Chapter One Hundred: Feigned Collapse!

“Michael Wu, shaking Giannis Antetokounmpo, has made the jumper—hit!”

“Incredible—I've never seen that move in Michael’s highlights!”

After Wu Rui’s sequence of actions, even the sideline commentators were left speechless.

In essence, it was just an ordinary fake-and-shot, a move any NBA-caliber player can use. But in that moment, because of the man executing it, it was enough to make them gasp.

“I bet even in an Orlando Magic practice scrimmage, Michael never used that move!”

Another commentator added, “I saw one of those Magic scrimmages in person once. At that time, Michael was even left out completely—no one put him on either side.”

“I remember,” he added. “Just yesterday, I was lucky to watch part of the internal scrimmage. Michael Wu was off to the side, training by himself!”

He had asked the Magic’s front office to observe a regular practice session because he had to comment on their game the next day. He said he was lucky to arrive just in time—the second quarter of the Magic’s scrimmage.

He still remembers that clearly: Wu Rui wasn’t even on the scrimmage roster, so such a live move had no chance of appearing then.

He didn’t know this, though. It wasn’t that no one wanted him—everyone wanted him, and that was exactly why they kept him off the floor.

“Hey, Bismack, you know Michael best. Has he ever used this against you?”

DJ Augustin from the Magic bench joked, “I’ve never seen him do this either!”

“Of course not,” Bismack Biyombo answered candidly, then added, “And if he ever tried to shoot with such a clumsy fake, I’d block him so hard he wouldn’t know north from south.”

As Biyombo said, Frank Vogel saw the weakness in Wu Rui’s move at once. The flaw was too obvious. Vogel had even thought the Greek Freak could never be fooled by it. Yet it happened.

Wu Rui used the same move Giannis once used to toy with Jeff Green, and he crossed him off.

The effect of that shot went beyond the basket itself. The words Wu Rui spoke after making it carried a sharp edge, almost a “tit for tat” sting, and it made Giannis Antetokounmpo—who had been in command all game—fury-blind.

The composure he had only just regained by halftime was broken, and it showed. The young team leader’s offense on that side was only mediocre after that.

“Giannis trying to bully Michael?” the commentator said in confusion. “Milwaukee’s plan is too simple. They should be passing more.”

No sooner had he finished than Giannis, frustrated while backing Wu Rui and failing to beat him off the back, spun and swung an elbow toward him.

“Thud!”

Wu Rui had no chance to dodge. One elbow dropped him hard to the floor.

“Boom!”

Ibaqa, who had been setting a position nearby, immediately dropped his defender and rushed toward the elbowing Giannis.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he barked, shoving Giannis away. “Can’t beat him with clean defense, so you throw elbows? What a coward?”

Ibaka led the surge like a fuse lighting. The other Orlando starters joined in.

Nikola Vucevic pulled Ibaka back. Little Payton tried to calm the team’s elder while firing back at Giannis.

On the sideline, if his teammates hadn’t restrained him, Biyombo would have rushed in as well. But bench players are forbidden to enter the court, so he could only growl from outside.

Milwaukee did not soften, either. Jabari Parker, brimming with fury, stormed two strides forward and shoved Ibaka away.

“He’s taking a bad fall!” Even after officials separated the two sides, Giannis did not stop talking. While talking to Ibaka, he pointed at the player lying on the floor. “That Asian actor is acting. I didn’t put any force into it. He’s taking a fake fall!”

“Settle down, Sergi!” Little Payton, closest to both key players, held Ibaka and snapped back, “MD, a fake now? Want me to try a real elbow on you?”

“Beep! Beep! Beep!”

As the situation escalated, the three referees rushed onto the court and pulled the players apart.

“Out of Orlando!”

“Get back to Milwaukee!”

The stands at Amalie Arena roared with angry shouts from the crowd, who would not tolerate what they felt was unfair treatment of their team’s newcomer.

“Unbelievable,” the sideline commentator stood up again. “Giannis made such an undisciplined move. It’s dangerous. The league may even call a qualifying foul. It was a blatant play.”

“Michael, are you okay?”

As players slowly separated, Foniye hurried to Wu Rui, who was still on the floor. “Michael, are you okay?”

“Hmm?”

Foniye’s voice pulled him out of the fog. He rose slowly and shook his head. “What time is it? Is it chemo time?”

“What? Michael, don’t speak Chinese—say something I can understand!”

Foniye was taken aback by the sudden switch. “Concussion?”

“Evan?” As his awareness returned, Wu Rui rubbed his eyes. “I’m Michael Wu, right? Is this Orlando?”

“Thank heaven—you still remember how to speak English.” Foniye helped him up and called to the bench. “Guys, take him off the floor and get him checked!”

Supported by several players, Wu Rui asked again what had happened. His awareness was still a little blurred in that moment.

“Giannis got ejected? Jabari Parker got a technical too?” he asked from the bench, looking at Ibaka, who had explained everything. “Sorry, Sergi—because you got one, too.”

“Michael,” Ibaka said with a grin, even though he was likely to be fined, “just promise you’ll show your strengths after the game. It’s nothing. But you owe me dinner.”

“Deal, man. If we win today, we’ll go out tonight.”

Seeing his team elder put in a word for him so unconcernedly, Wu Rui agreed at once.

Then the team doctor arrived with equipment and moved from the bench to give Wu Rui a full check.

From Wu Rui’s own account, after he was knocked down, the back of his head slammed hard into the floor and he experienced a brief dimming of awareness. It could very well be a concussion.

“Don’t you dare call it anything major on me,” he said. “I still need to win this game, then still go celebrate with Sergi.”

Seeing the doctors’ tense faces, Wu Rui even laughed. “Frank, finish the check and let me back in the game.”