Chapter Twenty-Three: I Want to Score!

"Michael, go warm up."
With the game already decided, Frank Vogel sat steadily on the Magic's bench, more composed than anyone. He glanced at Wu Rui, who was still focused on the game nearby, and gave him a brief instruction.

There were just over seven minutes left until the end of the match. On their home court, the Orlando Magic led the Washington Wizards 89:70, a nineteen-point advantage. Although a nineteen-point gap isn’t impossible to overcome in the NBA, and the time remaining was still considerable, today’s opponent was in a uniquely difficult situation.

"Without John Wall, the team from the capital is clearly much weaker," commented Wilson Petto from TNT, shaking his head at the Wizards’ performance. "This is enough to show just how outstanding a leader John Wall is; his presence transforms the Washington Wizards entirely."

"That’s right. Even though there are seven and a half minutes left in the fourth quarter, the Wizards have no strength to close a nearly twenty-point gap. The outcome of this game is settled," sighed Jerry Meade, Petto’s partner. Who could have imagined that a team capable of reaching the second round of the playoffs would struggle so much against a lottery team without their starting point guard?

It wasn’t just the commentators who saw things clearly—home fans at courtside were yawning one after another. The game had been securely drawn into the Magic’s rhythm, and the atmosphere was dull.

"Beep!"
At that moment, the Wizards’ bench players seemed absent-minded. Jason Smith failed to secure the ball, which flew straight out of bounds, turning over possession.

"Jason made a rookie mistake that even my son wouldn’t commit. That’s truly rare," Wilson Petto couldn’t help but laugh, but soon he noticed some activity near the court. "Let’s see—during this dead ball, Coach Frank Vogel seems to have something in mind!"

"Orlando Magic request a substitution!"
No sooner had Petto spoken than several nearly dozing fans were jolted awake by their companions. Following their friends’ pointing fingers toward the bench, the sleepy fans’ eyes cleared instantly.

Indeed, there was movement on the Magic’s side. Frank Vogel was substituting Jeff Green.

"Jeff, you played extremely well. Compared with the previous five games, today’s performance is the one I’m most satisfied with."

As he took Jeff Green out, Coach Vogel stepped forward to say a few words. It was true—Jeff Green’s performance today was his best compared to previous games. At this moment, the coach had to explain the substitution, lest the player’s mindset falter.

"I’m fine, Coach Frank," Jeff Green replied, clearly not troubled. He glanced at the young man coming in for him, and a smile crept onto his lips. "If it weren’t for this kid, my performance today would have been terrible. He deserves every second of playing time."

"Absolutely, this kid’s been waiting for his chance!"
Jeff Green spoke loudly enough for Serge Ibaka to chime in, slapping Green’s hand. "You were here to play today!"

"Haha, thanks to that kid," Jeff Green laughed, pointing at the player replacing him—Magic No. 0, Wu Rui!

"Michael Wu! It’s Michael Wu! He’s finally on the court!"
At courtside, seeing Wu Rui finally enter the game near its end, the fans instantly perked up. Though the outcome was already decided, Wu Rui’s appearance ignited their enthusiasm.

"Wow, I didn’t expect Coach Frank Vogel to actually use Michael Wu in this match," Wilson Petto commented, more rational than the excited crowd. "As far as I know, Michael Wu has only played twice this season, for less than ten minutes total, and hasn’t scored a single point."

"Yes, Michael Wu isn’t a prolific scorer, but his defensive skills and rebounding hustle are certainly noteworthy," Meade picked up the thread. "In his previous two appearances, Michael contributed valuable offensive rebounds, showing his acute sense for the ball. I’m looking forward to seeing that!"

"Hey, Michael, you’re finally on the court. I’ve been waiting!"
On the court, Bismack Biyombo smiled as his younger teammate appeared, walking over and patting Wu Rui on the shoulder. "Don’t space out today!"

"Of course, Bismack. Not only will I stay focused, I’m going to score today!" Wu Rui grinned mischievously at Biyombo, then ran straight toward the front court, clearly intent on making a basket.

"Oh, my brother, is Michael still half asleep?"
Hearing Wu Rui’s words, Biyombo paused for a moment as he inbounded the ball to D.J. Augustin, unconsciously voicing his doubts.

Although Wu Rui’s previous playing time was brief, he had shown flashes of brilliance. His rebounding hustle was so impressive that even Biyombo had to admit it was a gift.

Yet, Wu Rui’s struggles on offense were equally apparent. For this "gifted scorer" to declare his intention to score the moment he entered the game made Biyombo wonder if Coach Vogel, known for his motivational talks, had filled Wu Rui’s head with some new pep speech.

Of course, Biyombo didn’t know that, aside from his first day of physical testing, Wu Rui’s shooting practice had nearly matched the team’s training schedule. Before every routine team practice, Wu Rui had completed thousands upon thousands of shooting reps!

This, however, wasn’t Biyombo’s fault. Whenever Wu Rui arrived at the training facility, Orlando’s sky was still scattered with stars, while the rest of the players arrived under the blazing sun.

As Biyombo pondered what was up with Wu Rui, the latter was already making his move. Facing Andrew Nicholson, who was guarding him, Wu Rui feinted right, then spun and darted in the opposite direction.

It was the off-ball movement he’d observed countless times from shooters, as instructed by Coach Vogel—a classic maneuver.

Though common, it was also highly effective. With a sudden burst of speed, Wu Rui easily left Nicholson behind, creating a clear window for a shot.

Having a pair of strong legs was truly exhilarating!

With space open for a shot, Wu Rui couldn’t help but feel a surge of delight. Without hesitation, he raised his hands toward D.J. Augustin, who was advancing with the ball, signaling for a pass.