The creaking gym door echoed as Hao and Vinnie stepped inside.
The air inside was thick with sweat, sneakers squeaking, and the dull buzz of a scoreboard showing 54:40 less than five minutes left on the clock.
Vinnie took one glance and raised an eyebrow.
"So, Hao… which team are we supposed to be watching? I mean, it's 54 to 40. Doesn't exactly scream future star."
Hao didn't even flinch. "Green jerseys. Focus on the point guard shorter guy, maybe around 180 cm? Should be easier to spot. Let's head up to the bleachers. Better angle."
As they climbed the steps, the game continued below. The ball was in the hands of a player wearing green jersey number 23 the one guiding the offense. He crossed half court, steady and unhurried.
Vinnie adjusted his sunglasses, even indoors. "Lemme guess… Number 23 is our guy?"
Hao nodded. "Yeah, the one whose hair keeps falling over his eyes like he's in some anime."
On the court, the shot clock ticked down from 19. Number 23 suddenly accelerated, slicing toward the hoop like he was about to challenge the rim.
Two defenders instantly reacted closing in.
But just when it looked like he'd attack the paint, he stopped, pivoted hard, and sprinted backwards, dragging both defenders with him. As he approached the three point line, he snapped into a step back, rising smoothly into a shot.
Both defenders leapt, their hands stretching high, nearly blocking his release.
But the ball was already gone fired at the peak of his jump like it belonged to the sky.
It arced cleanly… then clanged off the rim.
The ball bounced hard straight into the chaos beneath the hoop.
Yet before anyone else could react, a player in a green jersey number 30 sealed off his man with a clean box out, snagged the rebound, and laid it up effortlessly.
Two points.
The bench clapped half heartedly. A few parents cheered.
But from up in the stands, Vinnie was
still watching 23, not the scoreboard.
"So he is their point guard, huh?" he muttered, almost amused.
Hao exhaled through his nose, not even trying to hide his disappointment.
"Yeah… that's the guy."
Vinnie took another sip of his coffee, now lukewarm, and tilted his head with just enough sarcasm to sting.
"Fantastic. Nothing like a highlight reel that starts with a missed shot."
Hao didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Because deep down they both knew...
If this kid wanted a future in WBA, he'd better show more than just fancy footwork.
Time was running out.
And Vinnie's patience, like his coffee, was starting to cool.
Now it was the opponent's ball.
Time for Number 23 to show what he could do on the other end of the floor.
The crowd quieted just slightly as the opposing point guard crossed half court right into the sights of Number 23.
He matched him step for step, like a shadow stitched to his sneakers.
Every pivot, every hesitation read like a book.
And under that pressure, the opponent cracked.
A rushed pass telegraphed, weak.
Number 30 pounced, stealing the ball mid air like a lion swatting its prey.
Suddenly, a green blur flew down the court fast break initiated.
Number 30 sprinted up the left side.
Number 23, even faster, darted up the middle like he had rockets in his sneakers.
The pass came clean and quick Number 30 dished it off, and now the ball was in Number 23's hands again.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't drive in.
He didn't even fake.
He stopped on a dime at the three point line, rose into the air with that same clean form and at the highest point of his jump, released the shot.
The arc was flawless.
No wasted motion. No panic.
Just calm confidence.
Before the ball even reached the rim, Number 23 turned his head toward Number 30 and signaled with two fingers:
"Get back on D."
And just as he finished the gesture
Swish.
The sound rang out like a soft bell.
Perfect. Clean. Untouchable.
Vinnie didn't flinch. He just took another sip of coffee, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses.
Hao, on the other hand, grinned like a proud big brother. "Let's gooo... Fast break three? That's ice cold."
He laughed to himself.
"Only someone with a massive ego would even think about pulling that."
Vinnie tilted his head slightly, gaze still fixed on the court.
"Mm. Or someone stupid enough to believe it'll go in every time."
He said it flatly but his eyes lingered on Number 23 just a second longer.
Maybe, just maybe…
The kid wasn't stupid.
Just fearless.
Score: 54:45.
The clock showed just under two minutes remaining.
Once again, the opposing team took possession.
But something was different now.
The spark that had lit up the court just minutes ago the aggression, the pressure, the energy was gone.
Number 23 was still guarding his man, still moving his feet… but slower.
Looser.
As if his tank had suddenly hit empty.
Up in the bleachers, Vinnie narrowed his eyes, watching closely.
"Hao," he said flatly, not even turning his head, "some parts of his game… actually impressed me."
He paused for a sip of his coffee, now completely cold.
"But running out of gas after just fifteen minutes? That's a major flaw. And it's not even the biggest one."
Hao said nothing.
He saw it too.
Below, the opponents slowed the pace, milking the shot clock on every possession.
The green team scrambled, but the rhythm they had found earlier had vanished.
Momentum was gone.
No more fast breaks.
No more confident signals.
No more swagger.
Just tired legs… and a game slipping out of reach.
The final buzzer rang.
59:47.
The sound echoed through the gym like a dull drumbeat.
The players in green stood frozen for a moment, hands on knees, sweat dripping from their brows.
And somewhere among them Number 23 exhaled.
This wasn't just a loss.
It was a missed moment.
Because he wasn't just any player.
He was the one Hao had vouched for.
The one Vinnie had flown out to see.
The one who was supposed to prove something.
But in the end…
He was the player Hao and Vinnie came to scout… and he lost maybe the most important game of his life.