight you," Kobe's voice was low and cold.
"He wants to drag you into the mud and deal with you in the way he's best at."
Lin Feng listened quietly.
"On the court, anger is the most useless emotion. It only makes your movements distorted and your judgment flawed."
Kobe turned his head, his dark eyes gazing at Lin Feng.
"The more he provokes you, the calmer you must be."
"Your weapon isn't your fists; it's the basketball."
"Beat him with basketball and make him look like an absolute clown."
"Every time you score on him, it's more powerful than any trash talk."
Lin Feng met Kobe's gaze and nodded solemnly.
There wasn't a single ripple in his heart.
Anger?
For a stumbling block destined to be trampled underfoot, such an emotion was completely unnecessary.
In the eyes of someone who possessed the charm basketball system, Matt Barnes was merely the first roadblock on his path to the summit that needed to be cleared.
The night before the L.A. Derby.
Lin Feng didn't choose to go out and relax the night before the game like other young players.
He stayed in his luxury apartment.
On the massive LCD screen, a recording of one person's game was playing repeatedly.
Matt Barnes.
Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be defeated.
This was ancient wisdom etched into his bones.
On the screen, Barnes was like a ferocious hound, hounding every opponent.
His defense was extremely aggressive, with a constant stream of subtle movements like pushing, pulling, and grabbing.
He would constantly use his chest for physical contact, bump your thighs with his knees, and use all sorts of maneuvers on the edge of fouling to provoke you and disrupt your shooting rhythm.
Lin Feng watched frame by frame.
He saw how Barnes used a concealed tug to make Ray Allen's movement a half-beat slow.
He also saw how he used fierce tight defense to make even receiving the ball difficult for Kevin Durant.
"He is indeed a troublesome fellow."
Lin Feng muttered to himself.
But he wasn't just looking at Barnes' strengths.
He switched the video to another angle—an aerial bird's-eye view of the court.
Soon, he found the problem.
Barnes' defense had plenty of aggression but lacked flexibility.
To maintain high-intensity physical contact, he kept his center of gravity very high.
This caused his turning speed and lateral movement to always be a beat slow when defending a ball-handler's sudden change of direction.
Especially when he lunged out to defend a three-pointer; if the opponent used a shot fake followed by a drive, he could hardly keep up.
The corners of Lin Feng's mouth slowly curled up.
A clear plan gradually formed in his mind.
Everyone thought he was just a shooter, and Barnessurely thought so too.
Tomorrow, he would definitely stick to him like a mad dog, not giving Lin Feng any space for an easy shot.
This was exactly what he wanted.
He would use his most powerful weapon—that unstoppable three-point threat—as bait.
He would make Barnes chase him all over the court, draining his energy through repeated off-ball screens.
Then, when Barnes was as jittery as a bird startled by a bowstring, focusing all his attention on defending the three... that would be the time to reveal the new weapon Kobe had taught him.
Using the threat of his shot to attack the weaknesses in his defense.
Ding-dong.
Just then, the phone lying aside rang with a video call notification.
The name flashing on the screen was—Yuna Kim.
Lin Feng answered the video call.
On the other end of the screen, Yinna was wearing cute pink loungewear, her face bare of makeup and her long hair draped casually over her shoulders.
Without her goddess aura from the stage, she looked like a girl next door, pure and soft.
Only now, her angelic face was filled with worry.
"Lin Feng..."
Her voice carried a hint of timidity.
"I saw the news... that guy named Bart Barnes, he looks so scary."
"He said... he won't let you score a single point."
"Are... are you okay?"
This top idol with hundreds of millions of fans worldwide now seemed like a little girl worried about her boyfriend being bullied.
Seeing her so nervous, Lin Feng couldn't help but smile.
He pointed the phone camera at the large screen behind him.
"Look, I'm studying him right now."
Seeing Barnes' ferocious face on the screen, Yinnawrinkled her little nose again.
Lin Feng smiled and comforted her.
"Don't worry, he only looks scary."
