Chapter One Hundred: Fierce Battle at Nine Pines Arena (Part Two)

Wang Lei watched the game from the sidelines with complete focus. Compared to the previous three matches, he was even more attentive this time, occasionally shouting instructions to his players on the court. In the first three games, he had never been like this; he mostly sat on the bench, calling for timeouts or substitutions at appropriate moments, just to keep his players in good condition. But tonight, he truly felt uncertain.

Situations on the court changed in the blink of an eye. No one could guarantee their players would always stay at their sharpest, nor could any coach claim to see through every tactical adjustment of the opponent at all times.

Still, Wang Lei had his “golden thumb.” Admittedly, his abilities weren’t particularly outstanding; calling it a golden thumb was generous—it was more like a pinkie finger. Even so, this was a significant advantage.

Every command Wang Lei gave from the sidelines struck at the heart of the Capital Youth Team. This was evident from his lineup changes at the start: though Ha Wule was physically strong and a decent defender, Wang Lei still took him off the court, knowing full well that defense alone couldn’t stop the opponent tonight. Instead, he decided to focus on their own strengths. He also anticipated the Capital Youth Team’s opening tactics, and as expected, Liu Sicheng picked out the weaknesses of the Frontier Youth Team, locking down their two main offensive threats.

Three minutes into the game, both teams were executing their offenses efficiently. The Frontier Youth Team couldn’t stop the Capital’s inside-out combination, while the Capital Youth Team struggled to contain the Frontier’s versatile attacks.

Wang Lei hadn’t assigned his players a fixed strategy in this match. He had only one requirement for them: adaptability. While this might sound a bit irresponsible, it was exactly what Wang Lei intended. Trying to beat the formidable Capital Youth Team with their current roster and rigid tactics was out of the question. Wang Lei could only hope his players had grasped the true meaning of “speed” he’d emphasized in training.

Previously, Wang Lei had told his team that his ultimate goal was for every player to react and adjust faster than their opponents. This was, in truth, a return to the very essence of basketball and competitive sports: higher, faster, stronger. Only such a team could truly be called a champion.

Achieving this was incredibly difficult, though. His players, compared to others, lacked a solid foundation—an undeniable fact. Most of them had been fringe players on their respective school teams, with less experience and weaker individual skills than their opponents. Wang Lei had tried to make up for this, but a deficit was still a deficit.

Therefore, Wang Lei could only do his utmost to remind his players from the sidelines, urging them to make better decisions.

On the court, Turgun was tightly marked, barely able to initiate any offense with the ball. First, his physique was a limiting factor—he was not yet seventeen, his body still unformed, and due to illness, he was a bit thinner and weaker than his peers. Even though his ball-handling skills were the best on either team, Wang Lei refused to have him initiate the offense, seeing it as a waste of his talents. Turgun was a far greater threat moving off the ball than attacking with it.

However, Turgun found himself unhappy with his performance today. He was relegated to a decoy, rarely getting the ball or the chance to shoot. Liu Sicheng, despite his bias against Wang Lei, was a competent coach. He knew perfectly well that if Turgun got going, his team would be in serious trouble.

Midway through the first quarter, the score stood tied at 14. Wang Lei had expected this, but Liu Sicheng was caught off guard by how well Wang Lei’s team was doing. He was the less satisfied of the two.

Yet, it was Wang Lei who called for the first timeout.

“Turgun, are you feeling unhappy out there?” Wang Lei, using his intuition, sensed Turgun’s disappointment. It was only natural—he was still a boy, not yet seventeen. Expecting him to think like a team core was unrealistic.

“No, Coach, not at all. I’ll do my best,” Turgun replied, surprised that his coach seemed to read his mind. He was worried Wang Lei might bench him; in his eyes, Wang Lei still carried authority, even if he rarely acted the part.

“Don’t worry, I’m not taking you out. But from here on, I want you to run even harder. Don’t think you’re unimportant just because you’re not getting the ball or scoring. Honestly, without your threat, we wouldn’t be in this position.”

Wang Lei wasn’t worried about the others being jealous of Turgun; he knew everyone on the team respected him. He had even told them before that if any of them had Turgun’s three-point shooting, they’d be the core as well.

“I didn’t call this timeout to adjust our tactics. In fact, we’ve never been locked into any specific tactics. I just want you all to play more boldly out there. Don’t wait for my explicit instructions—think for yourselves about how to play. Off-ball players need to consider the handler’s perspective, and the handler should think about the off-ball players’ movement. I know this is hard, but it’s what we have to do if we want to go further in this tournament. This is the reality we must face.”

“Ha Wule, I’ll be putting you in soon. Your job is to show their center your strength. Be aggressive on defense, but no dirty plays. Use your power, but don’t go overboard—just wear him down as much as possible.”

Wang Lei always emphasized independent thinking for his players. This was his way—he didn’t want a group of obedient followers. He wanted thinkers, stars who could read the game.

When the timeout ended, Cai Aihong came off for a rest, reducing the Frontier Youth Team’s height advantage but raising their defensive intensity a notch.

Ha Wule took his coach’s words to heart. He did nothing else but resolutely challenge Tao Zheyong, fighting for position on every play, making full use of his strength.

Tao Zheyong, who had been playing smoothly, was shocked by the ferocity of this short substitute. It seemed to him that his opponent wasn’t there to play basketball but to wrestle. Gradually, Tao Zheyong began to play with aggression. He was a young star who had played on national teams—how could he be stifled by a nobody? So he started demanding the ball from his teammates, intent on taking Ha Wule down himself.