20demayo Chapter 64 The Darkest Hour: The Final Battle Without Yao Ming
Chapter 64 The Darkest Hour: The Final Battle Without Yao Ming
The rain poured down, large raindrops pelting the training base's glass windows like countless pebbles, creating a dull, continuous patter. Outside, the sky was as dark as lead, oppressive and suffocating. Inside the training hall, no lights were on; only a few pale rays of natural light squeezed through gaps in the clouds, illuminating the dust particles swirling in the air, which looked like a swarm of headless flies.
Lin Hao sat alone on the floor in the center of the court, shirtless, sweat and rain mingling and streaming down his tanned skin. He mechanically spun a basketball in his hand, the rustling sound of rubber against his fingertips particularly jarring in the empty, unsettling arena.
The smoke from yesterday's semi-final match against Lebanon has not yet cleared, but what's even more pungent than the smoke is the bitterness of defeat.
The locker room door was flung open, and Coach Jiang Xingquan walked in first, followed by assistant coaches Zhang Yongjun and Adi Jiang. The faces of the three coaches were even heavier than the dark clouds outside the window, reflecting the exhaustion of a fierce battle and the deathly silence of facing a desperate situation.
"Haozi." Jiang Xingquan slammed a fax paper, still smelling of ink, onto the bench, making a crisp tearing sound. "Take a look for yourself. Da Yao, gone. Sigh."
Lin Hao stopped spinning the ball and took the paper. The paper trembled slightly in his hand, not because it was cold, but because of the shocking red seal on it.
"Notice of punishment for Chinese player Yao Ming's inappropriate behavior during the semi-final..."
"Two technical fouls." Jiang Xingquan plopped down on the bench, covering his face with his hands. His voice, which escaped through his fingers, was full of helplessness. "According to FIBA rules, two technical fouls in a single game result in an automatic one-game suspension. Even if he only had four personal fouls, even if he fought for the team until the last second, these bastards are determined to kill him."
Lin Hao's gaze was fixed on that line of text. He recalled the scene from the semifinals, where Yao Ming, like a mountain, carried Lebanon's vicious center, each attempt to regain position accompanied by a vicious elbow from the opponent. The referee didn't call it, Yao Ming protested, and all he got were technical fouls.
"Without Yao Ming, our inside game is just made of paper," Zhang Yongjun broke the silence, his tone filled with despair. "Although Yao Ming is strong, he's too slow to keep up with the Koreans' 'small, fast, and agile' style. Du Feng is too young and not strong enough. How are we going to play against Korea in the finals?"
"How can we fight them?" Adijiang sneered, his eyes bloodshot. "Even if we break their bones, we'll still bite off a piece of their flesh!"
Just then, the mechanical voice suddenly rang in Lin Hao's mind, cold and clear, without a trace of emotion.
[Ding! Detected that the host is facing the biggest crisis of their career (the core center for the finals is suspended).]
[Hidden ultimate mission triggered: Single-core championship.]
[Mission Description: In the final, lead a depleted Chinese team to defeat the defending champion South Korean team.]
Task Requirements:
1. Individual score ≥ 30 points (must become an absolute scoring threat);
2. Assists ≥ 10 (must activate the entire team's offense);
3. Zero technical fouls throughout the game (regardless of the referee's targeting or the opponent's provocation, you must remain patient and demonstrate leadership).
[Mission Reward: S-Rank Talent - "Iron Fortress". Effect Description: The host will be immune to all devastating injuries (such as cruciate ligament tears, fractures, etc.) throughout their career, and their physical endurance will be increased to the human limit, allowing them to remain on the front lines even with minor injuries.]
Lin Hao's pupils contracted sharply, and the basketball in his hand fell to the ground with a "thud," creating a huge echo in the empty stadium.
Immune devastation!
For any professional athlete, those four words carry immense weight. In his past life, injuries caused him to plummet from the heights of success to the depths of despair, watching his opportunities slip away. In this life, if he can acquire that talent, his peak period will be extended by ten years, or even longer!
However, there were zero technical fouls.
Lin Hao recalled the deathly pale face of the West Asian referee in the semi-finals, and the Lebanese team's dirty tricks. Without Yao Ming's deterrent, the referees would only become more unscrupulous. Resisting the urge to curse or retaliate was a thousand times harder than scoring 40 points.
"Haozi! Say something!" Jiang Xingquan slammed his hand on the table, staring at the dazed Lin Hao. "We're like a toothless tiger now, we don't even have the ability to bite!"
Lin Hao slowly raised his head, the confusion in his eyes instantly disappearing, replaced by two clusters of dark blue flames, cold and lifeless, yet containing destructive power.
"Coach," Lin Hao's voice was calm, but this calmness sent a chill down the spines of the three veteran coaches, "Without Yao Ming, we'll knock their teeth out."
He bent down to pick up the basketball from the ground, and his fingers squeezed hard, causing the surface of the basketball to creak under the weight.