"On the court, the dogs that bark the loudest usually have the least bite."
His relaxed tone and confident demeanor seemed to have a special magic, slowly calming Yinna's nervous heart.
"Really?"
"Of course," Lin Feng's tone carried unquestionable confidence. "You just need to be ready to watch how I teach him a lesson tomorrow."
"Mm!" Yinna nodded vigorously, the worry in her eyes turning into anticipation and admiration.
"Then you... you have to do your best!"
"I will."
Chapter 27: A Tough Guy's "Greeting"
The war drums of the Los Angeles Derby officially began to beat at the Staples Center.
This temple of basketball was split into two distinct worlds tonight.
One half was the Lakers' noble Purple and Gold dynasty, and the other was the Clippers' rising Red and Blue power.
The arena was packed, and the smell of gunpowder in the air was thick enough to be ignited.
Deafening music and fans' shouts intertwined, converging into a vast ocean of noise.
The player introduction ceremony began.
The arena DJ, with his highly provocative voice, introduced the home team players one by one.
"The Bull from Spain! Pau—Gasol!"
Cheers erupted.
"Two-time MVP winner! The Son of the Wind! Steve—Nash!"
The cheers became even more enthusiastic.
"The black mamba! The eternal king of the Lakers! Kobe—Bryant!"
Kobe, wearing a suit and sitting on the sidelines, simply waved to the fans, and the entire arena fell into a frenzy.
Finally, the DJ's voice drew out long.
"And our new surprise from the East! The artist on the three-point line! Lin Feng!"
The moment the name "Lin Feng" was shouted, the half of the arena belonging to Lakers fans erupted in a mountain-shaking cheer.
Countless fans stood up, holding high hastily made Chinese signs and Lin Feng's No. 1 jersey.
Meanwhile, the other half of the arena, the Clippers' fan zone, unceremoniously sent up a massive wave of boos.
The two extreme sounds collided above the arena, forming a strange vortex of sound waves.
Lin Feng, wearing the Purple and Gold battle robe, calmly walked out of the player tunnel.
The spotlight hit him, and that divine Eastern face didn't waver in the slightest amidst the boos.
He stepped onto the court, feeling the solid touch of the floor beneath his feet.
Just then, an aggressive figure walked straight toward him.
Matt Barnes.
He had a shaved head and a fierce look in his eyes, his entire muscular frame exuding a hostile aura of "keep away."
He didn't stop, and as he passed Lin Feng, he deliberately dropped his shoulder and slammed it hard into Lin Feng's shoulder.
A powerful force transferred over.
"rookie."
Barnes's voice was very low, squeezed out through his teeth with heavy malice.
"Welcome to the real NBA."
Lin Feng's footsteps only paused for a moment.
He didn't look back, didn't say a word, and didn't even move an eyebrow.
He simply moved his bumped shoulder as if no one else was there, as if the collision just now was nothing more than a passing breeze.
His gaze moved past the shouting thug in front of him and looked calmly toward the opponent's half of the court.
There, a figure wearing a No. 3 jersey was directing his teammates in their warm-up.
Chris Paul, the absolute brain of the Clippers and the league's premier point guard.
That was the key to this game.
Barnes watched Lin Feng's back as he completely ignored him, the murderous light in his eyes growing even stronger.
The whistle sounded to start the game.
The Lakers won the tip-off and gained the first possession.
Nash held the ball, slowly crossing half-court.
Lin Feng didn't actively call for the ball.
He strictly followed Kobe's teachings and the plan he had made last night, beginning to move actively without the ball.
His feet moved quickly on the court, attempting to use continuous cutting and back-running to wear down Barnes's stamina.
However, as soon as he started moving, a hard body pressed up against him.
Matt Barnes was like a piece of sticky plaster that couldn't be shaken off, or more accurately, like an enraged mad dog.
He stayed right beside Lin Feng, never leaving his side.
When Lin Feng used a screen from Gasol to run to the perimeter, Barnes used his chest to push against Lin Feng's back and forced his way through.
