Chapter 103: Responsibility Makes a Boy Grow Up (Part 2)

The score was 64 to 55 at the end of the third quarter, with the home team leading.

Turgon’s shooting touch remained ice cold. Several of his attempts from beyond the arc rattled off the rim. His shooting form and hand positioning were impeccable, yet the ball always seemed just a fraction off. The angle and force appeared perfect, but the ball refused to slip through the net. It was as if the hoop had been sealed off just for Turgon, rejecting every one of his attempts.

His teammates still believed in him, striving to create opportunities. Hawler even lunged desperately to save a ball about to go out of bounds, while Cai Aihong—who rarely contested rebounds—committed a foul chasing a frontcourt board.

Turgon felt like he was about to break. He feared he had truly lost his touch, lost that burning passion for basketball. He even found himself beginning to resent the game at that very moment.

Wang Lei keenly sensed Turgon’s restlessness and unease but found no immediate solution to change it. Though he possessed a unique ability, it could not alter a person’s sudden mindset.

Substituting Turgon might shatter the boy’s spirit completely—his confidence was nearly gone. Yet leaving him on the court risked him losing himself entirely. Wang Lei had been a player himself and knew how strange it could be to lose all feeling for no reason. He had faced this when he first joined Liu Sicheng’s youth team. Now, his protégé was facing the same crisis. Inside, Wang Lei was torn, unsure how to handle it.

At the third quarter’s end, Turgon walked toward the sideline, lost and bewildered. He almost approached the opposing youth team’s bench, forgetting that the benches had switched sides at halftime.

Though Hawler usually appeared a bit awkward, on the court he was fearless. He noticed Turgon’s distress, quickly caught him, and, with an arm around the nearly tearful boy, led him to their own bench.

A boy not yet seventeen, one who had endured discrimination and rejection since childhood—no matter how strong, he could not help but want to cry now. The trust of his teammates, the faith of his coach, the hopes of his distant sister, and his family’s blessings all converged into immense pressure, nearly crushing the unfortunate child.

“Haha, go home and drink your milk,” someone teased mockingly from the Capital Youth team’s bench at Turgon’s wrong turn. But Turgon didn’t respond; he hadn’t even heard.

“Turgon, don’t hang your head. You’re a man. A man bleeds but doesn’t cry,” Hawler said urgently in their native tongue, always caring for Turgon.

“What are you afraid of? Worried we’ll blame you for missing shots? Worried I’ll kick you off the team? We call you ‘Little Rabbit,’ but not because we want you to be a scared little rabbit. You’re a man; you have to bear responsibility. You love basketball, right? So what now? You’re scared over a little setback? This is just a minor game. What if we lose? Does that mean we stop playing? Does it mean we get eliminated? No. Nothing like that. Take responsibility. Put the ball in the basket—that’s your duty.”

As Wang Lei approached the sideline, he spoke sharply to the downcast Turgon. Though not angry, his tone was unlike anything he had ever used before.

“Sorry, coach, I...” Turgon began.

“I don’t want to hear apologies. You have nothing to be sorry for. You know what I expect. Do it. Don’t worry about anything else. Shoot. Forget the damn tactics. From now on, our only goal is to help you find your touch.”

Wang Lei’s rare profanity struck a chord with the players. Though it seemed he was favoring Turgon excessively, everyone knew what the boy meant to the team.

“Little Rabbit, don’t worry. If we lose, we lose. No big deal. Nobody will blame you. Just play well. We’ll definitely make it to the finals,” a teammate assured.

No one opposed the sentiment. After so much time together, they understood each other deeply. Everyone knew how hard Turgon worked and how much potential he had. At this moment, fighting with Turgon or the coach would be sheer folly.

The wave of trust shattered Turgon’s confusion. When he was lonely before, it was basketball and his sister’s comfort that kept him company. Now, with so many believing in him, his heart warmed and stirred deeply. He took a few deep breaths, said nothing, but his gaze grew resolute.

As the fourth quarter began, the Capital Youth team surged first. Using their inside advantage, they scored again, stretching the lead into double digits.

Liu Sicheng finally relaxed; it seemed the game was decided.

The Frontier Youth team kept their approach, everyone still setting up plays for Turgon, who continued his wild shooting. To Liu Sicheng, this reckless shot selection was nonsense. He was already planning how to recruit this talented boy into his own team after the match.

The gap widened further. With seven minutes remaining, the difference reached fifteen points—a sizable margin in youth basketball.

Yet Turgon had calmed. Though his touch remained cold, his heart was steady. Every time he handled the ball, he felt its warmth. Yes, that warmth—the fiery sensation that stirs the blood.

On another Frontier Youth possession, Turgon dribbled into the frontcourt, facing little pressure. The Capital Youth team no longer cared about the reckless point guard.

Hawler, dragging tired limbs, once again came out to set a screen for Turgon. After battling the opposing interior star all game, his stamina was nearly spent.

The Capital Youth point guard, seeing Hawler’s strong body setting the screen, prepared to evade it. But suddenly, without warning, Turgon launched another three-pointer. The arc was as usual, the force customary, but this time, Turgon felt sure in his heart: this shot would go in.

When the ball swished cleanly through the net, Turgon’s body surged with excitement. This was his thirteenth three-point attempt of the game. Previously, he had only made one out of twelve. This was number two.