Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
The score on the court was 13:2, and the atmosphere was so intense that it felt as if the walls of the arena were about to catch fire. The Heavenly Kings Team resembled warriors pushed back by a fierce wind, struggling to make progress. Yet at that moment, all eyes in the audience were fixed on the bench of the Heavenly Kings Team.
There, a silent figure slowly stood up.
Bradley Beal.
He made no unnecessary movements, simply unzipping his warm-up jacket to reveal arms taut and chiseled like they had been carved from stone. His eyes scanned the court with an indifferent gaze—no excitement, no anxiety, only an unusually calm and deadly intent.
Jay Chou watched him and nodded. "You know what you need to do."
Beal nodded slightly and walked onto the court.
The air in the arena shifted dramatically.
Poole noticed his entrance and smirked. "Oh, finally bringing out your cool assassin, huh?"
Beal ignored him and headed straight for the free-throw line.
The next offensive play began with KD passing the ball to Beal. Defending him was Tatum—tall and agile—but Beal showed no hesitation.
After dribbling three times, he made a quick stop and lateral move, creating space with a reverse pull-up jumper—swish.
13:4.
The first shot didn’t elicit any gasps from the crowd, but the second wave of offense quickly followed.
The Trick Team attempted to continue their three-point barrage, with Curry taking the shot—only to miss badly. The rebound was snatched by Jokic, who quickly passed it to Beal.
Beal dribbled forward without waiting for any screens. Facing Wembanyama, he opted for a physical drive, cutting in hard before jumping—
Wembanyama's block was like a wall, but Beal adjusted his shooting angle mid-air, pulling up and drawing a foul!
The referee blew the whistle.
The crowd erupted in excitement.
Beal stepped up to the free-throw line, his expression unreadable. He took his first shot—smoothly sinking it.
13:5.
For his second shot, he paused for a moment, glancing over at the Trick Team's bench where Poole made a gesture that said, "You won't make this one."
Beal didn't even smile as he took the shot.
Swish.
13:6.
Four points in two possessions, and the atmosphere began to shift.
Mother Zhang sat in the center of the VIP Seat, holding a glass of red wine, her brow slightly furrowed.
"No, we can't let him control the pace."
She lowered her head and activated her communication earpiece, whispering a command to Zhang Jianing at the sidelines:
"Call for a timeout now. Don't let him play any further. I want him to cool down."
Zhang Jianing stood up, his face pale, raising his hand to signal the referee—
"Trick Team, timeout!"
The audience was taken aback.
"Huh? A timeout after just two missed shots? That's not typical for Trick Team."
"Could it be... they're afraid of Bill?"
The timeout came swiftly and unexpectedly, disrupting the entire rhythm of the game.
Beal had just stepped off the free-throw line and was preparing to turn and defend against the next shot when the whistle blew.
He raised an eyebrow and looked up at Mother Zhang in the VIP Seat; that glance felt like a knife piercing through glass straight into his heart.
Mother Zhang gritted her teeth, her fingers gripping the wine glass trembling slightly.
"This person... no, we can't give him any space, we can't let him open up."
On the sidelines of the Trick Team's seating area, Zhang Jianing picked up the tactical board, frantically drawing a bunch of lines while explaining:
"Wait a second, Poole, you can't let him run in a straight line. You need to apply psychological pressure on him. You can counter him with compliments, like saying, 'You jump so high,' to make him lose his sense of self."
Poole replied, "Why should I compliment him?"
Zhang Jianing responded, "Because Chapter Six of Mind Course states that excessive praise can destroy a person's self-identity!"
LeBron shook his head. "Ignore her; we just need to change our defensive formation."
Tatum said in a low voice, "Beal is a real killer; we need to cage him in."
The tactical board was filled with red circles, each marked with a "B."
The game was about to resume.
Beal sat at the front of the bench, one hand resting on a towel, smiling with his head down.
Jay Chou walked over and leaned close to his ear:
"They're afraid of you."
Beal didn't turn around; he simply whispered:
"Then they should be even more afraid—I'm just getting warmed up."
The next play would mark the beginning of a turning point in the game.
After the timeout, the match resumed. The air was still moving, but everyone could feel the tension rising.
When Beal returned to the court, the entire Trick Team's formation had changed. Tatum was tightly positioned on the right side, while LeBron stood like a shadow, slightly behind and to the side of Beal. This was not an ordinary double team; it was a high wall built by two of the smartest defenders, using their experience and strength.
The Heavenly Kings Team had possession of the ball.
Harden brought the ball past half court and, with a glance, passed it to Beal.
Beal caught the ball and immediately tried to make a move. He first attempted to drive right, but Tatum followed him closely. Beal came to a sudden stop, pivoted left, intending to pull back toward the center—
But LeBron had already shifted over, standing firm like a brick wall at the edge of the Restricted Area.
Beal halted, not forcing a shot.
Instead, he passed the ball to Giannis Antetokounmpo, who cut in but was also met with a block from Wembanyama.
The ball bounced out of bounds, and the crowd began to stir with excitement.
"Beal is locked down! The Trick Team has seen through him!"
In the next offensive play, Beal received the ball again. This time, he chose not to drive but instead took a quick mid-range shot.
Bang. He missed.
After the ball bounced off, LeBron aggressively grabbed the rebound, turned, and pushed the ball up the court—one step, two steps, three steps—charging into the frontcourt and directly colliding with KD—
Pull-up layup, and it's good!
15:6!
The Trick Team's momentum surged once more.
Poole on the bench began to wildly gesture, mimicking Beal's missed shot and adding sound effects for him: "Beep—bang! That shot was like a frying pan! Hahaha!"
Bill didn't look at Poole; his gaze remained calm, but his movements started to show hesitation.
