Chapter Twenty-Six: You Are Michael Wu!

"Michael, tell me what happened here!"

Inside the Magic's locker room, only Head Coach Frank Vogel and the reprimanded Michael Wu were present.

On the big screen, the same clip played on repeat: Wu grabbing a defensive rebound, freezing for a second, and instead of passing the ball to a teammate sprinting down the court, handing it off to the nearest player, Bismack Biyombo.

"Even someone who's never played in the NBA knows the best choice in that situation. I want to hear your explanation!"

Vogel's expression was stern, his face dark. He had once harbored hopes for Wu, who'd shown promise in training, and Wu's two shots—one made—had indeed surprised him. But the mistake that followed was just too much for the seasoned coach to tolerate.

"Coach... if I said I felt there was something wrong with the game ball, would you believe me?" Wu could hear the anger in Vogel's tone. He muttered softly, but when Vogel's brows furrowed, he corrected his posture at once. "I wasn't focused enough. That's on me."

"Enough, Michael. If you weren't focused, how did you secure that defensive rebound?" Vogel saw through Wu immediately and pressed, "What did you say before? The game ball has a problem?"

"Coach Vogel, do you believe me?"

Hearing Vogel's question, Wu didn't beat around the bush. "I just felt there was something off with the ball in this game."

"When I first got on the court, I was ready to show what I'd practiced. But as soon as I touched the ball, something felt wrong." Once he started, Wu couldn't stop. "The ball in this game seemed much heavier than the ones in practice!"

"Heavier?"

"Yes! I thought it was odd, so I asked Bismack about it." Wu continued, "But he wasn't clear, so I thought I'd get the ball myself and test it out."

"So you grabbed that rebound, and during that second you froze, you were actually feeling the weight of the ball?" Seeing Wu nod repeatedly, Vogel stepped closer. "Michael, do you know what I most want to say to you right now?"

"What... what is it?" Vogel was so close that Wu was at a loss. Truthfully, Wu had always harbored a natural respect—perhaps even awe—for his coach. Maybe that's what they call a coach's aura.

"You're such an idiot!"

With that, Vogel turned away, brought up the video of Wu's first career points, and pointed at him on the screen. "If there was a problem with the ball, how did you make that shot?"

"And if the game ball was different from the ones in practice, how did we score over a hundred points and secure three consecutive wins?" Vogel was getting angrier by the second. He switched off the screen and stared at Wu, at a loss for words when it came to his rookie.

After the scolding, Wu finally came to his senses. As the coach said, how could the NBA allow a problem with the game ball?

"Coach, then why did it feel so heavy to me?" Wu was still worried, standing up in his agitation.

"Because you were too nervous." Vogel, who had seen it all, cut to the heart of the matter. "Think back to your second shot—you didn't hesitate, you weren't nervous at all. That was the best version of Michael Wu."

"Think carefully about how you felt at that moment."

With that, Vogel shook his head at Wu. "Take some time and think about it."

Whoosh.

After his one-on-one with Vogel, Wu left Amway Center and, in the depths of the night, struck a shooting pose and mimed a shot. Even without a basketball in hand, Wu knew this shot would go in—without a doubt.

"What was my state at that moment?"

Muttering to himself, Wu walked through the streets of Orlando, repeating the shooting motion. It had been a long time since he'd practiced shooting without a ball. Now, after all his training with one, the motion that once felt exhausting now seemed effortless.

"Michael... Wu?"

As Wu was miming his shot while walking, a crisp voice called out behind him. A young, blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman jogged up to him.

It was only when she stopped in front of him that Wu realized just how tall she was. After being reborn, Wu knew he was at least two meters tall, but this woman was nearly his height.

"Oh my god, you're really Michael Wu? The Asian rookie drafted by the Orlando Magic this year!" She wore a Nike cross-body sports bag, brimming with energy. But at the sight of Wu, her eyes lit up like a leopard spotting its prey. "I can't believe I'm running into you on the streets of Orlando!"

Uh...

Wu had always considered himself a talker. In his previous life, spending so much time in a hospital, he would suffocate if he didn't talk. Even now, he still had that habit. But the young woman in front of him could outtalk even him.

"Are you not Michael Wu?" Obviously, Wu's split-second reaction made her think she'd mistaken him for someone else. Disappointment was written all over her face. "That can't be—Michael is as tall as you..."

"Okay, miss, I am indeed Michael Wu." Seeing her dejection, Wu quickly confessed, then asked, "Do you know me?"

"Ha! I knew it!" The instant Wu confirmed his identity, her face lit up. "Of course I know you. Right now, no one at the University of Central Florida doesn't know who you are."

"The 2016 NBA Draft, second round, seventeenth pick—Orlando Magic: Michael Wu!"