"Coach Zhang, Coach A," Lin Hao said to the two assistant coaches, "pull up all the game videos of the Korean team. I need to know the frequency of Fang Chengyun's every breath and the angle of every cover they make."
"What do you want to do?" Zhang Yongjun asked.
"Since the referees don't want us to win, we'll shove their whistles back in with our fists." Lin Hao stood up, his bare upper body bulging with muscles, sweat streaming down his cleavage. "Daba will handle the physical battles, pushing the Korean team's inside players out of the paint, even if it means committing fouls. Let Adu handle the help defense and blocks; if they dare to drive, swatt them away!"
"And what about you?" Jiang Xingquan asked.
Lin Hao looked out the window at the torrential rain, his gaze seemingly piercing through the clouds and striking the heart of the South Korean team.
"Me?" Lin Hao's lips curled into a cruel smile. "I'll take care of killing them and destroying their spirit. Fang Chengyun wants to win, doesn't he? I'll let him know that without Yao Ming, I am an army all by myself. If you don't kill them, heh heh."
[Ding! Mission updated. Current progress: Points 0/30, Assists 0/10, Technical Fouls 0/0.]
"Tonight, it's closed training for everyone." Lin Hao put on his jersey, tightened his shoelaces, and every movement was full of power. "We're going to crush this tough nut, piece by piece!"
The rain was pouring down harder and harder, as if it were about to flood the city.
The lights in the training hall finally came on, the only light in the darkness. Lin Hao stood in the center of the court, looking at the empty stands, as if he could already see the bloody and brutal final battle tomorrow.
"Fang Chengyun," Lin Hao murmured the name, the basketball in his hand squeezing out of shape, "Are you ready for the coffin and funeral music?"
In the locker room after training.
The torrential rain outside the window continued to rage, raindrops pelting the glass curtain wall like countless bullets, making a dull, continuous "pattering" sound. Inside, the main lights were off, only a few wall lamps emitted a dim, ambiguous yellow light, casting a dozen or so tall figures onto the wall, making them appear long and distorted.
The air was thick with the smell of tobacco, the acrid odor of painkiller spray, and an almost suffocating oppression. No one spoke; only heavy, uneven breathing rose and fell in the room, like the growls of wild beasts.
Yao Ming sat at the far end of the sofa, his back to everyone, gazing at the hazy night outside the window. He clutched the penalty notice that had just been delivered, the paper softened by the sweat in his palms. The cold words on it pronounced his fate for tomorrow night—a one-game suspension.
"Yao Ming, stop watching." Battier's gruff voice broke the silence as he handed over an unopened bottle of mineral water. "Watching too much of this is annoying."
Yao Ming didn't take it, but gently placed the paper on the coffee table, rubbing it with his fingers until his knuckles turned white from the pressure.
"Da Ba is right, it's really annoying to see so much of this." Yao Ming's voice was low, carrying a deep sense of helplessness. "But I just can't help looking. Seeing these words reminds me of that West Asian referee's deadpan face in the semi-finals. I want to rush up and punch him, but I can't!"
He turned around, and his face, which usually wore a kind smile, was now filled with pain and self-reproach. His eyes were red, not from the smoke, but from the resentment that was burning inside him.
"Brothers, I'm so sorry." Yao Ming's voice choked up. "If it weren't for my two technical fouls, we could have crushed the Koreans in the paint tomorrow. I'm the one who ruined the whole team, forcing us to fight those mad dogs without any advantage in the paint."
The atmosphere in the room instantly became even heavier. Zhu Fangyu opened her mouth, wanting to say a few words of comfort, but found her throat too dry to utter a sound. Du Feng lowered his head, his fingers unconsciously picking at the leather of the sofa.
Just then, the locker room door was gently pushed open.
Lin Hao walked in, followed by assistant coaches Zhang Yongjun and Adi Jiang. Lin Hao wasn't wearing a team uniform, just a simple black vest, revealing clearly defined muscle lines in his arms, with several fresh kinesiology tape patches on them.
He walked to the coffee table, didn't look at Yao Ming, but picked up the ticket directly.
"According to FIBA rules, two technical fouls in a single game result in an automatic one-game suspension." Lin Hao read out the clause, his voice as cold as ice. "Yao Ming, you didn't do anything wrong. It was the referees who wanted us to lose, it was the rules that wanted us to lose."
He casually tossed the ticket onto the table and scanned the entire room.
"Now is not the time to cry." Lin Hao's voice wasn't loud, but it struck everyone's hearts like a heavy hammer. "Yao Ming is suspended, that's a done deal. We can't change the referees, we can't change the rules, but we can change tomorrow night's outcome."
He walked to the center of the room and looked at the faces, some young and some mature.
"I know what you're afraid of." Lin Hao cracked his knuckles, making a crisp "crack crack" sound. "We're afraid that without Yao Ming, the Koreans will shoot us through in the paint; we're afraid of biased refereeing that will blow our shots; we're afraid of Fang Chengyun's foul mouth and his underhanded tricks."