In the next two offensive plays, he either faced interference or was completely restricted by Tatum, resulting in consecutive turnovers.
On the Heavenly Kings Team's bench, Jay Chou began to frown and turned to Tong Ning Shi.
"He can barely hold on."
Tong Ning Shi lightly tapped his knee with his fingers. "It's not that he can't do it; it's that he's too isolated."
KD approached Jay Chou and whispered, "I can go in. I’ll help take on the defensive pressure. Let me switch roles with Beal; he can take the secondary ball-handling position, and I’ll take charge."
Jay Chou nodded, but his gaze remained fixed on Beal on the court.
"He’s not a god; he’s human."
"But the value of a person isn’t about how long you can endure; it’s knowing when to let others help you carry the load."
When the next dead ball substitution occurred, KD re-entered the game, while Beal moved to the wing.
The pace of the game shifted immediately.
The Heavenly Kings Team switched to a dual ball-handler offense, with KD leading the pick-and-roll to draw defenders, while Beal made a stealthy cut from the weak side—subtle yet lethal.
On the first play, KD drew the defense, and Beal received the pass before slicing through the lane. Tatum couldn’t react in time, allowing Beal an easy layup!
15-8!
On the second play, Harden set a fake screen with Jokic, drawing Wembanyama out of the Restricted Area. Beal seized the opportunity to cut in and attract attention before passing back to KD, who took a shot from beyond the arc—
It went in!
15-11!
The audience in the stands began to stir as the Heavenly Kings Team regained their rhythm.
Mother Zhang slammed her red wine down in the VIP room and turned to shout, "Didn't I tell you to lock him down? How is it that after KD came on, he’s back in the game!"
Zhang Jianing started sketching a new strategy on the tactical board. "Mom, don’t panic. I have a new psychological disruption plan. I’m bringing Poole in to mess with their identity."
Mother Zhang paused for a moment. "What do you mean?"
Zhang Jianing's gaze was resolute. "Beal is the type of player who doesn’t like noise. If we let Poole keep talking trash, keep dancing, he’ll start questioning his life choices—then his desire to score will drop."
Mother Zhang was silent for a few seconds before nodding.
"Alright. Put Poole in. Turn this place into a madhouse; I want those Justice Kids to crack."
As the game entered a dead ball situation, the whistle blew.
The Trick Team made a substitution—Poole entered the game.
The crowd's reaction was polarized; some shouted, "The madman is here!" while others cheered, "The protagonist returns!" The moment Poole stepped onto the court, it felt less like he was there to play basketball and more like he was filming a personal biopic music video. Wearing a black headband and biting down on his mouthguard, he saluted the broadcast camera with his own version of a "protagonist salute" before heading to the point guard position.
As soon as the referee blew the whistle, Poole confidently dribbled the ball and initiated the offense.
"Let’s get this show started, baby!"
For his first move, he showcased his signature style—between the legs, between the legs, behind the back, spin, between the legs again, spin, and then another between the legs…
The ball didn’t drop, but his foot slipped.
Crash—
Poole fell flat on the floor, and the ball rolled out of bounds.
Laughter erupted throughout the arena.
A child in the audience shouted, "Did he step on his own name?"
From the Heavenly Kings Team bench came Harden’s derisive laughter: "Even a retreat is steadier than him."
Bill stood in a defensive position, coldly watching Poole get up from the floor. His expression was devoid of humor, only conveying a look that said, "Are you here to make a fool of yourself?"
But Poole wasn’t flustered or embarrassed; instead, he smiled even brighter. He patted his backside, turned to the audience, raised both hands high and shouted:
"It’s me who slipped! You didn’t see it wrong! The main character is so cool that even falling looks good!"
In the next round, it was Trick Team’s possession.
LeBron took control of the game, holding the ball at the baseline and surveying the positioning.
Poole quickly maneuvered to shake off Harden's defense, emerging from the corner and charging toward the right side beyond the three-point line.
LeBron's eyes lit up as he launched a long diagonal pass across the court, precise and powerful like a missile locking onto its target.
At the moment Poole caught the ball, he naturally pivoted, not even glancing at the hoop before releasing his shot—
The arena fell silent as the ball traced an improbable arc through the air.
Swish—three points!
18:11!
Poole turned around, cupping his ears with both hands in a gesture of "I can't hear you," and the crowd erupted!
"You think I'm just a clown? No, no, no, I'm a madman with a knife, the sixth man!"
"Your righteous team is too well-behaved; a little chaos makes it more fun, right?"
KD furrowed his brow and murmured, "This guy isn't here to play basketball; he's here to disrupt our minds."
Poole began to find his rhythm. On the next offensive play, he quickly repositioned himself, receiving a pass after Tatum set a screen. Facing Beal, he faked a move to create space and then launched another three—bang! He missed.
But Tatum grabbed the offensive rebound and put it back in!
20:11!
Mother Zhang laughed uncontrollably in the VIP room, "That's more like it! Let them guess whether the next moment will be a farce or a miracle."
Poole slid back on defense from the sidelines, turning to Jay Chou and striking a K-pop dance pose. "Coach, I've got rhythm! Don't you dance too?"
Jay Chou shot him a cold glance and replied, "No matter how much you dance, you can't escape Beal's shadow."
In the next play, Beal regained possession of the ball, but Poole had already switched onto him, circling around like a madman while muttering, "Can you even play? Who are you? Why did you pass again? Are you scared?"
Beal gritted his teeth and forced his way in. Tatum came to help defend, and he was compelled to take a shot—bang, he missed.
The rebound was once again controlled by the Trick Team. Poole grabbed the ball and waved for everyone to clear out. "I'm coming—Poole Time!"
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Comment 0 Comment Count