Chapter Twenty-One: Hold It Tight

On their home court, the Orlando Magic secured a 108-97 victory over the visiting Sacramento Kings. Among the team, Serge Ibaka, who recorded 17 points, 10 rebounds, and three blocks, was one of the key contributors to the Magic’s win and was intercepted for an interview by an ESPN sideline reporter.

“Serge, first of all, congratulations on your second straight win at home,” the reporter began with a note of congratulations before launching into the main question. “But we all know this victory didn’t come easily. At one point in the first quarter, your team was nearly down by double digits!”

“What exactly happened during that time?”

“Oh, I knew someone would ask what happened in the first quarter.” Ibaka gave an awkward laugh at the reporter’s question and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “The whole team was playing soft at the time. The opponents simply played better than us—it’s that simple.”

“But we all saw your comeback at the start of the second quarter—that 10-0 run, and then the tactical execution in the third quarter that specifically targeted the Kings. Everyone’s eager to know—how did you manage to adjust so quickly in such a short time?”

“That’s the key,” Ibaka’s demeanor shifted from casual to spirited as he responded to the question. “That was the turning point in the game, the very reason we were able to win.”

“A crucial turning point? What exactly was it?” The reporter perked up as well; this was precisely the kind of detail the media relished reporting.

“Frank Vogel called a timeout at the end of the first quarter.” Ibaka paused for effect. “After that, he subbed out Jeff Green and brought in Michael Wu!”

“Michael Wu?” The name left the reporter momentarily stunned. As a professional sideline reporter, he had done his homework on both teams—even on CJ Wilcox, who hadn’t played for the Kings that night. But this Michael Wu, as mentioned by Ibaka, was someone he was hearing of for the first time.

“Yes, this young rookie. He taught us all a lesson.”

Though the reporter knew little about Michael Wu, Ibaka was well aware of what he had done. The straightforward Magic big man, right there on ESPN’s camera, gave a passionate account of Wu’s energy and the inspiration he brought to the team.

Before the end of the interview, Ibaka reinforced his point for viewers across the nation: “Without Michael Wu, there would be no celebration in Amway Center tonight!”

“That’s enough, my big brother!” Watching Ibaka say those words on national television, Wu Rui held his forehead, a wave of embarrassment washing over him.

“I didn’t even do anything. I let the opponent score easily on a pick-and-roll.” As he took off his clothes to shower, Wu Rui chastised himself, dissatisfied with his own performance on the court.

For the entire second quarter and the rest of the game, Coach Vogel hadn’t put him back in, which seemed to confirm Wu’s concerns.

At this stage, Wu Rui was not yet ready to be a regular rotation player for the team. Occasionally, he might disrupt the opponent’s tactics, but expecting him to play a significant role was, for now, premature.

Whoosh!

Early the next morning in Orlando, Wu Rui appeared at the Magic’s training facility, practicing his routine shooting drills as usual.

Hundreds, even thousands of repeated shots had made his form more and more standard—he was starting to look the part.

“Michael, take a break for a moment.”

Frank Vogel had also noticed Wu Rui’s progress. Arriving early at the facility himself, he had been observing Wu for a while, initially just hoping to see him by chance. Once he saw Wu’s dedication, Vogel realized it was time to let him move up to the next level.

“Coach, you’re here,” Wu Rui greeted him promptly, stopping as instructed.

Vogel nodded, walked to the side to grab a basketball, and returned. “Your off-ball shooting form is coming together, so I think it’s time to pick up the pace.” Passing the ball to Wu, he continued, “Hold onto this.”

“From today on, every shooting drill must be with a ball in your hands. Shooting without the ball doesn’t count anymore.” Vogel paused, then added, “But reduce the volume—ten reps per set.”

Recalling the previous regime of one hundred sets of one hundred reps, Vogel deemed it necessary to cut back now that live-ball training was involved. After all, the NBA is a high-intensity league; he didn’t want this promising rookie to miss valuable game experience due to a training injury.

Nothing compares to the intensity of game situations.

“That much less?” Wu Rui was immediately unhappy. “Is that really okay?”

“Coach Vogel, I’m still young. This kind of workload is like drinking water for me!” As he spoke, Wu Rui flexed his impressive biceps, intentionally or not.

“So you’re saying I’m old?” Vogel’s face darkened at the remark, his tone growing stern. “Fine. Before every team practice, I want you to complete one hundred sets of ten shots each, all live-ball. If you have no problem with that, you can start now.”

With that, Vogel turned and walked away, leaving Wu Rui no chance to explain.

Yet as soon as Vogel turned his back, a smile nearly broke his stern expression. He’d never told Wu Rui about his exceptional athletic potential, fearing it would make the rookie arrogant and neglectful of training.

But from Wu’s current attitude, it was clear that his eagerness for training far exceeded expectations.

Inwardly, Vogel gave Wu Rui a big thumbs-up.

Meanwhile, left alone, Wu Rui felt a chill deep down. Watching Vogel walk away, only one thought echoed in his mind: I’m finished!

No matter what, training had to continue. Clutching the ball Vogel had tossed him, Wu Rui raised his arm, and in that instant, his heart grew heavy.