Chapter 82: Testing the Quality of the Dishes

“Why didn’t Michael get to play?”

At the reporter’s question, Frank Vogel clearly paused for a moment before smiling. “First of all, let me say that Michael not getting on the court had nothing to do with his previous performance in Indiana.”

“Even if he dominated Paul George on both ends of the floor, I still couldn’t guarantee he’d play in this game,” Vogel continued, rubbing his nose. “Playing time is always a decision made collectively by the coaching staff, and for this game, we wanted to try some new things.”

“So Michael didn’t get the chance to go out there. It’s just part of how we’re working to find the right lineup. The NBA regular season is long; we can’t stick to the same formula all the time.”

With that, Vogel pointed at the camera. “Next question.”

Just as Vogel himself had said, the Magic were adjusting their rotations. When a team’s record isn’t improving, a change is always needed.

As for Wu Rui, the man at the center of it all, he didn’t give it much thought. He knew well enough that his current ability hadn’t yet reached the level where the team couldn’t do without him every game. Truthfully, if his presence on the court would actually hurt the team, Wu Rui would rather wave towels from the bench.

“Michael, do you know why you weren’t put in during yesterday’s game?”

The next morning, Magic head coach Frank Vogel arrived at the training facility and pulled Wu Rui aside for a private chat.

“I’m just not good enough yet,” Wu Rui replied without hesitation. After sinking a long two-pointer, he showed no excitement, simply picked up the ball, dribbled to the baseline, and returned. “It’s as simple as that.”

“Coach, you don’t need to comfort me. Basketball isn’t a game for children—ability is everything. My skills aren’t there yet, so not playing me is completely reasonable.”

Wu Rui wiped the sweat from his brow, speaking with a clear sense of conviction.

“I didn’t expect you to take it so lightly,” Vogel admitted, a little surprised. “Honestly, if it were me not getting playing time, I’d be doing everything I could to get an explanation from the coach.”

“You know, Coach Frank, Michael Wu isn’t that kind of player.”

Wu Rui shook his head and continued his shooting drills. In truth, his jumper had improved to a certain degree—still not quite stable, but his range now extended to a step inside the three-point line.

“Even if you’re not bothered, I still want to be honest with you.” Vogel smiled. “Michael, I think your current approach to training is great, but the results aren’t there yet. A dish that’s not fully cooked shouldn’t be served.”

“That’s right—a half-cooked meal can make someone sick.”

Wu Rui drove to the basket, suddenly leaping for a two-handed dunk.

“Exactly. I want to serve a delicious meal, not something half-baked,” Vogel continued, gesturing toward the other players training nearby. “But knowing exactly when that dish is ready takes constant attention.”

“Michael, pause for a moment and come with me.”

Vogel motioned for Wu Rui to follow as he led him to the center of the court where the rest of the team was practicing.

He clapped his hands. “Hey, guys, let’s all take a break!”

“Coach, is there a new task for us?” Bismack Biyombo was the first to stop. “Is this a reward for winning yesterday? Do we get to go home?”

“Cut it out, Bismack. If you want to go home, you can leave right now,” Vogel scolded him lightly, then pulled Wu Rui over and patted him on the back. “First, I want to ask—has our intrasquad scrimmage started yet today?”

“Michael, you haven’t played in one, have you?” Vogel asked Wu Rui, though the answer was obvious.

Since joining the team, Wu Rui hadn’t taken part in an official scrimmage—not even a three-on-three.

“Oh, Coach Frank, are you saying we’re going to play the scrimmage now? And Michael gets to join?” Ibaka perked up.

“In simple terms, yes.”

Vogel nodded in agreement.

“Cool!”

Biyombo was thrilled, hurrying over to Wu Rui. “Michael, you’ve got to be on my team. I don’t want to fight you for rebounds.”

“Of course, if the coach allows it.” Wu Rui scratched his head, clearly not expecting to be “recruited” by Biyombo.

“Come to our team, Michael. I don’t want to get dunked on by you,” said Nikola Vucevic—the big man, not known for his vertical, most feared energetic young players like Wu Rui.

Vucevic and Biyombo each represented one of the two teams for the scrimmage, and now both sides were vying for Wu Rui’s talents. Other players started extending invitations to him as well.

Everyone wanted this X-factor on their squad.

Wu Rui was a bit flattered by the attention. Given his still-developing shooting ability, he hadn’t expected to be so popular, but the enthusiasm from his teammates was undeniably genuine.

For a moment, Wu Rui found himself in a difficult spot.

“All right, guys, you’re going to scare the rookie,” Vogel intervened before things got out of hand. “Nikola, Michael will be on your team.”

Before Vucevic and his group could celebrate, Vogel turned to the other, now disappointed, side. “Bismack, Michael will also be on your team.”

“Coach Frank, do you mean I’ll be on both teams?”

Not just the players, but even Wu Rui was baffled.

“Exactly,” Vogel confirmed. “In the first half, you’ll play with Nikola’s team; in the second half, you’ll join Bismack’s group.”

“I’ll referee. If there are no objections, let’s get the scrimmage started.”

With the rules set, the players voiced no objections. The arrangement seemed fair to everyone; otherwise, one team would have had an extra man.

Pulling on his white practice jersey, Wu Rui glanced at his first-half teammates—Ibaka, Vucevic, Elfrid Payton, and Evan Fournier—and swallowed nervously. “If I can’t hit my shots, I’ll just focus on rebounding.”

“Relax, Michael. This isn’t a real game!” Ibaka slapped him on the back. “If you see an opening, take the shot. Don’t hesitate!”

Since this was only a team scrimmage, they skipped the opening tip-off. The starters took the first possession, with Payton bringing the ball up the court and surveying the floor. With a slight smile, he suddenly swung the ball to the right.

The ball flew directly into Wu Rui’s hands, who was standing one step inside the three-point line.