The Southern League semifinals were heating up. On paper, UConn was stronger than Butler.
But honestly? None of the other teams in the league looked like they could stop the Wildcats and Speeds from clashing in the final.
Lin Yi played it smart today—cutting back on his drives to the rim. There is no need for unnecessary injuries at this stage. Plus, he'd just unlocked that shiny silver Ankle Breaker badge. No need to go crazy, a pump-fake, and a body faint here and there.
"Boom! Another three! And from NBA range!"
The UConn Huskies were losing their minds.
Lin Yi and Steph Curry were running pick-and-rolls like clockwork. How do you even guard that?
Play up on Lin Yi? Steph's launching bombs in your face.
Focus on Steph? Lin Yi's just as deadly and not some stiff spot-up shooter either. You force him inside? Good luck stopping a seven-footer with that kind of agility.
UConn's coach Randal Edsall was fuming, sneaking glares at Wildcats coach McKillop. Same salty vibes as Butler's coach Vincent last round. Both thinking, "Just wait till those two go pro—then we'll see how tough y'all really are."
McKillop, on the other hand? He was chill. Called a timeout, walked over to Lin Yi, and said, "Your range's come a long way, man."
Lin just nodded. Ever since he got that bronze "Limitless Range" badge, pulling up from the NBA range felt way more natural.
And yeah, bronze isn't elite, but if NCAA defenders can't bring NBA-level defense, Lin's long bombs were becoming a normal weapon in his arsenal.
McKillop didn't say anything when Lin first started chucking from deep, but the old man was skeptical. Lately though, as those shots kept falling? He just shook his head and muttered, "Two monsters. One big, one small."
Having a deep range was key. No 3-second rule in the NCAA, so spacing was tight. You either stretched the floor or got stuck in a phone booth.
...
"Sis Xiaolei, doesn't Lin Yi look more like Dirk Nowitzki today?" Qi Jun lowered his DSLR and looked curious.
Wu Xiaolei, face practically glowing with admiration, nodded. "Totally. When we played Butler, he was more of a traditional center. Now? He's looking like Dirk—just raining from outside."
See, as Lin Yi's draft stock rose, scouts were scrambling for a comparison. But the thing is… there wasn't one.
So he made his own.
Game 1? He played like Olajuwon.
Game 2? Dirk.
Lin was showcasing just how versatile he was by switching between being a traditional center and a point center.
Template ≠ strength. It's about style.
NBA teams were starting to take notice. Lin's agent Zhong Muchen was getting more calls than ever. The top pick? Now it wasn't just between Griffin, Harden, and Curry—Lin Yi had officially entered the conversation.
Griffin? Athletic freak with clean numbers.
Harden? Smooth, skilled, solid foundation.
Curry? Scrawny but could shoot the soul out of a ball. Throw in handles and playmaking, and suddenly he looked a lot like a prototype of Steve Nash.
Lin Yi? Crazy height. Crazy wingspan. Elite agility for his size. But his style? A total wildcard.
Dominating the NCAA was one thing. But could he do it in the NBA?
That's what had teams nervous.
And the more they hesitated, the more Lin Yi doubled down.
Pick me. I'm your guy.
A few monster performances later, the Southern League became the center of attention.
The final was set: Sooners vs. Wildcats.
.....
Meanwhile, out west, the Pac-10 was already settled. Harden and DeRozan led their squads to the regional final. After an absolute slugfest, DeRozan's USC knocked out Harden's Arizona State.
Lin called Harden to rub in salt to the wound. Lin, Steph, and Harden kept communicating after their game, so they were tight.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he joked. "Still sucks getting knocked out though."
"Don't stress, James," Lin Yi told Harden. "You'll get the wild card. As long as the committee's not brain-dead."
Harden huffed over the phone. "Man, DeRozan just got lucky! Watch—I'm gonna hand him an ass-whooping in the NBA!"
DeRozan was a real leader in college. Crazy how he declined with Lowry in Toronto. The media said he battled depression—probably why he never quite smashed that All-Star ceiling. Optimistic guys seem to thrive more.
Sure you will, Lin thought. But unless Harden ended up in the East, they'd only meet twice a season.
After the call, came Steph pumped up.
"Lin! We gotta win the Southern League!" Steph clenched his tiny fists. "March Madness, baby. Let's get to the league together!"
Lin nodded. He already knew from Stanford's inside info that he had a good shot—but earning it himself meant everything.
They exchanged a silent fist bump under the dim locker room lights.
.....
Next morning...
"Yo, did you and Steph not sleep well last night or what?" Anthony Beasley asked, blowing a bubble and eyeing their weary eyes.
Lin and Steph just smiled like battle-scarred vets.
"You nervous, man?" Steph asked.
Beasley grinned, full of energy. "Nervous? That's rookie stuff."
This guy… Lin and Steph shared a look and shook their heads.
....
Game day. National TV broadcast.
The commentary? Charles Barkley.
Barkley was hyping the Wildcats big time. "You better draft Lin Yi. Otherwise, y'all gonna regret it!"
And there it was—the Barkley curse. The man never failed to jinx.
Lin wanted to find him and tell him to stop.
........
PS:
Lin Yi didn't pick some big-name agent. He chose Zhong Muchen because he needed someone to carry the burden for him. Someone serious, low-key, and loyal.
Lin doesn't need a flashy agent to succeed. He's got the system's help. He's got the drive and hunger. And if Rich Paul never met LeBron, who's to say he'd even be known?
Same logic here—Lin lifts Zhong, not the other way around.
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