Chapter Seventy-Seven: Wu Rui’s Position

"Serge Ibaka grabs the offensive rebound and kicks it out to his teammate on the perimeter—Evan Fournier takes the shot from beyond the arc!" At Bankers Life Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, the commentator at courtside took a sharp breath, and a crisp swish rang out immediately after.

"Orlando’s sharpshooter hits another three! That’s his second of the night, and the Magic now lead the home team Pacers 11 to 4, here on the road!"

As the commentator’s impassioned voice filled the arena, Wu Rui leapt up from the Magic’s bench, waving his towel and raising three fingers high in the air. "Come on, Evan! Your three-point sword is the fire of hell!" Wu Rui shouted with all his might, swinging the towel as if he himself had made the shot.

"Sit down, Michael!" Biyombo quickly grabbed the overzealous rookie at his side. Seeing Wu Rui’s confusion, Biyombo added, "Save your energy—there’ll be plenty more to cheer for tonight!"

"Ha! Bismack, I didn’t expect you to say something like that," Wu Rui laughed, sitting back down. "You’re right. I’ll save my strength for when we celebrate the win."

The Magic bench, already lively thanks to their early lead and the electric atmosphere, erupted in celebration. But the home crowd behind them was in no mood for joy. Their team had fallen behind by nearly double digits at the start, and the Chinese rookie’s antics on the sideline seemed even more over-the-top than the player who’d just hit the three. To them, it felt like a slap in the face.

"Look at that kid showing off—he’s just waving a towel on the bench!"

"Honestly, if he was the one making threes, I wouldn’t say anything. But right now, I just want to tell that benchwarmer to shut his mouth!"

With nowhere else to vent their frustration, the Pacers fans hurled their irritation at the exuberant Wu Rui on the sidelines.

But in the noise of the arena, Wu Rui heard none of it. What he did hear clearly, though, was the sweet sound of the ball swishing through the net.

After Fournier drew the defense at the perimeter and dished inside to Vucevic for an easy floater, the gap widened even further. The Magic now led 17 to 7, up by ten on the road!

The Pacers seemed stunned, and their head coach, Nate McMillan, called a timeout without hesitation.

"Great job, Evan—I love your threes!" On the Magic bench, Wu Rui was first to greet each departing teammate with high-fives. Spotting Ibaka, he couldn’t resist a bit of showmanship. "Well, if it isn’t Serge Ibaka, King of the Boards!"

"Enough, Michael—I don’t want to waste my energy laughing," Ibaka replied, grinning as he slapped Wu Rui’s hand.

As Wu Rui finished high-fiving his teammates, Magic head coach Frank Vogel clapped his hands to gather everyone’s attention. "Michael, everyone, listen up. This timeout is important."

"As you all know, last season I was the head coach of the Pacers, and Nate—now their head coach—was my top assistant. Even though they changed their roster over the summer, a team’s habits don’t change overnight."

He grabbed the whiteboard from his assistant and sketched out adjustments, focusing on defensive assignments. Offense was not a problem tonight—this was the most flawless start to a game he’d seen all season. For Vogel, the key now was to shore up the defense in response to the Pacers’ timeout adjustments.

"One last thing…" Vogel glanced at the referee, who was about to blow his whistle, then patted Wu Rui on the shoulder. "You’re in, Michael."

"Your role on this team is more than just waving towels," Vogel said urgently. "Lock down Paul George. That’s your only task tonight!"

"Coach Vogel, even if you hadn’t told me, I’d have done exactly that!"

Wu Rui thumped his chest and joined the other four starters on the court.

Winning tonight was a must for the head coach, but for Wu Rui, a devoted Kobe fan, this game carried another meaning. Paul George, the Pacers’ star, was also a well-known Kobe disciple. This was to be a duel between two of Kobe’s followers.

"Oh! The Orlando Magic make a substitution coming out of the timeout—Michael Wu replaces Jeff Green. That means he’ll be matching up with Paul George!"

The commentator paused in surprise as Wu Rui took the court. "Coach Vogel is making a personnel change with the lead. Is this a tactical move?"

On the other side, Pacers coach Nate McMillan felt a jolt of anxiety. He knew Vogel too well—he wouldn’t send Wu Rui in without a reason.

"Paul, should we—"

Before he could finish, his star player cut him off.

"No need, Coach Nate. We stick to the plan. It doesn’t matter who Coach Vogel puts on me—I intend to dominate, just as Kobe always did."

With that, Paul George, wearing number 13, strode away with unwavering confidence.

Out of the timeout, the Pacers’ strategy was clear. Gone were the complex plays—Jeff Teague brought the ball up, immediately handed it to Paul George, and cleared out. This was the play Nate McMillan had drawn up: let George go one-on-one.

Vogel, seeing the court open up, felt his confidence flicker. He’d expected this—when you’re trailing, you put the ball in your star’s hands. But would his defensive adjustment work?

With Vogel’s eyes tracking every move, Magic number zero stood firm in front of Pacers number thirteen, arms spread wide. "You shall not pass!"

George smirked at Wu Rui’s bold declaration. Here in Indianapolis, no one upstaged General George.

With a swift step, Paul George feinted back, then crossed over between his legs, creating a sliver of space on Wu Rui’s right. Without pause, he drove inside and pulled up for a quick jumper.