Chapter 9 | The Moment He Was Subbed Out

The second quarter had just started, and Zero was still on the court.

He stood at the top of the arc. His palms were still sweaty, and for a brief moment, the ball slipped slightly when it was passed to him. He immediately pushed it down, forcing his focus back.

The opponent gave him no time to adjust.

Right from the first possession, it was full-court pressure.

Not two players—three lines.

As soon as he received the ball, the defender to the side sealed his first step, the one in front pressured his vision, and another was ready to trap from behind.

This was the kind of defense only a mature team could run.

Zero chose the safest option—pass early.

The moment the ball left his hands, the defense rotated instantly, forcing his teammates into tight handling. The offense didn’t collapse completely, but the rhythm was entirely in the opponent’s control.

Two consecutive possessions yielded nothing.

Third possession.

Zero held the ball again.

He could feel the opposing point guard watching, not rushing to steal, just waiting for a mistake. That gaze was cold, as if saying: you’ll give it to me eventually.

Zero didn’t.

He created space, let the clock run down eight seconds, then lobbed the ball inside.

The inside player wasn’t ready.

Turnover.

Fast break by the opponents.

Score gap stretched to sixteen.

Coach Zhou finally stood.

“Timeout.”

Zero walked to the bench. His legs felt heavy. He sat down, opened his water bottle, spilling a little down the side.

“You come out first,” Zhou said.

Flat tone.

But Zero’s heart sank slightly.

It was the first time he had been subbed out in a real game against outside competition.

He stood, straightened his jersey, and walked to the end of the bench. No one on the bench looked at him; all eyes stayed on the court.

The game continued.

The replacement point guard played harder, relying on speed and physicality, drawing two fouls in a row. The score narrowed slightly, and the bench began reacting.

Zero sat, hands clasped between his knees.

No resentment.

Only clarity.

He knew that during that stretch, he had been fully read by the opponent.

Not because of skill—but because of experience gap.

Two minutes before the end of the second quarter, the opponent made a small mistake.

A hesitant pass in the backcourt, forced to the sideline.

In that instant, Zero stood.

“Watch the left hand,” he said quietly.

Not loud, but close enough for teammates nearby to hear.

The teammate froze for a moment, then followed the instruction, forcing the opponent to play left-handed. Passing lanes were compressed.

Steal.

Fast break.

Score.

Coach Zhou glanced at Zero.

The second quarter ended.

Zero still hadn’t been subbed back in.

During halftime, the players sat in front of the bench while the coach gave instructions. Zhou talked only about defense and positioning—no mention of Zero.

But as they dispersed, he suddenly said:

“The second half will get messy.”

Then he looked at Zero.

“Be ready.”

Zero nodded.

Not long after the third quarter began, the court indeed fell into chaos.

The opponent rotated their lineup; rhythm slowed, mistakes increased. On their side, the physically pushing point guard’s stamina dropped, and two consecutive fast breaks were stopped.

Coach Zhou gestured.

“Zero, go.”

When Zero stood, his mind was calm.

He stepped onto the court without looking at the score or the stands.

He only observed the opponents’ positioning.

First possession.

He didn’t rush past half-court. Instead, he dribbled slowly, gradually stretching the defense.

The opponents tried to intensify, only to realize—

Time wasn’t on their side.

Zero began controlling the pace.

Not to chase points—but to stop the bleeding.

With the simplest screens and earliest passes, he minimized mistakes. The score didn’t immediately recover, but it didn’t widen further.

By the end of the third quarter, the score gap remained.

But the game hadn’t collapsed.

Zero returned to the bench. Zhou handed him a bottle of water.

“That reminder just now,” the coach said, “Did you notice it yourself?”

Zero nodded.

“That’s your job now,” Zhou continued. “It’s not about proving you can beat them.”

He paused.

“It’s about proving that as long as you’re on the court, the team won’t die.”

Zero twisted open the cap, took a sip.

For the first time, he didn’t feel like the one who had been subbed out.

He felt like the one who had been kept until the end.