Before he even got a chance to see Hill, Gabriel's phone rang.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and said with a sigh, "It's Bebi."
Rivers smiled, told Gabriel to answer the phone, and went to find Hill himself.
Ron Bebei was a lawyer and also a good friend of Hill's.
Hill didn't have an agent; his friend Bebei had helped him secure his contracts with both the Pistons and the Magic.
Rivers had heard, however, that Bebi was planning to change careers and become an agent.
'He must have heard about Hill's injury and is calling to ask about it.'
In the lounge, Rivers found Hill and the others.
"Coach."
Hill greeted him. He was sitting in a wheelchair, looking dejected.
He had finally made the difficult decision to leave the Pistons, ready to make his mark with the Magic. But now, after getting injured in just the second regular season game, Hill felt nothing but bitter frustration.
Rivers patted Hill's shoulder and then asked Houston, "Where's Joe?"
"He went to talk with the attending physician."
Houston wasn't in a good mood either. A moment ago, while discussing the injury with Billings, Billings had remarked—whether carelessly or intentionally—asking if the ankle taping hadn't been done well enough.
Before the game today, Houston had wrapped Hill's ankle with white athletic tape.
The purpose was to increase the stability of Hill's left ankle and allow for a more powerful push-off.
This was a standard procedure, and Houston was usually the one who handled it.
So for Billings to bring it up now, it couldn't help but sound like he was trying to shift the blame.
Just as Houston was lost in thought, Billings walked in with the attending physician, Dr. Montrose.
Rivers hurried forward and asked about the situation.
Dr. Montrose had a kind and friendly expression.
For a doctor like him at a public hospital, maintaining good relationships with patients and having a low-stress job were the norm. He'd happily chat for a while even with a patient who just had a cold, let alone a VIP client like Hill.
"We're very lucky."
Montrose looked toward Hill, a broad smile on his face. "The MRI showed no significant structural damage," he said. "It's just a simple sprain. I'd say this is the best possible news."
Rivers let out a huge sigh of relief at those words.
His biggest fear was a torn ligament or a fracture—something like that would almost certainly mean the end of Hill's season.
Sitting in his wheelchair, Hill also let out a sigh of relief. The light returned to his eyes as he asked eagerly, "So how long will I be out?"
No structural damage meant it was just a common sprain, an injury that was practically routine for a professional athlete.
Dr. Montrose glanced at Billings, gesturing for him to take over.
Billings nodded. "Dr. Montrose and I discussed it. Our preliminary estimate is that two weeks of rest should be enough. After that, we'll re-evaluate his progress and decide if we need to extend the recovery time."
Rivers's eyes lit up. "Two weeks, Joe? Are you sure?"
Hill's injury would certainly affect the team's performance, but if he was only out for two weeks, the impact wouldn't be too great.
Billings nodded with a smile, feeling greatly relieved himself.
Player injuries are always accidental, but if a team's star player goes down, the head team physician can't easily escape responsibility.
As it was, this was the best possible outcome.
It was getting late, so Dr. Montrose prescribed some painkillers, gave instructions for cold compresses and rest, and sent Hill off with a cheerful smile.
Although he had only just signed with the Magic, Hill wasn't hurting for cash. Planning for a long-term career with the team, he had already purchased a house in Orlando.
However, Hill's wife and his newborn daughter were still in Dallas and hadn't yet joined him in Orlando.
After a brief discussion, Billings decided to have Houston stay behind to look after Hill for the night and manage his ankle injury.
They would hire a professional caregiver the next day.
It wasn't until then that Hill finally had a moment to contact his family.
Upon hearing it was just an ankle sprain, his father, Calvin Hill—a former National Football League star and the current vice president of the MBL—sounded much more relaxed. "Grant, injuries are a part of professional sports. You have to accept it and keep moving forward."
"I know."
Hill sighed. In this league, he had seen too many stars whose careers were cut short by injuries. He just hoped he wouldn't become one of them.
Next came the inevitable nagging from his mother, who famously had been college roommates with a former First Lady.
And of course, he couldn't forget his wife, the renowned singer Tamia.
"Don't worry, it's just a sprained ankle."
Hill hung up the phone, his heart heavy.
Even though the tests were done, he still felt uneasy.
His ankles were just too important to his career.
Besides, his past experience of being misled by the Pistons' medical staff made him hesitant to blindly trust the diagnosis.
'Should I find a private doctor for a second opinion?'
Then, for some reason, a certain person popped into his head.
「Far away in Miami.」
Chen Yu was in the middle of weighing his options with various teams when his phone rang with an unknown number.
"Hello, Dr. Chen. This is Grant Hill."
Chen Yu was taken aback by the gentle voice on the other end. He glanced at the caller ID, surprised that Hill would be calling him so soon.
"What? You sprained your ankle? Your left one?"
Chen Yu frowned.
'What rotten luck. It's only been three days since that game against the Heat. I told him to get some proper rest, and he goes and sprains his ankle just like that?'
"So, is it serious?"
Hill replied, "I had an MRI last night, and they didn't find any structural damage. The doctor said it's just a common sprain and that I need to rest for two weeks."
Hearing this, Chen Yu couldn't help but wonder.
'Wait a minute. If you've already been examined, why not just follow the doctor's orders and rest? Why are you calling me?'
Hill paused for a moment before continuing, "But I still have some reservations about the diagnosis. Dr. Chen, I'd like to invite you to Orlando to examine me yourself. Don't worry, I'll cover all the costs."
'Chen Yu hadn't expected this to be the reason for Hill's call.'
'The key question is, if he doesn't trust the doctor's diagnosis, why is he looking for me? Am I not a doctor too?'
'Or does he have some special trust in me?'
'Where did that trust come from?'
'They had only met once and spoken for a few minutes.'
After a moment of thought, Chen Yu replied, "Alright. Send me your address, and I'll get there as soon as possible."
What Chen Yu needed most right now were credentials.
'And what could be a better credential than successfully treating a top NBA star?'
Chen Yu didn't bring up the fee. The man wasn't short on cash, so he'd just charge the standard rate.
Besides, Chen Yu was genuinely touched by Hill's trust in him, a near-stranger.
Miami is just over 180 miles from Orlando, with plenty of flights between them. Hill called Chen Yu in the morning, and by that same afternoon, Chen Yu had arrived at his house.
Houston answered the door. He was visibly taken aback for a moment when he saw Chen Yu standing there with a bag. Hill hadn't mentioned anyone was coming, so he asked who Chen Yu was looking for.
"My name is Chen Yu. I'm a doctor. Mr. Hill asked me to come over."
Chen Yu introduced himself while handing over a business card.
Houston paused, clearly surprised to hear Chen Yu say he was a doctor. But when he took the business card and read "Orthopedic Specialist," his expression shifted subtly.
'Hill had quietly brought in an orthopedic specialist... Did that mean he didn't trust the team's medical staff?'