Chapter Thirty-Two: Unveiling the Edge (Part One)

The burning passion on the court seemed ready to ignite the entire arena. One by one, the fans entered; the home ground of Mountain Finance was about to face its latest rival, the very team they would have to overcome to reach the CUBA finals.

As the opposing team entered, they were met with a chorus of boos, while the home team received thunderous applause. Lin Fei stepped onto the court alongside Yun Zhongyue, greeted by a roar like thunder. Anyone with an eye for such things could see at a glance that the two had become as close as brothers. Some say, "No basketball without brotherhood"—could that really be true? In fact, they had known each other for less than a month, yet their bond had grown at a remarkable pace.

Starting lineups were announced: the home team in red featured center number 10 Akagi, power forward number 8, small forward number 1, shooting guard number 24, and point guard number 3. The opponents wore blue, with center number 55, forwards 33 and 44 (both capable of playing either forward position), and guards 7 and 6.

At tip-off, the red team secured possession as expected. Number 10 was famed as the king of the jump ball—his leaping wasn’t out of this world, but he possessed an uncanny sense for the ball’s flight and timing, making him a formidable rebounder.

Number 3 brought the ball up, determined to prove his worth since Lin Fei’s arrival had put his position in jeopardy. Dribbling with one hand, he called for number 8 to set a screen, then slipped around the pick and drove into the paint. Faced with a wall of defenders, he forced his way to the rim, colliding hard—though the defenders were big men, number 3’s speed and power were unstoppable. Like a lone hero storming a dragon’s den, he weaved through the crowd beneath the basket, spun out, and with a graceful move, sent the ball arcing toward the hoop. Lin Fei was astonished; he hadn’t seen such ability when he’d matched up against him before. Number 3’s drives seemed effortless, as if he could attack at will. Had he played like this that day, their defeat would not have come so easily.

But the opposition was no pushover. The 33 and 44 duo’s ability to switch positions and attack made them nearly unguardable—they both mastered the forward roles. Against Yun Zhongyue, they could overpower him; against number 8, they could easily break through. With constant rotations and their center number 55 stepping up high, Mountain Finance’s defense was stretched to its limits. Number 33 seized an easy opportunity, nailed a jump shot, and threw his head back in an arrogant howl.

When it was the red team’s turn on offense, they formed a loose pentagon formation, with number 3 trailing and numbers 10 Akagi and 8 leading up front. The most threatening players when penetrating the defense were always on the wings—number 24 Yun Zhongyue and number 1, both with a deadly mid-range jumper and the ability to drive and dish. Their nicknames, “Mountain Finance Kobe” and “Knockoff McGrady,” weren’t mere flattery. Number 3’s role was to orchestrate the attack, and though called “Iverson,” his play was more reminiscent of Rondo from the Celtics. With numbers 10 and 8 poised to receive in the paint, and 24 and 1 darting through screens, number 3’s job was to find the right man at the right time.

The opponents’ offense was straightforward; their outside players rarely initiated plays, instead leaving everything to numbers 33 and 44. The wings simply waited for open shots or played defense on the perimeter.

Halfway through the quarter, both teams were still finding their rhythm. The score was 13-11, with the red team trailing by two. Lin Fei watched the situation on court with mounting anxiety.

The opponent made a substitution, swapping out guard number 7 for number 23. The crowd buzzed with surprise—number 23 was famous throughout Shandong province for his athletic prowess, rumored to be able to kiss the rim. Perhaps an exaggeration, but his physicality was undeniable. His absence at the start suggested the opponents were holding back some strength.

Once number 23 entered, everything changed. He took over as the primary ball handler, with 33 and 44 clearing space for him. It was obvious he was the privileged star of the team.

“Lin Fei, get in the game! Sub for Yun Zhongyue! You’ll match up with number 23!”

Everyone was stunned—what was the coach thinking? Lin Fei’s defense was his greatest weakness, and now he was expected to guard such a beast of a player? It seemed like a gift to the opposition.

But Lin Fei understood Coach Yang Li’s intentions; he wanted to preserve both Lin Fei’s and Yun Zhongyue’s energy for later.

The lineup on court now had two point guards, a formation Lin Fei rarely practiced with. It looked more like a 4+1 setup.

Lin Fei fixed his focus on number 23. Truth be told, he felt uncharacteristically nervous. Even when facing Yun Zhongyue or “Knockoff McGrady,” both of whom were taller and more athletic, neither had been so overpowering as this.

Number 23 cast him a disdainful glance, his contempt clear in his eyes. He drove hard, his strength such that Lin Fei could barely budge the ball when he tried to swipe at it. With a powerful three-step layup, he charged straight at Lin Fei. No way would Lin Fei let him get away with such arrogance; even if he had to drag him down, he would. He grabbed hold of number 23’s green jersey, but number 23 simply took off, Lin Fei hanging on behind him, and with number 10 blocking ahead, hurled the ball toward the hoop. The shot missed, but Lin Fei was called for the foul.

Coach Yang Li said nothing from the sidelines, just nodded silently. Yun Zhongyue stood nearby, watching Lin Fei intently.

Lin Fei played his heart out in the first quarter but didn’t score a single point. He barely touched the ball—number 3’s playmaking was more than enough. As for Lin Fei’s defense on number 23, in a word: awful. In two words: truly awful. Lin Fei racked up two fouls, while number 23 put up ten points in half a quarter.

In the second quarter, the coach benched all the starters and told the substitutes, “Lin Fei will organize the offense now.” The message was clear: Lin Fei was free to attack at will.

With the ball in his hands, Lin Fei seemed transformed—his attacks flowed like water, his shots were lightning-fast, his energy rivaled any starter. He caught the opposition off guard. They had hoped to hide number 23 among the substitutes, but the red team’s bench was full of assassins, especially number 43, Lin Fei himself. Even their star, number 23, couldn’t contain him.