Bruce lay exhausted on the gymnasium floor, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.
He was clearly in a state of deep shock.
If an outsider had walked in and seen him looking so “lifeless,” they surely would have called an ambulance.
But in reality, there was nothing physically wrong with him.
He was simply listening to the “positive energy” in his head—a voice chattering away about his past and shattering his worldview.
The energy revealed that he had been born in 1979, on a stormy night when a scrawny, undersized boy was repeatedly playing basketball on an outdoor court.
The very heavens could sense his resentment and his striving: he wanted to grow taller—much taller; he harbored dreams of basketball glory; he wanted to make the varsity team at Wilmington Laney High School; he wanted to be even half as good as his older brother.
Then, a bolt of lightning struck his shoulder, and that positive energy entered the young man’s body while he was in a daze.
Without realizing it, that training helped him grow 20 centimeters taller in a single year, giving him the perfect physique for basketball; the foolish boy didn’t even understand why he had shot up so much—his family history showed no man taller than 1.9 meters, yet he stood at 1.98 meters.
He attributed it all to the success of his training.
He gradually rose to fame, becoming a dominant force on the basketball court.
This success was inseparable from his diligent, obsessive training; he joined a professional league, became his family’s pride, and emerged as a highly successful basketball player.
But along the way, he spiraled into moral decay.
“While he remained intensely focused on basketball, he lost all discipline off the court.
He cheated repeatedly, smoked, drank, gambled, and boasted…
I couldn’t bear helping a scumbag like that become a basketball icon.” “I couldn’t forgive myself.
I felt resentment every day, yet I was trapped within his body, unable to communicate with him.
I had become nothing more than expendable energy inside him…
I even realized I would vanish as his body rapidly deteriorated.
I refused to accept that…” “Finally, I managed to escape on a stormy night.
I thought I would dissolve into the vastness of time—emerging from nothingness only to vanish into the void, as if I had never existed.
But thankfully, time created an opening.” “I turned amidst a flash of lightning, and that gave me the ability to communicate.” “So, you’re the lucky one; I’ll help you become an even greater basketball god, and I’ll let you take his place!
Even though I’m weak right now, I believe that justice will always triumph over evil!!” The message Bruce received left him stunned, and he felt his worldview rapidly crumbling.
However, the voice in his head told him, “There’s nothing strange about it.
Throughout history, countless heroes have been divinely inspired.
Leaving other fields aside, many athletes in the sports world have emerged from nowhere; some possessed talents bestowed by heaven and earth—they simply weren’t aware of it themselves.
You can think of me as a talent—but a talent that can communicate with you, a talent that can evolve over time.
Understand?” “Besides, let me assure you: I am the only ‘talent energy’ in history capable of communicating with you.
You ought to be proud of that.” The voice in his head emphasized this point, though it grew fainter, as if weary from speaking so much.
A realization suddenly dawned on Bruce.
He muttered, “So…
I got a piece of junk?” “A piece of junk?!” The voice in his head instantly sharpened.
“This ‘baby’ is one of a kind—the only one capable of communicating with humans, get it?
This is the pinnacle of evolution—understand?” Uh…
“Could you stop calling yourself a ‘baby’?” Bruce suggested.
“It doesn’t sound very dignified.” “Aren’t all newborns called ‘babies’?
Fine, then give me a name!
It has to be catchy, memorable, majestic, basketball-related, and have perfect meaning!” Hua Xiao’ou?
Bruce’s mind went blank for a moment, and a name suddenly popped into his head.
It seemed to stem from a dream he’d had the day before.
He remembered the name clearly; in his hazy recollection, the man wrote excellent basketball novels but constantly stopped updating them—making people want to punch him!
“That doesn’t sound good.
Pick another one.” The ‘Positive Energy Talent Baby’ was speaking when it suddenly yawned.
“I’m tired; I don’t have the energy left to transmit brainwaves.
Pick a name for me before I wake up…
*beep*” It was as if the call had been cut off; there was no sound.
Hello!
Hello!
Hello!
No answer; the connection had definitely been severed.
Bruce shook his head helplessly, then got up and headed toward the school cafeteria.
…
“Oh my God, Bruce, are you sure you want to eat more?
You’ve already had eleven steaks—can your stomach really hold that much?” Scott exclaimed, looking shocked.
But Bruce was only seventy percent full; He was confident he could still polish off at least three more—and maybe two large bowls—of mashed potatoes.
“You played really well today.
Chris Patt has been getting on my nerves for a long time.
He loves to show off because his cousin is TJ Walton, but everyone knows that’s TJ’s talent, not his.
What is there to brag about?” Scott said angrily.
His words made Thompson, sitting next to him, nod repeatedly.
“But you don’t need to worry about him telling TJ Walton.
Besides, you won’t be on the school team after the last three games anyway, so who cares about their relationship?” Scott continued.
He was an easygoing guy.
Thompson, being more observant, shot Scott a sharp look, signaling him not to bring up that sensitive topic.
Scott fell silent immediately.
Both of them were Bruce’s close friends on the Crimson team; they had been roommates before Bruce moved out.
Because of that, they knew just how much Bruce loved basketball—and how devastated he had been when the head coach announced he wouldn’t be on the roster for the following season.
So, Scott quickly changed the subject: “You know what?
There are going to be a lot of NBA scouts watching tomorrow night’s game.
I know they’re all here to scout Nick Young and Pruitt.
But if I play well enough, I could steal the spotlight—maybe even make it to the NBA.” Scott grew increasingly excited: “Hey, Bruce.
Pass me the ball a few more times; I’ll show them my incredible physique!
I’ll wow them with my dunks!” “I’m totally ready to be a star.” Scott’s eyes were resolute and filled with longing.
Seeing his hopeful expression, Bruce smiled and nodded in agreement: “Alright.”