Chapter 14｜Seeing It Through

The last two minutes stretched out, slow as if time itself had lost its meaning.

Not the clock—it was every dribble, every breath, magnified to infinity. Zero stood in the backcourt, waiting for the inbounds pass, sweat already dried from his palms only to resurface again.

Up by two points.

One possession could erase it all.

The ball was inbounded.

Zero caught it. The defenders didn’t immediately close in—they stepped back, watching, waiting for him to slip.

Zero didn’t rush.

He dribbled past half-court and positioned himself at the top of the arc, slightly to the right—the spot he knew best. Not to shoot. Not yet. But to remind everyone: the rhythm was here.

The defense suddenly switched.

A taller player stepped up, body pressing, arms wide.

Zero didn’t flinch.

He leaned forward, nudging the defender off balance, then quickly retreated and passed to the wing.

Not a wide-open shot.

Not forced either.

He took it.

Missed.

The rebound went to the opponents.

They pushed the pace.

Zero sprinted back on defense.

He didn’t track the ball—he tracked the man. The shooter who had been ignored the entire game quietly positioned in the corner.

Zero was a step ahead.

The ball went out.

Shot.

Zero jumped, fingertips brushing the ball.

It went off.

The rebound was grabbed by a teammate.

No cheers.

No stats.

No cameras on him.

But in that moment, as he ran back to the frontcourt, his heartbeat finally steadied.

One minute thirty seconds left.

The other team started fouling intentionally.

Zero was fouled.

He walked to the free-throw line.

This time, he didn’t overthink.

First shot.

Score.

Second shot.

Score.

Lead by four.

The opponents called a timeout.

After the timeout, they ran a quick three.

Missed.

The rebound turned chaotic.

Zero dove, using his body to secure the ball.

Referee whistle.

Jump ball.

Possession to them.

Someone on the sidelines finally shouted his name.

Zero stood up and passed to a teammate.

Forty seconds left.

The other team had no choice but to foul again.

This time, their veteran point guard went to the line.

Two shots, one made.

Lead by five.

The game was almost over.

The final shot from the other team was rushed—a three-pointer that missed.

Final buzzer.

Zero didn’t move immediately.

He stared at the scoreboard. The numbers frozen.

They had won.

Not a blowout.

Not flashy.

A victory fought in the mud, pulled, pushed into the corner, step by step, until it was finished.

Teammates swarmed him—pats on the back, hands grabbed.

Zhou Qiming approached.

No praise.

Only one sentence:

“I saw that help defense just now.”

Zero nodded.

At that moment, he finally understood—
The true “first point guard” wasn’t the one scoring the most points.

It was the one who, when everyone else’s eyes were glued to the ball, saw everything else.

The lights slowly dimmed.

Zero walked out of the arena with the team.

The night air was cool.

For the first time, he didn’t think about the next game.

Because this game… he had already seen it through.