The match had just ended when Head Coach Gallagher called Yang Yan over with a serious expression. Yang approached, still wiping sweat from his brow, only to find Gallagher staring at him with eyes full of complicated emotions.
Then, finally, Gallagher burst out with a scolding that caught Yang completely off guard.
"You little punk! Are you messing with me or what?!"
Yang blinked in confusion, expecting the coach to chew him out with sarcasm or criticism like usual. But this sudden outburst of frustration felt oddly personal, almost like a disappointed father rather than a furious coach.
He tried to come up with a response, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "Uh… Coach, I—"
Gallagher waved him off with a grunt before Yang could finish. "Forget it! I don't even want to deal with you right now. Just make sure you show up on time for training tomorrow."
And with that, Gallagher turned around and stormed off the court, muttering under his breath.
As soon as he was gone, a loud voice rang out from behind.
"Bro! You were insane out there!"
Johnny came barreling toward Yang and threw his arms around him in a massive hug.
"Gah—! Johnny! Can you not choke me to death while celebrating?!"
Yang coughed and patted Johnny's arm, trying to pry him off. Johnny, still buzzing with disbelief, finally released him but stared at Yang like he'd just found out his best friend was a superhero.
"You better treat me to a super-sized pizza today! If not, I swear I'll choke you again!"
Johnny was clearly conflicted. Just a few days ago, Yang Yan was the guy who skipped practice, showed up late, and bailed early. Now, he was suddenly a key player—almost the team's secret weapon.
They were supposed to be goofing off together, but Yang had clearly been hiding something. It felt like finding out your best friend, the one who promised to be broke and reckless with you forever, just rolled up in a luxury car and admitted he was a secret billionaire.
Johnny couldn't put his feelings into words, so he did the next best thing: he crushed two massive pizzas by himself. Only then did he forgive Yang—grudgingly.
The next morning arrived.
Gallagher stepped into the training facility early, scanning the gym with sharp eyes. He found what he was looking for—Yang was already there, sitting quietly and warming up.
Gallagher nodded to himself. "At least he's on time today. Maybe I really did knock some sense into him yesterday."
He clapped his hands. "Alright, everyone! Line up—we're starting!"
Training began. But it wasn't long—just half an hour in—before Gallagher's face started turning red.
Yang Yan was leaning casually against the gym wall, sitting on the floor like he was at a picnic, not practice.
"Ohhh nooo~ I can't run anymore~ I'm totally out of juice~ I need a break~"
Gallagher's temple twitched. It wasn't the first time Yang pulled something like this. In fact, he'd been doing it for the last few days.
Ten minutes into training, Yang would suddenly develop a splitting headache or stomach cramps. At first, Gallagher had been concerned and even called over the team doctor.
But the results always came back the same: Yang Yan was perfectly healthy.
After the third excuse, Gallagher stopped feeling concerned. Now, he just felt furious.
"My feet are killing me, Coach!"
"I think I twisted my wrist!"
"Ow! My back! I swear it cramped!"
The doctor would check him every time—and every time, Yang got a clean bill of health.
From worry to confusion to anger, Gallagher was going through every emotion imaginable. His blood pressure had definitely spiked since Yang joined regular training.
"Get up! Don't mess around—Coach is staring daggers at you!" Johnny whispered, trying to drag Yang back onto his feet.
But Yang flopped onto the floor like a ragdoll. "No way, man! My whole body is sore—I really can't do this anymore!"
Gallagher finally stormed over, looking like a storm cloud ready to strike.
"You—get back to training!" he barked at Johnny.
Johnny hesitated and glanced at Yang.
"Leave him," Gallagher said coldly. "Let him rest if he wants to."
Johnny sighed and walked off.
Gallagher muttered under his breath as he walked away, "Stupid kid. I actually thought he'd changed. What a joke…"
As soon as Gallagher was out of sight, Yang sat up with a grin and leaned against the wall like he was just watching a movie.
Then, a digital interface appeared before him—a translucent panel only he could see.
[As 34-year-old Lao Deng, your body can no longer handle high-intensity training every day.]
[You are required to engage in basic body activation exercises for no more than 30 minutes per day.]
[Exceeding this time will trigger the system's penalty mechanism.]
Yang sighed as he read the familiar warning. He didn't have a choice—not if he wanted to keep his "Lao Deng" powers. The system recognized him not as an 18-year-old athlete, but as a 34-year-old basketball veteran with a limited capacity for physical stress.
So, yeah—it wasn't that Yang didn't want to train. It's that he couldn't.
Ironically, the harder he trained, the worse his condition became. His system stats would deteriorate. His performance would tank. He had no other option.
For the next two days, the pattern repeated itself.
Training would begin.
And ten minutes in—Bam!
"Coach, I'm dizzy!"
"I couldn't sleep last night! My brain's mush!"
"Some guy on a bike almost hit me this morning!"
Gallagher had seen more excuses in two days than in his entire coaching career. Yang Yan had a limitless imagination, apparently, and he never reused the same excuse twice.
To Yang, this was just responsible system management.
To Gallagher, it was an infuriating mystery.
Still, he stopped pushing Yang. It was like he'd accepted that this version of Yang wasn't going to change.
By the third day, after wrapping up training, Gallagher gathered the team.
"Alright, here's the lineup for the next game."
The players immediately quieted down.
"Starting point guard: Mike Conley."
"Center: Greg Oden."
"Shooting guard: Hill."
"Power forward: Augustus."
He paused, eyes scanning the group.
Johnny elbowed Yang. "Dude, your name's next. Obviously."
There was no one else qualified to start at small forward. Everyone knew it.
"Starting small forward—Johnny."
Yang blinked.
"Substitute player: Yang Yan."
Gallagher closed the clipboard with a sharp snap. "That's all. Dismissed."
He turned and walked away without another word.
Yang sat there, stunned, his thoughts swirling.
Johnny looked at him, half celebrating, half guilty.
Yang didn't say anything.
He just stared down at his hands, already thinking about the next move.
The game had only just begun—and not on the court.