Chapter 4 | Mistakes

The gym the next day was louder than the day before.

There were fewer people.

Those who weren’t suited for this level had already left. The remaining players understood: from today on, it wasn’t a “tryout” anymore—it was a filter.

Zero tied his shoes tightly, adjusting the laces, when he heard whispers from the sideline:

“Today, they’ll focus on stopping him.”

“Who?”

“Number Zero.”

Zero didn’t look up. He pulled the laces one final time, stood, and stretched his ankles. The floor was still the same, the hoop the same, but the air felt different.

Tighter.

Coach Zhou Qiming quickly blew the whistle and began team assignments.

Zero was placed in the first group.

Opposite him were the core players from yesterday’s Red Team, plus the two fittest forwards. The positioning alone made Zero understand immediately:

This was targeted.

The first round began. The ball was inbounded, and the Red Team switched their defense immediately. The moment Zero touched the ball, two defenders pressed simultaneously.

Not a trap—just semi-double coverage.

They didn’t go for the ball. They blocked lanes, forcing him to stop.

Zero had no choice but to pass.

The offense continued, but the rhythm was broken. Teammates tried to return the ball to him, only to find the passing lane cut off.

The Red Team launched a fast break. Layup. Score.

Second round, nothing changed.

Zero was constrained again. He tried lower dribbles, quicker passes, but the defenders’ positioning was precise—always a half-step ahead of him.

This defense had been studied in advance.

Third round.

Zero finally found a little space. He started from the wing, attempting a direct drive.

The double-team came fast.

He saw a teammate open on the weak side.

In that instant, he chose to pass.

The ball had barely left his hand when a hand reached from the side—fingertips brushed the ball.

Intercepted.

Red Team fast break.

The score widened.

Sideline whispers began.

“He’s completely locked down.”

“Small hands, no room once they compress him.”

Zero retreated to defense. His heartbeat faltered for the first time. He knew the problem wasn’t purely technical—it was judgment.

He had tried too hard to handle the ball “correctly,” instead of handling it “forcefully.”

Fourth round.

Zero received the ball again.

This time, he didn’t wait for the trap to fully form.

He started early, trying to steal a half-step.

The defender didn’t follow—but a second defender filled in.

Zero tried to control the ball forcibly.

It was his first hesitation of the day.

The ball wasn’t fully under control.

It slipped.

Not stolen—his own mistake.

The basketball rolled toward the sideline with a faint thud.

The whistle blew.

Coach Zhou looked at Zero.

It wasn’t a look of blame—more like a check, a quiet confirmation.

Zero lowered his head, throat tight.

He knew exactly what the coach had been waiting for.

It wasn’t to see what he could do.

It was to see—

What happens when he can’t.

In the following possessions, Zero noticeably slowed.

He stopped seeking the ball, avoided contact. Teammates sensed the shift, but no one spoke. The court became chaotic, the score stretched further.

By the time the final whistle blew, Zero was drenched in sweat.

Coach Zhou called everyone to center court.

“Today, someone made a mistake,” he said.

No names were called.

But every gaze instinctively landed on Zero.

“Mistakes aren’t the problem,” Zhou continued. “The problem is, after making one, you’re afraid to take the ball again.”

Zero’s fingertips tightened slightly.

“Tomorrow, we continue.”

The group dispersed.

Zero didn’t leave immediately.

Alone in the gym, he picked up a ball again.

Half the lights were off, shadows stretching across the wooden floor. He stood where he had made that mid-range shot yesterday and stared at the hoop.

Then, he dribbled.

One.

Two.

Slowly, his rhythm returned.

He knew—this was when the real tryouts had truly begun.