When Lin Feng tried to back-cut into the paint, Barnes's arm immediately wrapped around him, covertly pulling and tugging at his jersey.
Shoving.
Boxing out.
Trash talking.
All sorts of small movements on the edge of a foul were used incessantly.
Lin Feng could even feel the other man's knee constantly and very skillfully bumping against the muscles on the back of his thigh.
With every explosive run, that spot would feel a wave of soreness and numbness.
"Run, kid! Aren't you fast?"
"Where's your Chinese Kung Fu?"
Barnes's voice rang constantly in his ear, full of provocation.
Lin Feng's heart remained as calm as water.
The footage he had watched last night flashed through his mind.
All of this was expected.
Nash observed the situation from the perimeter; he saw Lin Feng being frantically hounded by his opponent.
He wanted to pass the ball over.
He made a passing feint, trying to create a sliver of space for Lin Feng.
But Barnes's defense was airtight, his arms like iron pincers held in front of Lin Feng, cutting off all possible passing lanes.
Lin Feng was completely smothered, unable to even find space to receive the ball.
Only a few seconds remained on the shot clock.
Nash had no choice but to lob the ball to Gasol in the post.
Gasol played back-to-the-basket against Blake Griffin.
This was a mismatch.
But Barnes's harassment had completely disrupted the rhythm of the Lakers' first offensive possession.
Gasol's hurried turnaround hook shot missed under Griffin's interference.
"Clang!"
The basketball bounced off the rim.
The rebound was easily snatched by the Clippers' center, DeAndre Jordan.
After landing, DeAndre Jordan immediately handed the ball to Chris Paul.
The Clippers' offense instantly ignited!
Paul caught the ball and, without even looking ahead, threw a precise one-handed long pass. The ball was like a guided missile, flying directly across the entire court.
On the other side, Griffin, who had just interfered with Gasol's shot, was already charging toward the Lakers' basket like a beast.
He leaped high and caught Paul's pass in mid-air.
"Boom!"
A thunderous alley-oop dunk!
The rim groaned in pain.
2-0.
The Clippers took the lead.
The Red and Blue sections of the Staples Center instantly erupted in massive cheers.
At the commentary desk, TNT commentator Kenny Smithspoke up.
"As we expected, Matt Barnes has unleashed a playoff-level strangulation on Lin Feng from the first second of the game."
"He's not giving Lin Feng any room to breathe at all."
His partner Charles Barkley nodded in agreement.
"This is NBA-level physical confrontation; it's a completely different concept from the preseason."
"Clearly, Lin Feng has encountered the first real trouble of his career, a pure defensive villain."
On the court, the Clippers retreated on defense.
Barnes ran past Lin Feng smugly, a disdainful smile hanging on his lips.
"See that, rookie?"
"With me here, don't even think about catching a comfortable pass."
The Lakers took the ball out and continued their offense.
Lin Feng was still moving to get open.
His expression didn't change, but his running routes became more elusive.
He constantly used the bodies of Nash, Gasol, and even Nick Young as screens, trying to shake off Barnes.
But Barnes's defensive experience was too rich.
He was like a hound with a keen sense of smell, always able to anticipate Lin Feng's route and box him out ahead of time.
And on the off-ball end, his movements were getting increasingly aggressive.
The Clippers' second offensive possession.
Paul was organizing on the perimeter, running a pick-and-roll with Griffin.
Everyone's attention was focused on the ball handler.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the court, at the weak-side 45-degree angle.
Lin Feng and Barnes were still entangled.
The moment Paul broke through, Barnes used a teammate's body as a screen to make an extremely covert move.
He bent his right elbow at an angle and, in the referee's blind spot, slammed it backward with force.
The target was precisely Lin Feng's right ribs.
"Thud!"
A dull sound rang out.
A sharp pain radiated from his ribs.
Lin Feng let out a muffled groan, his body uncontrollably staggering as his breathing hitched.