Chapter Twelve: Orlando at Dawn-The Talkative Soccer King(Siscaido)

"Joel Embiid played for 25 minutes, scoring 18 points, grabbing 10 rebounds, and blocking four shots. His impact on the game when he's on the court is undeniable."

"That's right. When Joel is in the game, the Philadelphia 76ers always control the tempo. The Orlando team simply has no answer for him!"

With the commentator's analysis echoing from the big screen, Michael Wu stepped out of the shower, towel in hand, as he watched the replay of tonight's game. Coach Frank Vogel had already summarized the match after it ended, but Michael felt that wasn't enough. So, once home, he found the ESPN broadcast and listened to the live commentary alongside the footage.

Why bother with the commentary? Because Michael wanted more than just to see how the players performed; he wanted to hear the commentators' analysis of the game's flow. By combining their insights with Coach Vogel's post-game breakdown, he could better grasp the tactical essentials of NBA basketball.

Yet, the more Michael watched, the more unsettled he became.

"Did this guy really not start playing basketball until high school...?"

Staring at the screen, watching the dominant Philadelphia center wreak havoc in the paint, Michael couldn't help but mutter under his breath. Despite his skepticism, after the game he had checked Joel Embiid's profile on Wikipedia. When the facts stared him in the face, he had no choice but to believe.

And what he discovered left him even more astonished.

There was a time when Embiid was not even as strong as Michael was now.

Comparing Embiid's high school photo on Wikipedia to the current footage of him finishing a put-back dunk, Michael could hardly believe they were the same person.

Echoes of Coach Vogel's words from the last game rang in his mind, and finally, Michael understood why his coach had made him sit so close on the bench. It wasn't to prepare him for playing time, but to show him: Look at that young player on the court—he is gifted, but he's also relentless in his work ethic.

"If you want to play, you have to train twice as hard," Michael whispered to himself. He rewound the tape and this time watched the highlights—not just anyone's, but Joel Embiid's plays on both offense and defense.

Maybe, as a forward, there wasn't much to learn from a center's highlights. But Michael just wanted to remind himself: if you want to see the court, you have to work harder than anyone else.

Swish!

In Orlando, the city barely awake, the Magic's practice facility was already alive with the sound of a ball slicing through the air. A young Asian player stood at one end of the court, perfecting his shooting form—over and over, he shot, reset, swung his arms, and shot again.

Sweat trickled down from his brow, along his neck and arms, but his motion remained fluid, his gaze unwavering, as if nothing could distract him from his task.

This young man was none other than Michael Wu, the Chinese rookie selected by the Orlando Magic in the second round of this year's draft.

After watching game tapes all night, Michael had been too charged to sleep. So, at dawn, he quickly washed up, grabbed two pieces of bread, and headed to the training facility to start his shooting drills for the day.

"My god, who am I seeing here?"

A while later, at the gym entrance, Magic head coach Frank Vogel rubbed his eyes in disbelief at the sight of Michael just finishing a shot. "Michael, you need to tell me I'm not dreaming."

"Of course you're not, Coach Vogel."

Michael was about to pause and greet his coach, but Vogel signaled him to keep going.

"Michael, I always thought you were a player who showed up on time for practice, but I didn't expect you to be so... unpunctual," Vogel joked, as he strode over, his opinion of the rookie rising.

During yesterday's game, Vogel had brought Michael to his side to let the young newcomer witness, up close, what could be achieved by a player with both talent and relentless discipline.

Watching Michael continue his shooting routine, Vogel felt a surge of satisfaction—clearly, his message had been understood.

"Michael, lift your arm a little higher," Vogel corrected, his sharp eyes catching a subtle change in Michael's shooting hand. "Is it fatigue? How many sets have you done?"

"Don't just grind away; it's important to rest, too," Vogel added. To him, the slight breakdown in Michael's form suggested fatigue. He appreciated hard work, but not at the expense of a player's health.

"Coach, this is my thirtieth set," Michael replied, adjusting his arm and shooting again.

"Thirty sets?" Vogel's heart skipped a beat. If Michael was already tired at this point, his conditioning didn't match what his physical tests had indicated.

"Yes, Coach Vogel, I've already finished the first hundred sets. This is my second round of a hundred."

"What?"

A second round of a hundred sets?

Did that mean he'd already completed one hundred sets of shooting drills before this?

Vogel's eyes widened as two startling facts raced through his mind.

Counting the first batch—ten thousand shots—and now, Michael had already taken at least twelve thousand shots!

Even after all that, his form remained consistent, especially after Vogel's corrections.

His physical endurance was truly extraordinary.

And since he'd already completed twelve thousand shots, that meant Michael had arrived at the gym several hours earlier than Vogel himself.

Glancing at his watch, the coach blurted out, "Michael, when did you get here?"

"Five or six, I can't quite remember," Michael replied, wiping sweat from his brow with a hint of resignation. "I wanted to pay tribute to the great Kobe Bryant, but I just couldn't get up any earlier."

"Perhaps one day, you'll be the player others pay tribute to," Vogel said sincerely, looking at Michael drenched in sweat. But then his tone shifted to sternness. "But Michael, let me warn you—if you end up with muscle fatigue from overdoing these fundamentals, I won't let you play in the next game."