Chapter 53: Seisu Versus Ryonan (Part Two)

Lingnan City Basketball Gymnasium.

Only completed in the past two years, it has since served as the home court for the local CBA team. Never in his wildest dreams had the Gorilla imagined he would one day enter this arena as a coach leading his team, nor had Zhu Bo and the others ever pictured themselves stepping onto this court as players.

Standing before this venue—more than twice the size of the QS County gymnasium—a subtle tension stirred within everyone, though none let it show. At last, it was Lin Nan who spoke first, his tone resolute: “Today, I have no intention of leaving here in defeat.”

At his words, a spark of fighting spirit flared in each person’s eyes. Brimming with confidence, they strode into the arena together.

Just inside, a ticket checkpoint awaited. Given the high anticipation surrounding today’s match, the organizers had decided to charge for admission. Though ticket prices were lower than those at the Yangcheng High games, the matchup featured two powerhouses: Qingshui No. 1 High, eighth on the national rankings, and Lingnan High, the city’s pride.

For locals, this was a game worth every penny.

The ticket attendant, a young man, glanced at the coaching pass the Gorilla produced, then at the dozen or so players trailing behind him. After a cursory inspection, he let them through, but not without scrutinizing each member of the team—evidently searching for Lin Nan, the eighth-ranked standout.

His eyes first landed on the most conspicuous figure, the imposing No. 95, but a glance at his build quickly dismissed that thought. After a few moments, he still couldn’t pick out Lin Nan. He turned his attention back to his duties, eager to finish up and catch the game himself—a basketball fan, clearly.

Lin Nan and his teammates proceeded deeper into the venue. After a short walk, they reached a fork and a staff member standing by. The left path led to the players’ tunnel, the right to the spectators’. The Gorilla displayed his credential again; with a casual glance, the staff member gestured them leftward.

They continued through a glass door into a long corridor, above which hung a sign: “Team Locker Rooms.”

At once, a wave of warm air from the heating system washed over them. The autumn chill made such comfort welcome. But thoughts of rest were fleeting; faces that had been composed now revealed barely contained excitement—finally, they’d arrived.

Sensing their inner thoughts, the Gorilla remarked coolly, “This is how it goes. If you ever reach bigger arenas, the process will only get more complicated. The game hasn’t even started—can’t you keep your composure?”

In truth, this was the largest venue the Gorilla himself had ever coached in. It was his first time, too, but he kept up the facade of seasoned calm for his players’ sake.

They walked onward, and the first door on the left was a locker room. But instead of relief, a strange look crossed their faces—on the door was a temporary sign: “Lingnan High.” Voices could be faintly heard from within.

Wang Jinsong’s eyes darted toward the door, ready to press his ear against it, when the Gorilla’s firm command stopped him: “Let’s go. Hurry to our locker room, get changed, and get warmed up.”

His no-nonsense tone snapped them out of it, and they hurried along. The Gorilla was cautious—there might be cameras nearby, and loitering at the opponent’s door would look suspicious, perhaps even affect the game.

The players themselves probably hadn’t thought so far ahead.

Quickening their pace, they reached the other end of the hallway, finally spotting a sign on a door: “Qingshui No. 1 High.”

Opening the door, the heat inside was even more evident. As they were about to sit and rest, the Gorilla glanced at his watch and barked, “Change. Now. There are only fifteen minutes until the game starts—barely enough time to warm up!”

Even before the match began, Lingnan High already had the advantage—their school was just across town, allowing them to prepare early. In contrast, Qingshui No. 1 had endured a two-hour bus ride and hadn’t had a moment’s rest.

Fourteen young men filled the locker room. Zhu Bo was the first to strip down, pulling on the blue No. 23 jersey that hung inside. The other seniors followed suit, quickly finding their assigned numbers. Lin Nan and Wang Jinsong were just as matter-of-fact, undressing without hesitation.

No. 95 and a few of the sophomores, by contrast, fidgeted awkwardly, taking several minutes to change.

Lin Nan ran his hand over the soft, comfortable jersey—official gear made all the difference, far superior to the makeshift uniforms they’d worn before. Glancing at the No. 2 on his chest, he realized this number would accompany him throughout the league.