"What's the use of being afraid!" Battier slapped his thigh, startling everyone. "Haozi's right! Does being afraid guarantee victory? Tomorrow, even if I foul out in the paint, I'll still knock that Korean shit center's teeth out!"
"Da Ba is right." Lin Hao nodded, his eyes sharp as knives. "Tomorrow, our strategy can be summed up in four words—mutual destruction."
This sentence caused the temperature in the room to drop sharply.
"Director Zhang, Director A," Lin Hao said to the two assistant coaches, "bring out the tactics board."
Zhang Yongjun unfolded the tactical board, and Lin Hao picked up a marker, the tip almost piercing the paper.
"The core of the South Korean team is Bang Sung-yoon. As long as we shut him down, they'll fall apart." Lin Hao drew a big red X on the tactics board. "Tomorrow, I'll guard him the entire game. Wherever he is, I'll stick to him like glue."
"Haozi, you'll exhaust yourself," Adijiang said worriedly.
"I'm not afraid." Lin Hao sneered, pointing to his head. "I have a brain. If Fang Chengyun drives, I can call a charge; if he shoots, I'll block it. The referee doesn't call it? No problem, I'll tolerate it. But I guarantee I'll make him suffer more than if he were going to his own funeral."
Then, Lin Hao turned to Battelle and Du Feng.
"Big Bus, your job is the dirtiest, most tiring, and toughest." Lin Hao's eyes turned fierce. "In the paint, don't worry about defensive moves. Pull and tug when you need to. If the referee wants to eject you, then you're ejected. Your job is to wear down the Korean team's interior defense!"
"Don't worry!" Batel patted his chest. "If I don't break his legs, I'm not Batel of the grasslands!"
"Du," Lin Hao looked at the young Du Feng, "you are our secret weapon. The bus is off, you take its place. Your job is to block shots, block shots like crazy! If any Korean dares to drive, you have to swatt them away! If you can't swatt them away, pull them up and send them to the free-throw line. We can't let them score easily."
Du Feng nodded vigorously, his eyes resolute: "Understood, Haozi."
"Fang Yu, Li Nan," Lin Hao said, looking at the outside shooters. "Your task tomorrow is to shoot. The referee won't call a foul? Then we'll draw fouls. Draw as many as we can! If the referee dares to call a foul, we'll go to the free-throw line."
After Lin Hao finished outlining the tactics, the room was so quiet that only breathing could be heard.
Just then, the cold system notification sounded in Lin Hao's mind again.
[Ding! Host has triggered the ultimate mission: Single-core championship.]
【任务要求：1.率队击败韩国队；2.个人数据：30分+10助攻+5抢断；3.特殊约束：零技术犯规。】
[Mission Reward: S-Rank Talent - "Iron Fortress". The host will be immune to all devastating injuries and diseases throughout their career.]
Lin Hao's body trembled slightly.
Zero technical fouls.
This means that no matter how biased the referee's calls are, no matter how dirty the South Korean team's tactics are, he must endure it like a saint. This is the greatest test of his willpower.
He looked up at Yao Ming, who was sitting in the corner.
"Brother Yao," Lin Hao walked up to Yao Ming, squatted down, and looked directly into Yao Ming's eyes, "Tomorrow, you will be watching the game from the stands."
Yao Ming's lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but Lin Hao interrupted him.
"I want you in the stands, watching me," Lin Hao said, emphasizing each word. "Watch me bring that championship trophy back without you. Watch me crush Fang Chengyun's face under my feet."
Lin Hao reached out his hand; it was the first time he had ever taken the initiative to touch Yao Ming's palm.
"Brother Yao, lend me your strength." Lin Hao's voice was soft, yet as heavy as a thousand pounds. "Tomorrow, I will be you. I will be the center of the Chinese team, I will be that invincible giant."
Yao Ming looked into Lin Hao's eyes, and there was not a trace of fear in them, only burning flames and absolute confidence.
He reached out, his hand trembling, and grasped Lin Hao's hand tightly. Their hands clasped together so tightly that their knuckles turned white.
"Haozi," Yao Ming finally couldn't hold back his tears, but this time he didn't cry out loud. He just gripped his hand tightly. "You have to come back alive. You must bring the championship back."
"Don't worry." Lin Hao stood up, surveyed the entire arena, and said, "Brothers, nobody's sleeping tonight. We need to go over those lousy tactics of the Korean team in our minds a thousand times, ten thousand times!"
"Come on, form a circle!" Batel shouted.
A dozen large hands were stacked together, with Lin Hao's and Yao Ming's hands at the top.
"Team China!" Lin Hao shouted, leading the way.
"Go for it!" A dozen voices converged into a torrent, breaking through the sound of rain outside the window and echoing in the room for a long time.
That night, the rain in Harbin poured down even harder. Inside that suite, the men lay awake, eyes wide, awaiting dawn, awaiting the war that would decide their fate.