Chapter 12 | The Night They Must Win

The league started on a Wednesday night.

Not a weekend, not a holiday—just a regular weekday, with everything else running normally. The match was held at the city sports center. The lights were so bright they almost hurt the eyes. The stands were scattered with spectators: mostly parents, some students from their school, and a few strangers there for curiosity.

A real league had no ceremony.

Only results mattered.

Zero changed into his uniform in the locker room. Outside, the sound of sneakers scraping the floor grew clearer with each passing moment. He pulled on his jersey—still number zero—but this time, nobody saw it as casual.

Coach Zhou gave his final instructions.

“First game,” he said, “don’t think about looking good. Our group must win.”

Those words made Zero’s chest tighten.

Must win.

Not “do your best,” not “learn something.”

The first game was about results.

Zero started as the point guard.

Their opponents were a team with tough defense, slow tempo, many fouls, and heavy physical contact. They weren’t chasing fast breaks; they wanted to drag you into the mud.

From the first possession, Zero felt it.

Every drive came with a bump. Every catch had someone breathing in his ear. The referee’s whistle was loose; physical contact was allowed.

The first quarter was low-scoring.

Both teams played painfully.

Zero controlled the tempo, minimized mistakes, but offensive efficiency was low. His mid-range shots were contested, drives were blocked, passing lanes were cut off in advance.

First quarter ended.

Tie game.

Sitting back on the bench, Zero’s shoulders felt heavy.

“They’re testing your patience,” Zhou said quietly. “Don’t rush.”

Second quarter began, and the opponents started targeting Zero.

Two defenders alternated pressuring him. The moment he stopped dribbling, a trap was set. Zero tried to pass early, but his teammates squandered two opportunities in a row.

The point difference widened to five.

Voices rose from the sidelines.

“Should we sub him out?”

Zero heard it.

He felt restless.

The third time he was trapped, he chose to force a drive.

It went terribly.

The ball was knocked loose. Opponents fast-break, score.

Seven points down.

Zero retreated, breathing uneven.

His mind began racing.
If they lost the first game, everyone would remember it.

Two minutes left in the second quarter.

Zero had the ball again.

He didn’t look at his teammates. He only stared at the defender.

At that moment, he wasn’t thinking about rhythm. He wasn’t thinking about the right choice.

He was thinking about proving something.

He pushed off and drove quickly.

The defender couldn’t keep up.

Zero rushed into the paint, jumped—

His body was bumped mid-air.

The referee didn’t blow the whistle.

The ball hit the back rim and bounced out.

Opponents countered.

The deficit hit nine points.

Coach Zhou called a timeout.

Zero sat on the bench, head down, chest heaving. For the first time in the league, he lost control.

Zhou didn’t immediately give tactical instructions. He watched Zero for a long moment.

“What are you afraid of?” the coach asked.

Zero didn’t answer.

“You’re afraid of losing,” Zhou continued. “But the way you’re playing now… you’re helping them win.”

The words hit like cold water.

“Must win,” Zhou said, “doesn’t mean you win alone. It means giving this team a chance to win.”

The timeout ended.

Zero stood, took a deep breath, and returned to the court.

This time, he deliberately slowed the first possession. No drives. No forced attacks.

Pick-and-roll.
Pass.
Shift the ball.
Mid-range shot.
Swish.

Next possession:

Slow.
Steady.

The opponents hesitated.

By the start of the third quarter, the point difference had been trimmed to three.

Zero wiped sweat from his face at the sideline and noticed his hands were still trembling slightly.

He realized: what he had just done wasn’t a technical adjustment.

It was an emotional reset.

And the league, the real test, was exactly that.