On the evening of February 26, 2006, basketball legend Michael Jordan was rushed to the hospital from the presidential suite of a Las Vegas hotel by a Brazilian model.
Although the legend’s team declined to comment on the incident and denied any connection to his recent divorce proceedings, an investigation revealed that Michael had lost two million dollars in Las Vegas that day, and had also been drinking excessively, smoking cigars, and taking stimulants, leading to an overexcitement that led to him passing out in the model’s bed.
Surprisingly, this news went largely unnoticed, as everyone knew Michael’s three major vices: smoking, drinking, and hooking up with Brazilian models.
When Jordan woke up in the hospital, he suddenly felt empty inside, as if he’d been ripped apart.
He stretched out his arms and sighed.
“Unfortunately, my body isn’t what it used to be.
I have to admit I’m getting old!” …
Bruce woke up the next day at noon, with the sun already shining brightly on his face.
He opened his bleary eyes, blinked hard, and got up, feeling something suddenly appear inside his body.
He went to the bathroom, about to take a shower, when he realized that all his hair had been struck by lightning and was standing straight up, looking very rock-and-roll.
” Oh my gosh!
” He forcefully smoothed his hair.
“My handsome hairstyle has turned into this???” However, just as he finished muttering, a faint voice suddenly appeared in his mind: “Treasure it, in twenty years your hairline will recede five centimeters.
By then, you won’t even be able to style your hair into an Afro…” Who?
Who was it?
Bruce was terrified.
He jumped up and looked around, afraid a thief had broken in.
“I’m inside your mind,” the voice continued weakly.
“This may be hard for you to accept, but I have to tell you, you’re the lucky one; lightning has brought you miracles.
You’re blessed with a one-in-a-trillion chance.
“I’m very tired now, and I don’t have much to say.
Last night I examined your body and discovered you had some advantage in the speed gene, so I took action, but your body’s capacity was too weak.
I could only increase your speed to 80.
I used the remaining energy in your hands.
In the next week, your appetite will increase dramatically, and your hands will appear larger.
Don’t be surprised, this is a normal process.
You know, I used that bastard to grow twenty centimeters in six months, transforming him from a short, 1.76-meter-tall black man into a 1.98-meter-tall golden man…” Unfortunately, most of my energy was spent on that selfish, “paranoid, alcoholic, gambler, and pervert.” “I hope you’ll be a positive person, uphold integrity and innovation, and train hard.
When you’ve accumulated enough energy, I’ll awaken again, and I’ll help you unlock your potential and further develop your body!” “Goodbye, lucky one…” The voice grew fainter.
This left Bruce confused.
He couldn’t bring himself to ask, “Hey, who are you?
What’s your name?
Are you my personal grandfather, or a system?
Speak!” Even as he said this, Bruce was shocked.
He didn’t know how he could suddenly utter so many incomprehensible words.
Was it because of the nightmare?
“Don’t ask me such difficult questions.
I’m a positive energy baby just learning to speak.
Rest!
Rest!
Rest a while!” The faint voice faded from his mind like the sound of a car engine receding.
Bruce stood there, dumbfounded.
He suddenly felt like a fool.
Do I have schizophrenia?
He quickly took a cold shower, only to realize his mental state was still unstable.
He slapped his head hard, feeling dizzy and pained: “Am I going crazy?” *Ring, ring!* The phone on the table rang.
He walked over and answered it.
Assistant coach Jamie Lin’s impatient voice came through the line: “Hey, Bruce, what are you doing?
Have you given up?
Didn’t you say you wanted to be the pride of China?
You still have at least three games to prove yourself, so get to practice now.
“There’s a game against USC tomorrow night, and you’re in the starting lineup.
I don’t want you messing things up again!” Jamie Lin spoke with great seriousness.
He was a Chinese-American coach who had always been highly encouraging and supportive of Bruce—with whom he shared the same heritage—given how few people of Asian descent there were in the basketball world.
Bruce thought for a moment, then finally clenched his fist and replied, “Okay, I’m coming right now!” He changed his clothes and headed to the arena.
He didn’t know why he was suddenly so enthusiastic.
He clearly didn’t have any basketball dreams left; what could the last three games possibly change?
He would be better off contacting his Harvard professor early and preparing to return next semester.
When Bruce arrived at the arena, most of the players were already there, except for two injured stars.
The team’s starting power forward, Scott, rushed over and hugged Bruce the moment he saw him: “Ready?
My dear Bruce, today we’re all wearing the yellow vests that signify the starting lineup!” “I can’t wait to conquer the USC court and the wild, naughty girls on campus!” Uh…
Bruce thought Scott was being a bit too naive.
