Chapter 6 | Position

The intra-team scrimmage was scheduled for Friday afternoon.

It wasn’t publicly announced. Near the end of practice, Coach Zhou Qiming casually said, “Tomorrow, play with the official lineup.”

The gym fell silent for half a second.

“Official lineup” meant positions.

It meant someone would start.

Someone would be pushed out.

Zero paused while tightening his shoelaces, then continued. He didn’t look up, but he could feel the gazes around him—more direct than in the past few days.

This time, he wasn’t “the observed one.”

He was a competitor.

—

The next afternoon, the gym lights were all on.

The white lines, the hoops, the scoreboard—everything was lit up, like a real game. Zhou stood at the scorer’s table with the lineup in hand.

“Starters.”

He read the names slowly.

When the name for point guard came up, Zero’s heartbeat flickered slightly.

“Zero.”

No cheers. No applause.

But a few eyes instinctively glanced at the original starting point guard—a senior who had been on the team for two years.

The senior’s face didn’t change; he just pressed his lips together.

Zero stepped onto the court, standing at the top of the arc, and took a deep breath.

For the first time, he was standing in the position he was supposed to be in.

—

The game began. The intensity was immediately different.

Defense was real. Screens weren’t decorative—they used their bodies. Every position, every contact, every move hit hard. Zero felt the pressure instantly.

His opponent was the senior he had pushed out of the starting lineup.

Experience, strength, emotion—it was all written on the senior’s face.

First possession.

Zero dribbled past half-court. The defender stayed close, hand always hovering over his dribble. Zero didn’t rush; he slowed the pace, drawing the defender’s weight forward.

Just as the defender prepared to press, Zero suddenly changed direction.

Small.

But enough.

He slipped past the side and passed to the rolling big man.

Score.

Second possession.

The defender made more aggressive moves.

A shoulder bump—no foul called.

Zero’s steps faltered slightly, but he didn’t lose the ball. He steadied it, pushed it outward, and reset the offense.

Third possession.

The defender spoke.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

Quiet, but deliberate.

Zero didn’t reply.

He simply remembered the rhythm.

Midway through the game, problems began to appear.

Zero’s stamina was dropping.

Not that he couldn’t run, but his recovery after contact slowed. Breathing grew heavier. His shot stability began to waver subtly.

The opponent noticed.

During a fast break, the opposing point guard accelerated directly past Zero and scored.

Next possession, the same thing.

The score was tied.

Sideline whispers reached him.

“He can’t hold up.”

Zero heard it.

But he didn’t look at the sideline.

He looked at the scoreboard. Then at Coach Zhou.

The coach’s expression remained unreadable.

That meant—solve it on the court.

—

Fourth quarter, last five minutes.

Score tight.

Zero stood at the top of the arc. Sweat dripped down his chin. His fingers tingled.

The ball came to him.

The defense wasn’t pressing as close anymore.

They were gambling.

Gambling that he wouldn’t start again.

Zero remembered Zhou’s words—

Either pass early, or attack directly.

He didn’t wait.

First step—directly forward.

The defender reacted half a beat late.

A second defender came over.

Zero didn’t pull back.

In the air, he guided the ball around his body to the inside.

Bounce.

Perfect.

The big man caught and scored.

Next possession.

The defense hesitated.

Zero seized the moment, stopped abruptly, mid-range shot.

Swish.

The sideline’s tone shifted.

Final minute.

The opposing point guard had the ball, trying to use experience to run down the clock.

Zero stuck to him.

Didn’t steal. Didn’t bump.

Just positioned himself.

The opponent hesitated, then chose to drive.

Zero stepped forward—first.

Offensive foul.

Whistle.

Zero almost lost his balance in that instant.

Last possession.

Coach Zhou didn’t call a play. He only said:

“Zero, handle it yourself.”

The ball was inbounded.

Zero stood at midcourt, time running down.

He didn’t accelerate.

Step by step, he ran the clock to the last three seconds.

Then—

Drive.

Stop.

Shot.

The ball spun once in the air and dropped into the hoop.

Whistle.

Game over.

—

No one spoke immediately.

Seconds later, someone muttered a curse under their breath.

Zero stood on the court, chest heaving, vision slightly blurred.

Coach Zhou walked over, gave him a look.

“Position—for now, that’s enough.”

Not a confirmation.

But not a rejection either.

Zero nodded.

He understood.

This game wasn’t won by the score.

It was won by position.