He’d wanted No. 3, but that belonged to Li Qing, a senior and fellow idol on the team. Out of respect for seniority, Lin Nan had chosen No. 2. He remembered that last year’s NBA first overall pick, Irving, also wore No. 2 and played point guard.

Still, in Lin Nan’s eyes, no one compared to his idol, Iverson.

“If I’ve chosen No. 2, then I’ll make this number shine in the league,” he vowed silently.

Once everyone had changed, they followed the Gorilla through the tunnel onto the court.

The moment they stepped under the arena lights, they saw that the stands were packed. The buzz of the crowd made the atmosphere electric. Even the usually outgoing Wang Jinsong felt a bit out of place, while No. 95, with his towering height, was even more self-conscious under the scrutiny of thousands.

The Gorilla was about to say something when the PA system crackled to life:

“Let us welcome Qingshui No. 1 High to the court. In blue, wearing No. 2, is Lin Nan, currently ranked eighth on the overall scoring leaderboard.”

Instantly, Lin Nan felt thousands of eyes turn his way—including the Lingnan High players on the opposite side. Never before had he been the focus of such a crowd; his heart pounded in his chest. He stood straight, though unsure where to look.

Suddenly, he spotted a bin full of basketballs nearby. Striding over, he grabbed a ball and tossed others to his teammates. The players finally loosened up, stretching and warming up on court, the stiffness melting from their bodies.

The Gorilla took a seat at the sideline.

The announcer continued, “It’s reported that Lin Nan is only a freshman this year, yet he’s already achieved such outstanding results in basketball. Aren’t we all eager to see his performance today?”

The murmurs in the stands swelled anew.

“He’s only a freshman? My god, he’s just started high school.”

“As far as I know, most of the top ten on the scoring list are seniors. Wang Shiying is a sophomore, and that’s surprising enough—now there’s a freshman in the top ten?”

No wonder they were surprised. Everyone in QS County knew Lin Nan was a freshman, but the online rankings didn’t indicate grade level. Most online chatter focused on Wang Shiying, the top scorer; much less was known about the others. But after today, that might change.

Meanwhile, the Gorilla, sitting courtside, couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling. He thought he detected a Lingnan City accent in the announcer’s Mandarin. With those comments about Lin Nan, he was almost certain the announcer was biased toward Lingnan High.

“Let’s hope the referees call it fair,” the Gorilla muttered to himself.

The Qingshui No. 1 players had no such concerns. In their youthful naiveté, they believed entirely in the fairness of the competition—that victory would favor only the stronger side. Truly fair contests, after all, might only exist in the college entrance exam.

But even that...

The ten-minute warm-up ended quickly. Some Qingshui players continued stretching by the bench, while Lingnan’s team, warmed up long ago, was eager to begin.

The starting lineups were confirmed.

Qingshui No. 1: Zhu Bo, Lin Nan, No. 95, Screw, and Watermelon.

Lingnan High: Yao Kejin, Lü Xiang, Zhang Zicheng, Luo Zhan, and Yang Fan.

Seeing Lin Nan start in the first quarter, the crowd was abuzz with excitement—everyone wanted to witness the skills and style of the eighth-ranked player.

The Gorilla had planned for Lin Nan to start, knowing his incredible stamina could easily carry him through all four quarters. Yet just as he made his decision, a staff member had come over to suggest Lin Nan start the first quarter. The coincidence left the Gorilla at a loss for words.

Players on both sides sized each other up. Lingnan’s attention was fixed on No. 95 and Lin Nan, while every Qingshui player felt the pressure—the shortest opponent was as tall as their second-tallest, Screw, and two were nearly as tall as No. 95 himself.

Screw tugged at his jersey, noting that Lingnan’s biggest men were clearly in a different weight class from No. 95, whose recent gains were only just beginning to show. He knew he’d have to help No. 95 fight for rebounds.

Despite the pressure, he figured Lin Nan, as the team’s core, must feel it even more.

But in truth, Lin Nan felt none. He believed performance on court was only the result of daily training, and if they lost, they’d simply have to work harder—after all, the second round was a points-based tournament, and there would be other chances.

Still, while Lin Nan understood all this in theory—

He truly did not want to lose, not even once!