This was the University of Southern California!
He didn’t think that making the starting lineup alongside Scott would change anything.
With injuries sidelining their star point guard, TJ Walton, and key small forward, Nicolas, the Crimson Clan no longer had any elite players capable of creating scoring opportunities with the ball.
Their roster consisted only of sharpshooters or physical players like Scott, making it impossible to establish an effective offensive system.
He felt he was only in the starting lineup out of sheer desperation.
Everyone knew the Crimson Clan had already given up on the 2005–2006 season; the coaching staff was focused on recruiting, scouting talented high school players.
Even the head coach had gone to Los Angeles to scout a pair of twin centers in preparation for the following season.
So…
he was just lucky not to get crushed by USC.
But regardless, now that he had this opportunity, he had to give it his all—even if it was his swan song.
Bruce quickly changed in the locker room, and as he stepped onto the court to warm up, he realized something was wrong—something about his body.
He noticed his center of gravity shifting significantly forward with every step.
At first, he thought it was a fluke, but after a few more attempts, the same thing happened.
After stretching, he immediately broke into a run.
As he sprinted at full speed, he could hear the wind rushing past his ears.
He hadn’t been slow before, but now, he felt like he was moving at lightning speed.
He even experienced the same sensation he used to get when watching videos of TJ Ford.
He even started to think that if he really pushed himself, he could easily beat everyone on the team, including Chris Patt.
Just as he returned from a fast dribble around the court, Chris Patt suddenly shouted, “Listen, Jamie!
I need an explanation!!” Why am I not a starter, but Bruce is?
I know you’re all Chinese, but you can’t mess around with basketball.
Basketball is about skill—not about mutual back-scratching and awkward cover-ups like this.
Chris Patt was a short Black man—standing only 1.72 meters tall—who fancied himself the “TJ Ford of California.” In reality, however, his scoring ability, playmaking skills, and height fell far short of Ford’s.
The only real similarity between them was that both were short, speedy point guards.
Patt harbored a grudge against Bruce.
Both were backup point guards for the Crimson, and neither had seen much playing time while TJ Walton was on the roster.
During their limited minutes, they were constantly competing against one another.
He believed the coaching staff didn’t understand basketball: why give this skinny Chinese kid nearly five minutes of playing time every game?
Wouldn’t it be better to give it all to him?
Was it simply because there was an Asian assistant coach on the bench?
Because of this, he seized every opportunity to provoke Bruce.
But Bruce ignored him.
In Bruce’s eyes, the man was an incompetent, foul-mouthed loser who couldn’t stand to see others succeed.
The best response to someone like that was to simply pretend he didn’t exist.
This time, however, he directed his hostility toward assistant coach Jamie Lin.
Everyone on the team knew Jamie Lin was a talented and dedicated assistant coach.
He even handled tasks beyond the usual scope of an assistant’s role, such as video editing and individual player technique analysis.
He had earned the respect of most people through his professionalism and passion.
Many players even felt indignant on his behalf; were it not for his race, he could easily have become the lead assistant coach.
Yet, the lead assistant position had remained vacant for three years.
“I’m not taking sides; I’m handling this impartially.
This is Coach McHani’s decision.
If you have any objections, you can speak to the head coach,” Jamie Lin replied formally.
But Chris Patt remained adamant, even resorting to the most effective tactic often used by Black players: “This is discrimination!
This is racism!
Why look down on Black people?
Don’t we—Black players—deserve to be starters?
I clearly have better talent and skill…” His accusations were intolerable to Scott and the other Black players.
Over 70% of the Crimson team was Black, and four of the five original starters were Black.
In basketball, isn’t it usually Black players who discriminate against other races?
“Basketball is about performance, not sissy tantrums.
If you’re so sure of yourself, let’s play!” Bruce stepped forward, fixing a cold stare on Chris Patt—a look that seemed ready to devour Patt alive at any moment.
At that instant, Bruce, standing nearby, suddenly recalled a scene from that nightmare.
Back then, Chris Patt had acted in much the same way.
But at that time, to avoid putting Jamie Lin in a difficult position—and also because he had lost confidence in his basketball abilities—he had chosen to back down.
Yet, this decision later led to Jamie Lin being reprimanded; Chris Patt had completely botched things after the game started.
Driven by selfishness, he refused to pass the ball at all, causing the team to fall behind by 21 points in the first quarter and ultimately resulting in a historic 36–94 defeat for Stanford.
Stanford could not stomach the humiliation, and Jamie Lin—the most promising candidate for head assistant coach—was fired.