Chapter 109: He Must Be the Point Guard!

The referee was too late to intervene. A heap of players were locked in a brawl, the intensity of which suggested that the loser would somehow forfeit a major tournament trophy.

The referee had intended to grab Ma Jingtao and Yuhang to issue technical fouls and eject them, but just then, a figure agilely leaped from the stands and joined the fray.

After the referee finally pried the teams apart, he turned to Daxu, red-faced and panting, and demanded, "Who are you?"

Daxu glanced at the referee and calmly replied, "I am who I am, a different kind of firework."

The referee was stunned. "Security, get him out of here."

For Daxu, a spectator, to be ejected from two consecutive games was, in itself, quite the miracle.

"Referee," Daxu protested with a look of grievance, "I was trying to break up the fight!"

Breaking up the fight? The referee rolled his eyes. You were the one having the most fun in the middle of it.

"Ejection!" the referee declared without hesitation.

Because most of the attention was drawn to Daxu, only Yuhang and Ma Jingtao were handed technical fouls.

The game resumed. Ma Jingtao, clearly fired up, began forcing his way through with aggressive dribbling.

Seeing Ma Jingtao playing so rashly and without structure, Jinhua tightened their defense against him. After several failed attempts to break through, No. 1 Middle School immediately called a timeout.

The coach of No. 1 Middle School looked stern, clearly dissatisfied with Ma Jingtao's selfish play. "From now on, shift the offensive focus to Mingkang."

Ma Jingtao was dejected; his plan today had been to defeat the player known as the "number one point guard." He possessed outstanding individual skills and a layup technique that was unrivaled in the county, with few peers his age. He had hoped to dismantle Jinhua single-handedly, but that seemed unlikely now. They really had grown stronger.

In the second quarter, Wang Mingkang began frequently posting up in the low post, where his frame held a slight advantage over Brother Qiang. He relied on two main moves: a back-to-the-basket fadeaway jumper, identical to Kevin Garnett’s—clearly a move he had practiced extensively—and a face-up drive from the baseline after a jab step, charging straight for the rim. His height and wingspan left Jinhua with no answer. After ruthlessly swatting away a layup by Lin Wei, he let out a roar, brimming with excitement.

The score was beginning to pull away: 23–17. The low score heading into the end of the second quarter was a testament to the intensity of the defense.

After a pick-and-roll, Minghan found himself matched up against Wang Mingkang. He crossed the ball over, looking for an opening.

Wang Mingkang glared at Minghan and sneered, "Pass the ball! You don't stand a chance." He had already recorded five blocks, exuding the aura of someone who would cut down anyone in his path.

Hearing such provocation, Minghan was naturally stung. He crossed over, drove forward, and pulled back—his signature move, learned from watching Michael Jordan tapes. He rose for the shot, and the release felt perfect.

Watching the arc of the ball, Wang Mingkang instinctively took a step forward.

Swish!

As Minghan landed, a sharp, tearing sensation shot up from his heel. He had landed squarely on Wang Mingkang’s foot. Minghan clutched his foot, gritting his teeth in pain.

"He’s injured!" Many in the crowd gasped, deeply concerned for Minghan.

Wang Mingkang stood by Minghan’s side and reached out a hand. "Can you stand?" He hadn’t done it on purpose; he wasn't the type to injure an opponent to win.

Minghan tried to stand, but the pain surged back. "Not yet."

Wang Mingkang signaled the referee for a timeout. The Jinhua squad crowded around, asking about his condition. "Heiren" (The Black Man) walked over and gently massaged the ankle. "Does it still hurt that much?"

Minghan felt a bit better. "It’s better."

Heiren breathed a sigh of relief. "The tendons aren't damaged. Rest for a while, and you'll be fine."

Heiren made a substitution, and Minghan sat out. Minghan felt frustrated; the team’s rhythm was off, and everyone’s shooting touch was abysmal. Being relegated to a spectator, unable to help his team, was agonizing.

The pain hadn't completely faded, but Minghan stood up and signaled to the coach. "Coach, put me in! Jianhao is at a disadvantage with his height."

Indeed, with the tall Minghan off the court, No. 1 Middle School’s shooting guard had scored on two consecutive drives. The lead had reached double digits. Would they be stopped in the quarterfinals once again?

Heiren looked at Minghan and said, "It’s not time yet."

Minghan was confused. The rhythm was completely under the control of No. 1 Middle School. If they allowed another run, the game would effectively be over.

Wang Mingkang had become a different person, shifting from his defensive focus in the first quarter to a scoring rampage. As time ticked away, Minghan felt truly distressed, yet Heiren showed no intention of subbing him in. Heiren had been rotating players frequently today, as the defensive intensity was exhausting. An eight-man rotation!

Late in the third quarter, Jinhua trailed by a full thirteen points. Many spectators left in frustration. Were they going to lose to No. 1 Middle School again?

"Minghan, how do you feel?" This was the first time Heiren had spoken to Minghan all quarter.

Minghan rubbed his ankle. "The pain is gone."

Heiren nodded. "Then the rest is up to you."

Heiren’s tone was earnest, and Minghan felt deeply encouraged. It was the feeling of being completely trusted.

"Coach," Minghan said with confidence, "I’ll lead us to victory."

It was a bold statement. In this team, Minghan’s role was certainly not as prominent as it had been on his class team. Being a floor general and a spot-up shooter seemed sufficient. There were too many people who could solve problems—great isolation scorers, excellent big men, and versatile ball handlers. Thus, Minghan had never placed himself on a pedestal. He simply tried his best within his duties.

But today, Heiren’s words were a serious directive: your teammates are in trouble, and you must lead them out of the mud.

Minghan didn't refuse. Or perhaps, he had always been preparing, always striving, just for this moment.

"I’ll carry us..."

After the whistle blew, Minghan checked back into the game. Scattered applause rose from the stands—for the warrior returning from injury, and in hopes that he would bring a spark to the team.

"Yuhang, I’ll take your spot," Minghan said. Yuhang looked at him and nodded.

The scene was eerily similar to the time Yuhang had told Minghan, "In this game, take my place and organize the team."

Minghan walked up to Ma Jingtao and smiled. "Buddy, it’s my turn to guard you now."

Minghan’s smile was innocent, but Ma Jingtao felt as though he had been plunged into an ice cellar. He suddenly remembered a remark Wang Mingkang had made before the game: "He is a big man I can’t quite figure out. He has the ball-handling skills of a guard and an excellent shooting touch. He can play any position from one to five."

At the time, Ma Jingtao had dismissed it, asking, "So what is his strongest position? Center?"

Wang Mingkang had pondered for a long time before recalling Minghan’s ghostly passes and saying, "It should be point guard."